Cillian paused at the door to the tower, feeling an unfamiliar anxious quaver in his stomach. In the past few weeks, he had faced down Venatori spellbinders, demons, and worse and overcome his fear. Approaching a lone elf ought to be far less intimidating. And yet, he would be the first elven elder Cillian had spoken to since leaving his own clan - and the first elf who might have independent knowledge of the ancient rites Cillian had dedicated himself to learning. Would Solas share whatever he might know, or turn him away?
He took a moment to compose himself, then set himself in motion. Standing here like a fool - in plain sight of anyone looking up at the battlements, no less - wasn't going to accomplish anything. He opened the door and stepped into the tower. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, and his first impression was that the room before him was empty. He felt a wash of both disappointment and irrational relief. As his eyes adjusted, his attention was caught by the striking frescoes partially covering the walls. Their stark, primitive style reminded Cillian of the faded murals he'd found in ancient ruins. Some of the symbology seemed obvious - he could easily identify the Breach - and some more obscure.
As he pondered the frescoes, he caught a glimpse of movement above him. A slender figure stood atop a scaffold with his back to Cillian. He was absorbed in painting, the plaster in front of him fresh and wet. Cillian took a moment to admire a master at work, then spoke. "Pardon me, but are you Solas?"
"I am. Who asks?" the answer came. Cillian tried to place the accent and could not. Not surprising, given how many Dalish clans he had never met.
"My name is Cillian, hahren. I was hoping to ask you…" Solas had not turned away from his painting, and it abruptly struck Cillian how rude he was being in his eagerness. "I am so sorry. You are clearly in the midst of your work. I will return another time, with your leave."
"That would be best," Solas said absently. Cillian bowed his head. despite knowing that the other elf could not see the gesture. He had taken a few steps toward the door when Solas spoke, more attentive now, "Wait. You are Cillian? The Commander mentioned you to me. He claimed that you had mastered the ancient arts of the arcane warriors."
"I would not say 'mastered,' but I have learned the rudiments," Cillian said. While he felt a great deal of pride in his accomplishments, he would not compound his rudeness by bragging to an elder.
"Show me," Solas said, turning away from the wall. Cillian nodded and reached out for the Veil, drawing its energies and focusing them deep within himself. He dropped into a near-trance state, Solas and the tower receding to the edge of his awareness. He felt more than saw his spirit blade manifest in his hand and his magical barrier glimmer to life around him. He moved the blade through the exercises that he had faithfully repeated many times, passing through the poses depicted in the murals and chanting the words he had found underneath them.
Solas spoke above him, breaking the trance. "Remarkable. You've clearly grasped the principles and made them your own, even if some moves are merely imitated without understanding. I had thought these arts to be entirely lost to your people."
Your people, not our people? Cillian looked up at Solas and realized that his face was unmarked. "You're not Dalish," he said in surprise.
"I am not. Does this trouble you?"
"No, of course not," Cillian said quickly. "I had simply assumed…"
"That one must be Dalish to take an interest in the past?" Solas asked archly. "In my experience, most of the Dalish know little of their past. They cling to half-remembered traditions, stripped of all meaning. I had expected you to be the same. I was wrong in that."
Cillian instinctively bristled at Solas's dismissal of the Dalish, but he could not deny that he'd had similar thoughts. They had fueled his determination to leave his clan and seek out the truth underlying the stories. "I believe that my people are doing the best they can with what they have. But in truth, the arts of the arcane warrior had been entirely lost to them. I sought them out and rediscovered them in an ancient shrine."
"A commendable undertaking. But what brought you to me?" Solas asked.
"The word about this fortress is that you have traveled to many parts of the Fade and seen much there. I hoped that I could learn more from you about the ancient elves and their traditions," Cillian answered.
Solas shook his head. "I fear what I've gleaned from the Fade would be of little use to you. Without their context, many of the ancient ways are shorn of meaning. But when I asked what brought you here, I meant the question more generally. Why did you join the Inquisition?"
"When I saw the great rift in the sky, I knew that I had to end my solitude and offer aid. I see the Inquisition fighting a great danger. I understand that the arcane warriors were protectors of the people of Elvhanen. I would use my skills to protect not only the Dalish, but all people of Thedas."
Solas looked at him silently for several moments, then said, "I recall a scene from the Fade that may be informative for you after all." He paused again, seeming to turn his thoughts inward just as Cillian had done. "I saw an elven lord upon a gilded throne. Before him stood two guards with blades of light extended from their palms. A crowd of people cried out, begging aid, but spirit swords held them at bay. No cries could reach the lord's fair ears."
Cillian stared up at him. "You're saying… that the arcane warriors were just guards for the elite, not servants of the people? That can't be. The runes in the shrine said…"
He fell silent, thinking back to his years of study and meditation. Among the runes were those he had translated as guard, protect, and serve, but other runes were beyond his ability to read, either damaged or unfamiliar to him. Who had the arcane warriors guarded, protected, and served? Had he merely read from the runes what he wanted to see?
Solas's face betrayed little expression, but Cillian thought he saw compassion in his eyes. He asked Solas, "Why have you told me this? What would you have me do? I'll not abandon the people to become the Inquisitor's bodyguard."
"No," Solas said, his face still unreadable but his voice fervent. "I told you this to encourage you not to be bound by history. You would do far better to improve on it, to take what you have learned and forge a new path."
Cillian bowed his head. "Ma serannas," he said.
Solas dismissed him with a wave, already turning back his art. Cillian set off to look for a quiet space to meditate. He had much to consider.