It is a stroke of luck and a thoughtlessly (auspiciously) big mouth that finally sets her free.
She has been in this cell for almost six months by the time one of the original guards, the ones that had been found asleep the night of Anders' escape, lets it slip to a friend that he might have accidentally dropped his keys by the cell.
When the heavy door of her cage swings open this is what Greagoir tells her. As he loosens the shackles that have scarred the skin of her wrists he lets her know that he's not sorry. He was doing his job.
She lost the will to fight back weeks ago and she doesn't even have the desire to feel angry about her treatment.
He doesn't even have the audacity to escort her out of the dungeons. He turns back to his men, lecturing and thanking them for their extended duty and she's left to stare at his back. Dumfounded.
It is Petra who collects her. Petra tuts over the state of her robes; why hadn't Solona allowed Petra to bring some fresh clothing? Solona only shrugs and allows the other woman to lead her up and away. Out. They pass by the door to the kitchen and the scent of freshly baked bread pulls her attention to her surroundings. The wards on the walls had kept most sound and smells out. Only the most pungent stews and loudest yelling have penetrated the dungeon.
Solona hasn't actually smelled fresh food in months.
"I . . . I need something to eat." Petra nods and waits, patiently, as Solona creeps into the kitchen and snags a cooling loaf of bread before the cooks and the baker can spy her. She's fast, still. Fast and stealthy. Even after her extended captivity.
She thinks it is desperation that makes her this way.
Despair has created within her this burning desire to disappear into the stones of the tower. So many times she had tried, locked in that cell and alone. To just melt away would have made her happier than she could have ever imagined.
The staircase up to the main floor is empty as is the entryway. There are no guards. From somewhere deeper into the Tower comes a giggle. She stops in her tracks and grips her bread tight to her chest. She hasn't even taken a bite yet. She doesn't want to lose it. Doesn't want to share it-
"The kids missed you." Petra sounds hopeful. Her voice has retained that magical whimsy Solona remembers.
She wants to be happy that someone noted her absence. The sunlight streaming in through the tall windows in the apprentice quarter seizes a part of her long forgotten and she knows at that moment what she needs.
Air.
She needs to get out.
Her feet fly across the stones of the Tower floor. She passes familiar faces. Etic, maybe Emic she can't really tell, raises a hand as she rushes past and she twists away from that metal grip. Away. Past, she moves to the only door a mage in this place can use freely to leave the building.
The courtyard explodes in front of her in color and light and smells and air. The breeze off the lake kicks her hair up and around her face. She squints; this is intense. Far too intense. She half-turns to go back inside yet stops herself. Forces herself to turn around and walk farther into the greenery.
She'd weathered the worst of the winter and the beginning of the spring in solitary. The world around her is fresh and new.
Taking the path closest to her she winds her way down to a bench she remembers from before. She has actually memorized this little section of the gardens. Her feet kick out into the small clearing when she sits and she pushes off her shoes at her heels. The shoes are dirty and the grass feels so good beneath her feet. Across this small island of green stands an old apple tree. It is mostly past its days of producing significant quantities of fruit yet it blooms beautifully in front of her now.
The white and pink blossoms are picked up by another gust of wind and she is showered in petals.
This is the bench where Irving gave his decree that she would go to Ostagar and fight to save the world. It has been less than a year and yet feels as though she has lived four lifetimes between that moment and this one.
She is at a loss; there is no clear direction for her to journey and it should be maddening to her. Six months ago she railed against her incarceration. Somewhere between then and now, she couldn't even place the exact time, she gave up.
She watches those apple blossoms float to the ground and imagines herself as one of them. Blown loose from her life. She shifts on the bench and slides to the ground. Her left hand is still grasping that stolen loaf of bread while her right reaches out and brushes through the blossoms on the ground.
The blossoms shift through her finger and she breathes deeply. She notes that her finger nails are encrusted with filth and her skin is soiled and some of the petals actually come away brown. She is dirty. A dirty mage. She feels like she should hate herself for being this way. She could right so many of the wrongs in her life if only she'd been born without magic.
Solona doesn't know what makes her angrier: the realization that these thoughts are making her want to cry because they're true or the realization that they are not even her thoughts to begin with.
Cruel eyes stared into her thoughts when she slept some nights. She hasn't had a pleasant night's rest in two months. She sees accusation and anger and disgust when she sleeps. And it is always his voice at the back of her mind: you are worthless.
These are not her thoughts.
Her hand clenches, blossoms caught up in her angry grip and she lets that displeasure and sorrow flow through her. She lets go and her hand is engulfed in flame immediately.
She has forgotten twice now the feeling of her own magic functioning fully. She opens her fingers and a fireball springs forth. She doesn't send it anywhere but lets it sit in the palm of her hand. She watches, head tipped to the side and body askew, as the flame dances around her skin and a sad smile graces her lips.
She is not useless.
She has saved lives.
She could have almost saved Ostagar.
Were the Wardens to appear right then she would gladly sacrifice her life to them so that she could finish what she started almost a year ago.
She will never be useless.
Solona extinguishes the fireball and lets her right hand fall back to the ground while the left brings the loaf of bread to her mouth. It has cooled and she bites into it eagerly. All the while her eyes track across the blue expanse of sky and she watches the passage of the sun take her into the late afternoon on this, the first day of her second freedom.
If I were a braver woman-
I would have taken Cullen with me when I went to Ostagar.
A bird lands on the apple tree and Solona watches it clean its feathers before taking off again.
If I were a stronger mage-
I would have saved everyone at Ostagar and ended a Blight.
The air grows colder and she hears the Keep move about. After hearing nothing from the walls aside from the harshest screams for so long she swears she can hear the old stone talking to her. Doors are opened, armor marches, a giggle floats down from one of the higher floors.
If I were a better friend-
I would have never let Anders return to this place.
She doesn't really remember her mother. She remembers her mother's games and laughter and smiles and her mother would have made a game of this whole ordeal. She would have drawn on the stones of their cage and made a mural out of it. They would have spent six months hopping around that damned cell creating rules as they went and talking about what sort of prize would be fitting for their victory.
If I were a better person I would have never been born a mage in the first place.
She tightens her fists and closes her eyes. She's slowly starting to realize that she's been horribly wronged. Her entire life she's been thrown about and sent to prisons of all sorts. And it has never been her fault.
This is the moment Solona Amell realizes she can no longer accept this treatment.
She considers blowing up the Circle.
This is a huge idea and it shocks her when she thinks of it. Her eyes snap open and she looks over at the building. She can still hear some light laughter. She imagines it blown to bits, just a tower of fire and anger.
She can almost see the flames framed against the bright blue sky.
She shakes the thought away. She could never destroy this place. Prison though it may be, it's the only home she knows.
Then she could kill the templars and take the Circle for the mages. Just the mages. If they snuck up on the templars at night and separated them . . . She's remembering planning sessions from Ostagar she'd heard once around campfires. Divide and conquer.
More templars would come, though; enough to overrun their little island.
Maybe Cullen. Perhaps Cullen would come back and run her through again. She thinks her death would be worth it if only to see him again.
It is only a moment of weakness and she realizes her solution. She has one of the best libraries in the whole of Thedas to look through and a sharp mind. She's got more theories about the origin of species than anyone else she knows. Or read. And she almost solved that scroll.
That one that she wanted to ask Anders about.
The one that will bring the Chantry crashing down to its foundations.
This is the moment that she realizes her goal. She will find the evidence she needs to prove the Chantry wrong. She will bring down her oppressors.
In her grassy clearing Solona smiles as the sun goes down and she stays on her back, staring at the night sky, until she falls asleep.