The day of the Kirkwall rebellion was etched across Solea's memories like etchings on a wall, so real she could describe it again in perfect detail. She could remember the weight of the smoke pulling on her lungs as it burned her nostrils and left its acrid taste on her tongue. She could hear the screams of terror and pain as mages and templars slaughtered each other in the streets. She could see the scarlet blood pooling beneath still warm bodies that littered the street like discarded trash; she had nightmares where the unfamiliar faces on the ground became her parents, her aunts and uncles. Most of all, she remembered the chaos of it all, the sheer unbridled fear so thick in the air you could almost taste it as people fled the destruction, desperate for safety in whatever direction it might be.
The assault on Haven left that same sharp taste in her mouth, the same smoky burn in her lungs, and the air was just as thick with desperation. As she guided the fleeing members of the Inquisition towards the Chantry building, saving people caught in burning buildings or tripped by debris, there was a moment where instead of wooden walls she saw the towering stone fortress of the Gallows. She blinked hard and the Haven Chantry returned looking small and plain next to the memory of the foreboding building that had been the last sight she'd had of Kirkwall. The comparison did not bode well for the outcome of this battle.
She could see the despair in Cullen's eyes as they discussed options with her fighting companions. They, including Cole—who had suddenly reappeared aiding an injured Chancellor Roderick—were gathered just inside the door to the Chantry, trying to keep their grim conversation unheard by the rest of the Inquisition. As if by hiding the fact they were all going to die would somehow make it better.
"Yes, that." Cole spoke up suddenly from where he was knelt on the ground. "Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies." The dying man explained about a secret tunnel in the Chantry that lead out of Haven, an escape route. Solea felt a glimmer of light, of hope, through the once bleak outlook. If the people of the Inquisition could be led down this path, then they could use Cullen's plan to cause a massive avalanche as a distraction while everyone else fled.
She turned to the Commander, "Will it work?"
Ever pragmatic he replied, "Possibly, but how will the person firing the trebuchet escape?"
The Elder one doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald. Cole's words from just moments ago echoed so loudly in her head that Solea spun to face him, thinking he'd repeated them aloud. The boy's, or well spirit was probably a more accurate term, green eyes were locked on hers, eerily similar in shade to the swirling fade energy she sensed around him. Doubtful as she had been initially about his presence, he'd shown nothing but the desire to help since his arrival. As she read the sympathy in his gaze, she found herself trusting him.
Whatever he was, Cole had come to the same conclusion she had, that there was only one way for all these people to survive, and he seemed inexplicably distressed about it. The small spark of hope, lit upon hearing of the escape tunnel, was extinguished in a puff of smoke that she exhaled in a sigh. She looked at Cullen, ready to volunteer and tell him to lead the Inquisition to its escape but before she could even open her mouth, her uncle's sharp words cut her off.
"No. No. Not in a thousand lifetimes." Varric's voice was harsher than she had ever heard before and it made her flinch before she schooled her features into a mask of steely resolve. "I know that face. Maker forbid, I've seen it on your mother's face enough times."
"Uncle." Solea pleaded, but the endearment didn't soften him like it usually did. Creators, this was already hard enough to do without him looking at her like that.
"No, Solea. You can't do this." Varric's voice was gruff but she caught the glimmer of moisture in his eyes as he blinked. "You're just a child, Flicker." His voice choked on her nickname and she could feel the words he wanted to say but couldn't, words about her parents, her family, that current company wouldn't allow.
Solea felt a sharp pang in her heart but her resolve didn't waver. She had to do this; she was the only one who could distract the Elder One long enough for everyone to escape. Sacrificing herself to save the Inquisition was the logical choice, the only choice. After all, she was a Hawke, and a Hawke always did the right thing; no matter how much it hurt, especially when it hurt.
She scanned the room looking for support, hoping someone else could help tell her uncle that this had to be done. Most of her companions looked equal parts horrified and guilty, as if they had realized that her sacrifice was the best tactic but then immediately felt bad for thinking it. A thunderous roar shook the walls of the Chantry as if the dragon was reminding her that time was running out for the people of Haven.
She studied the stubborn set of Varric's jaw, remembering a different Varric, from a different time, whose red eyes had crackled with determination as he marched to his death to give her the chance to escape. She saw that same gleam in his eyes now, and she knew. He would not be swayed. She would either flee with him or he would be fighting with her every step of the way, just as he had numerous times with her parents.
She would not let him die for her, not again. Solea had started this whole fiasco of an adventure to save her uncle and she wasn't going to fail now. She refused to watch another person sacrifice themselves for her. This left her with only one option, and she moved before she could overthink it. "I'm sorry, Uncle." She muttered as she grasped Varric's head firmly in her hands. He had just enough time for his eyes to widen in surprise before she sent a controlled shock through her hands, knocking him unconscious instantly.
She guided the dwarf's limp body to the ground, cradling his head gently. She looked up to find the circle of her companions staring at her in stunned silence. She didn't bother to explain her actions, none of them would fully understand anyways. "Commander, you'll need two people to carry him through the escape tunnel. He won't wake up for a while." She stood up, avoiding the sight of her uncle's unconscious body on the ground. "And tell him when he wakes up that if he writes another book about this, I'm going to come back and haunt his ass." Before anyone could say a word, she strode towards the Chantry door and stepped back out into the chaos. She had never been good at saying goodbye.
The skies over Haven darkened, a swirl of storm clouds gathering in the night sky, blocking out the light of the moon. Solea sent a boost of her mana to strengthen the rising energy in the storm she was building. It was vital to her plan. She needed to be as loud and distracting as possible to give everyone time to escape. She had to keep the Elder One's attention focused solely on her. To this end, she had called the lyrium in her blood forth and let her veins radiate blue light. It reflected off the snow blanketing the ground around the central trebuchet. She had to be impossible to miss, glowing like a beacon in the evening's shadows.
She was alone in the clearing, surrounded only by the scattered corpses of red templars that had tried to stop her. The squad of Inquisition soldiers, sent by Cullen to help her aim the trebuchets, had just left. She didn't want to risk them being caught out with no time to escape. All that was left was to aim the last trebuchet towards its target and she could manage that on her own.
The wooden handle creaked in protest as she turned it but yielded beneath her strength. Solea could sense an approaching wave of enemies, their corrupted blood grating against her senses. She waited, wound in her side pulsing in time to her heartbeat, until she felt they were close enough. She unleashed the storm she'd been holding back, calling the brimming lightning forth. In immediate response, a bolt shot down from the sky, searing a red templar with a resounding boom that echoed off the mountains. If they somehow hadn't seen her, they would definitely hear her.
Such flashy, unbridled displays of magical power were not her style or her strong suit. Solea didn't have a lot of experience with larger spells so she didn't bother pretending she control it—content to let the storm rain down deadly electricity indiscriminately. One thunderbolt arrowed down a couple feet from her position near the trebuchet but, unconcerned, she siphoned the current to her body, wreathing herself in a cloak of crackling purple-white energy.
The trebuchet spun lurchingly in response to the wheel, the noise drowned out by the thunderous cacophony of the storm, and Solea was just starting to think this might be easier than she felt tremors in the ground and a spike in her senses that indicated an approaching threat. Releasing the wheel, she turned to find a staggering monstrosity lumbering towards her, seemingly unbothered by the lightning dancing down around it. The monster towered over her, ten feet of corrupted crystal, one hand shaped in a crude approximation of a blade that was so long it dragged along the ground as the creature lumbered forward.
"I'm starting to think Varric was right about bad luck running in my blood." Solea muttered to herself as she drew her blades. The beast's size made it slow and she dodged its heavy blows with ease, but her daggers did nothing against the creature's crystalline flesh. Not surprising, given its appearance. Thinking on her feet, she began blasting away at the crystals with magic, shattering bits of them away and hoping she would expose something vulnerable within. Perhaps a giant flashing arrow that said, 'stab here'.
Her wound throbbed angrily in her side as she moved, which was probably a bad sign, but the hasty poultice she'd made earlier had stopped the bleeding, so she didn't worry too much. The behemoth let out a distorted cry of rage as she exploded another chunk of crystal off. Solea flinched at the earsplitting sound, barely rolling out of the way of the swinging arm which slammed into the ground with a boom. When she regained her feet, she found herself encircled by a ring of red lyrium.
Her blood burned, but the lyrium lighting her veins with every rapid heartbeat boosted her magic, and she quickly pushed a wave of spirit energy out in a circle, shattering the crystals. Relying on her magic to fight was bizzare after going so long without using it, but there was an invigorating freedom in channeling the flow of natural power that she usually kept carefully hidden. Eager to finish off the hulking behemoth, she reached into the Fade with her mind and summoned a massive boulder, bigger than she'd ever attempted before. She took only a moment to admire the fact that it was nearly as tall as its victim before she sent it hurtling at the behemoth.
The crystalline creature exploded into a thousand shards, disintegrating beneath the force of the stone she'd thrown at it. Solea flung herself onto the floor to avoid the flying pieces, as they rained down around her. Sensing the coast was now clear, she returned to the laborious process of aiming the trebuchet. The storm she'd summoned began dissipating without her magic to power it. Finally, the trebuchet was aligned, its payload directed at the mountain towering over Haven.
An ear-shattering roar announced the return of the dragon and sent Solea scrambling for cover. A gout of flames chased her, igniting the barrels of oil stacked by the trebuchet in an explosion that sent her flying off her feet. Her ears ringing, she lay in the cold snow disoriented and dizzy with a small trickle of blood leaking from her ears. When the world stopped spinning, she lurched upwards, desperate to see if the trebuchet was still intact. Miraculously, the wooden structure had escaped any severe damage despite the flaming debris scattered about or the spreading pool of burning oil.
As if things weren't bad enough, the dragon swooped down to land in front of her with another thunderous cry that pummeled Solea's sensitive elven ears. Seeing it flying overhead had been terrifying but standing face to face with a dragon was a heart stopping lesson in fear. Solea's mother had told her stories about the high dragon she'd fought at the Bone Pit but even with the help of Varric's master storytelling skills, Solea had not truly appreciated how impressive a feat it was. Unfortunately, unlike the 'Hawke family luck' as Varric liked to call it, she didn't think dragon slaying was a hereditary trait.
Before her terror-stricken mind could even attempt to come up with a plan to fight a dragon, a deep voice cried out, "Enough." Surprised yet again, Solea turned to see a strange man, creature, thing, striding through the flames towards her. It gestured at the dragon which backed off slightly from her, although the extra space didn't lessen her fear. The stranger than continued speaking and he, it, whatever, was probably saying something really important but she could only half listen as she took in its appearance. It looked like a man in the same way that the crystalline horrors had looked like red templars. He reminded her of what her Uncle Anders had described darkspawn like, which had horrifying implications enough without the red lyrium she could see fused beneath his flesh.
"Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus!" The phrase 'the Elder One' drew Solea's attention out of her own rambling thoughts as she realized she finally had a name to assign her enemy, the man responsible for the apocalyptic future. 'The Elder One' was an obnoxiously arrogant title and one she was happy to never say again. Suddenly, the man pointed at her insolently and coinciding with her notions of his arrogance he commanded, "You will kneel."
"I'd rather not. The snow is cold." She responded with sarcasm reflexively, shrugging like it couldn't be helped. "Try coming back in the summer when it's melted."
He didn't seem bothered by her flippant tone. "I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now." Solea had only a split second to appreciate that the mark on her hand had an actual name besides 'the mark' before Corypheus drew out a strange orb wreathed in red energy in one hand and thrust his other out towards her. The Anchor ignited on her hand in a blaze of green light that accompanied a blaze of agony in her hand, like someone was trying to split it apart.
Solea clutched at her left forearm as her hand begin shaking violently. A strange magical energy gathered in her palm, an energy that was nothing like her own. Collapsing to her knees from the pain, she realized that the Anchor possessed its own brand of magic that had laid dormant until now. In his attempt to remove it, Corypheus was drawing the Anchor's magic forth, causing a violent reaction as it clashed with her own. The strange new magic in her body stretched out, fighting for new space in her body to claim but she pushed back against it, not wanting it to spread.
Fighting an internal battle, Solea was still aware that she had to keep Corypheus distracted until she saw the signal. He'd was lecturing on about his grand plans, unconcerned by her obvious discomfort until she collapsed onto all fours on the ground. Desperate to keep him talking, Solea spit out the first question that came to mind while she focused on confining the magic of the Anchor to her hand.
She thought she was doing a good job, even as at one point he snatched her up by her left hand and held her dangling helplessly in the air. Terror was her constant friend, and fear of death was pumping right along with the adrenaline in her veins but more than dying she was afraid of dying at the wrong time. Where the hell was that bloody signal anyways?
Corypheus seemed more interested in monologuing than killing her at the moment, and despite the fact that she knew she wouldn't be alive long enough for it to matter, she couldn't help but latch on to every bit of information. Her memories regarding how exactly she'd obtained the Anchor on her hand were still gone and she was eager to know anything about it, even if her source was clearly insane.
Midsentence, Corypheus shouted in frustration and flung her aside carelessly, sending her colliding against the side of the trebuchet. "The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling." He stalked towards her, his dragon hovering behind him menacingly as Solea dragged herself to her feet, body aching with the promises of bruising along her back. "So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation—and god—it requires. And you. I will not suffer a rival, even an ignorant child like you. You must die."
A flash of movement behind Corypheus' shoulder drew her attention and Solea saw the unmistakable trail of a fire arrow streaking upwards from the snowy mountains behind Haven. The signal, the Inquisition had made it out safely. Relief swamped her, the Anchor had calmed and now there was only one thing left for her to do. Wasting no time, she spun and kicked the release lever of the trebuchet, sending the payload rocketing towards the mountain she'd painstakingly aimed it at.
"If your plan was to talk me to death you were doing great." Solea heard the rumbling boom of the trebuchet hitting its mark and took great pleasure in the surprise on Corypheus' face. "But I'm going to have to cut you off right here." The increasing roar of sound drew her eyes and she finally watched in awe as a rolling tsunami of snow swept towards them at startling speed.
Solea had accepted that this plan required her death, had tried to make her peace with it amidst the scrambled planning and chaos of Haven's destruction. Faced with the reality of the oncoming avalanche, she was surprised to find that along with fear, she felt the burning primeval urge to survive. Her mind was resigned to her fate, but her body fought to live and before she realized it, she was sprinting away. There was no outrunning the torrent of snow but as the ground shuddered beneath her, Solea made a last desperate dive towards the crumbling remains of a building. Just before the avalanche overtook her, the young elf had a moment of regret—her last conversation with her parents had been an argument—then everything went black.