A/N: I'm having a rather cruddy day as I've come to the realization that I need to break up with my agent as she's pretty much useless. So...I have not proofread this chapter to my usual standards. I promised updates Tuesdays and Fridays, and since I have the chapter done there's no excuse, but I just am feeling really low right now. So I don't have the patience to proofread, let alone write anything new. But that's why I wrote in advance, so I don't let you guys down.

Twelve

By Order of Divine Victoria…

Solas found Zevanni through the thick green mists of the raw Fade, standing at attention and waiting for him. Her brown hair cropped short and her cinnamon skin had a grayish pallor in the less than flattering light of the Fade. She stood atop a small rounded hillock in the Fade, surrounded by stagnant, slimy pools of water.

The musical sound of dripping water filled Solas' ears and the constant dampness of this place made his skin feel sticky. Even knowing it was merely a dream did nothing to alleviate the discomfort. He could change the Fade, shaping it into a dry desert or a pleasant alpine meadow, or even a room inside the winter palace, but doing so could attract the attention of wandering demons and spirits. Best to leave the Fade as it was during covert meet ups like this one.

He walked to her, taking his time and letting the Fade flow around him, its green mists caressing his skin. Reaching the hillock, he stared up at her lithe frame. She wore thick leather armor and a proud expression on her face. Her eyes found his and Solas felt something zinging like electricity wash over him. It set his heart pounding with anticipation. The silent communication between them as two Dreamers told him she'd had success.

Climbing the hillock, he did not speak until he was close enough to reach out and grasp her shoulder. "What have you found?"

Zevanni smiled, tightlipped but triumphant. One hand emerged from behind her back, palm up. The green mists of the Fade coalesced at the power of her will, flowing together and creating a transparent circular shape. An orb.

"A foci," she answered needlessly.

"Which Evanuris?" Solas asked, scrutinizing the ghostly image Zevanni had constructed in her palm for clues.

"Several," Zevanni said. "When I touch it I taste Dirthamen's magic, but also Falon'din and Sylaise."

Solas nodded, piecing the clues together from her explanation and his knowledge of Evanuris history. Falon'din had started a civil war when he attacked Dirthamen's lands, seeking to acquire more resources and slaves. Dirthamen, Falon'din's "brother" had entered uthenera after his lover in the nobility left him for another. He'd always been the brooding and melodramatic sort. With Dirthamen in uthenera he'd been powerless to stop Falon'din as he lay waste to his people.

Eventually Falon'din had moved onto Mythal's lands and that was finally when Mythal and the other Evanuris stepped in just in time to restore order. After bloodying Falon'din in his own temple they combined power to bind Falon'din in uthenera as well. The Evanuris described the resulting chaos of Falon'din's power grab and binding as his distraught reaction to Dirthamen vanishing into uthenera without telling him.

Nearly five hundred years later Dirthamen awoke and sought out his "brother" for an explanation but could not access him even in dreams because of the Evanuris' binding spell. He convinced the other Evanuris eventually to allow him to join Falon'din for a few years under the same binding spell so that he could commune with his "brother" and see if Falon'din could be unbound.

Somehow the Dalish had warped this horrific event into a tale of brotherly devotion where Dirthamen sought Falon'din out in the beyond. They forgot the bloody civil war. They forgot that Falon'din was a vain, petty man who coveted his "brother's" lands and slaves. They forgot his cruelty as he demanded the lower classes of Dirthamen's lands bow to him and submit to his vallaslin. They forgot that when these elves refused to kneel Falon'din tore them apart with a casual flick of his fingers and laughed about it.

Solas had seen it all first-hand—it'd been Falon'din's civil war in fact that drew him out of the wilds and into Arlathan's court.

Solas brushed his fingers through the transparent foci, his lips curling in a snarl at the ancient memories. "Doubtless this foci was Dirthamen's originally, then became a spoil of war to both Falon'din and Sylaise." He glanced at her face. "Where did you find it?"

"Forgotten in a Tevinter magister's attic, some family heirloom gathering dust." Her expression warped with disdain. "Fucking shem."

Like Mathrel and Lyris, Lanya and Var, Zevanni had served Solas before uthenera and knew exactly who and what he was. She was one of his most powerful lieutenants and could shape the Fade in her dreams despite the Veil. She'd been born to the middle class like him but hadn't escaped a noble's notice and soon found herself separated from her family and thrust into the Game in Arlathan's court. Solas had befriended her as the outsider she was, guiding her the way Mythal had with him. They'd been lovers periodically, but the relationship was mostly physical, a balm for them both to cope with the injustice of Elvhenan and the constant danger as they plotted against the Evanuris.

"Is it fully charged?" Solas asked, examining the image of the foci again.

"It burns yellow when I cast near it. Hurts like Elgar'nan's fire if I'm holding it."

Solas nodded and let out a little breath, closing his eyes. This changes everything. He'd imagined they'd not find another fully charged foci for years, but they'd gotten lucky. Searching in Tevinter had been the obvious choice from the start, but it satisfied multiple goals at one time for Solas. Tevinter had sacked Arlathan, making it a treasure trove of artifacts from Elvhenan. And it was also the seat of modern day slavery. Solas had spent the last two years taking on both issues with all the ferocity and stamina of his animal namesake.

"Tell me of the city elf rebellion," he said.

Zevanni clenched her fist and the foci disappeared, dissolving into green Fade mists. "Last week was riots," she said, grinning. "Day before yesterday I killed a slaver in his sleep. Today my thieves brought me the foci. Tomorrow my spies have heard the magisters called for an alienage outside Minrathous to be purged with fire." Her grin hardened with bloodlust. "My people are in place and the city elves have been armed. The magisters' soldiers are going to regret they were ever born."

He smiled, nodding his approval. "Very good."

Zevanni had always been ruthless and violent, but cunning as well. She'd organized rebellions among slaves before and like Solas she could cast the spell to remove vallaslin. In Elvhenan that'd allowed her to recruit slaves freed of compulsion to the Evanuris. Now in the modern world it allowed her to remove Dalish vallaslin, letting them pass as city elves if desired. Because, encouragingly, angry Dalish clans near Tevinter who'd lost more than a few children or clan members to slavers, were happy to join Fen'Harel for revenge against the Imperium. According to Zevanni they made excellent guerrilla fighters, darting in to attack caravans of supplies or slavers and then flitting away like shadows.

Zevanni's brown eyes locked onto him, wide and dark with something like lust. She licked her lips. "The foci is what you needed to destroy the Veil," she said. "When do you strike? I want to be at your side when victory is near. You may need my magic."

Solas stared past her at the green stone of the Fade, the vapors winding and shifting idly. "There are extenuating circumstances that will delay me," he admitted, deliberately vague. "We must ensure this world is prepared for the chaos that is to come."

With a little impatient huff, Zevanni nodded. "As you say, Fen'Harel" She ducked into a bow. "I am currently traveling with several of my most trusted agents. We will reach the eluvian and enter the Crossroads in two days. Will I meet you in Revasan?"

"I am unable to leave the winter palace," he told her, scowling. "My position is too precarious to meet you. I will send Lyris and Mathrel in my stead."

"Pity," she said, her eyes roving over him.

Solas ignored her perusal and instead began issuing new orders. "Continue the chaos in Minrathous and across Tevinter. Make the slavers count their every breath a blessing from their Maker. Bring your latest recruits into your dreams in two weeks and I will test their mettle as—" He stopped, catching his breath as a chill passed through him, prickling his skin and tensing his muscles.

Zevanni raised her eyebrows. "Fen'Harel?"

Cold, ghostly fingers brushed Solas' ear. He batted one hand at it and twisted to search behind him, but the Fade was empty. A voice whispered in his ear: "They woke before dawn to catch you, the wolf in the snare."

"Go," he ordered Zevanni. "I must waken."

"Two weeks from now with the recruits?" Zevanni asked.

"Yes," Solas said, raising his voice with mounting impatience. "Now, go."

She nodded and pivoted, striding down the hillock at a jog. The Fade mists parted for her as she ran, splashing through the stagnant, slimy puddles. The raw Fade twisted around her, the rocks growing into slender tropical trees to reflect her physical location in the real world.

Solas closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and willed himself awake. Opening his eyes, he gasped as he saw Cole sitting on the bed beside him, his fingers on his ear. He checked with one hand, finding Ellana's warm body close, still asleep. He blinked up at Cole, realizing the sun had risen enough to light their room in a bluish, soft light.

"Cole?" he asked, voice bleary and his heart still pounding away in his chest. "What's wrong?"

The spirit boy's eyes glazed over but his words trembled as he spoke. "She gives the order, hands clenching, bitter taste in her mouth, pain. She doesn't want it, but she won't risk it."

Ellana made a sleepy noise in her throat and mumbled in her sleep, her hand finding his bare chest and stroking. Without looking away from Cole, Solas gripped her hand in his own and squeezed. The sense of doom beat on him like the Fade stones he hurled at enemies. He already suspected he knew what Cole was trying to say.

"Are they coming to arrest me, Cole?"

"Armor clanking, swords clattering. 'Maker, let him come peacefully.'"

Solas let go of Ellana's hand and rubbed his face, sighing. "I see."

"Are you going to run?" Cole asked, blue eyes curious and innocent.

"No, but I appreciate the warning. You have my thanks—yet again." He felt Ellana stirring and said, "Will you watch over her?"

"Yes," Cole confirmed with a dip of his head. The broad brim of his hat blocked his face a moment. "She's bright and glimmering. Two souls. One is sharp, heavy, full. The other light, dreaming, formless. Both waiting, waiting…"

Despite the circumstances, Solas smiled, understanding Cole's spirit-speak easily. He twisted to caress Ellana's cheek, watching as she gradually came out of sleep, blinking up at him. "Solas?"

"Vhenan," he whispered. "Cole woke me with a warning. I believe Cassandra has called for my arrest sooner than we'd anticipated."

Her eyes sprang open wide and she sat up, cursing. "Fenedhis—how dare she?" Before Solas could protest she was out of bed and scrambling to dress. She noticed Cole as she tore about the room, grabbing at the various pieces of her formalwear and stopped to smile, friendly but tense with the storm that was fast approaching. "Hello, Cole. Thank you for helping us."

"I like helping," he answered, smiling guilelessly.

Ellana went to the privy and Solas heard her rustling about as she dressed, pouring water into the washbasin to scrub her face. Slow with reluctance, Solas left the warm comfort of their bed and grabbed his own clothes from the top of the gilded dresser nearby, shrugging into his tunic. He slipped the lacquered jawbone over his head, pausing to touch it and close his eyes, remembering the real animal it'd belonged to—his only friend for years after he first left his village and ventured alone into the wild.

"Old pain," Cole said behind him, his voice whispery. "Brown eyes glazed and lightless, breath shuddering out one last time—fur still so soft. 'Go in peace, friend.'"

Solas smiled, sad at the reminder, and returned to dressing. As he slipped on his coat Ellana reemerged, her skin pallid and her expression drawn. Reaching for her, Solas embraced her. "Don't fight them, vhenan." He stroked her hair. "I will find a way out of this and then we will proceed as planned."

"I can't believe she'd do this…" Ellana said, choking on the words. "She can't just—"

A loud thumping came at the door and a male voice called out, "Inquisitor! Open the door!"

A chilled breeze wafted over Solas' scalp and he knew without looking that Cole had taken the moment to vanish. Sighing, Solas released Ellana and motioned to the door. "We had best not keep them waiting."

Stepping away from her just enough to cup her face in his hands, Solas kissed her, hoping to offer comfort. Cassandra and the others weren't going to harm him, truly. He just needed to outlast their suspicions and weather the interrogation to come. Considering he'd endured far worse scrutiny and suspicion from the Evanuris, he felt little more than the lash of irritation at the humans' interruption to his plans. But to Ellana it was a betrayal, a knife in the ribs, and seeing her pain made something inside him gnaw on itself.

When more pounding came at the door, Solas broke the kiss, pausing a moment to stare into her eyes, drinking in her features and brushing his thumb over her lips. "Ar lath ma, vhenan."

Releasing her, Solas strode to the door and opened it to see five Templars in full armor outside. Their presence sent cold prickles over his skin as his body instinctually reacted to their magic suppression abilities. This was something unique to this modern world. In Elvhenan magic was countered with stronger magic, or with devices like foci that could absorb and store it. The ancient elves saw no value in sapping or suppressing it.

"Apostate Solas," one of the Templars addressed him. "By decree of Divine Victoria, you are to be taken into custody." All five men tensed, hands on their sword hilts, ready to draw them.

Behind him Ellana's feet pounded over the carpet in muted thumps. She edged into the doorway next to him, glowering venomously at the Templars. "Solas is under protection of the Inquisition."

"Vhenan," Solas murmured, gentle but firm.

The speaker nodded, his eyes narrowing in the visor of his shiny, steel helmet. "Divine Victoria understands that. She also understands that the Inquisition was formed to serve the Chantry." His lips curled in a snarl. "You will yield, Inquisitor."

"Ellana, let me go with them willingly—as a show of good faith." His heart hammered on his chest, sweat beading under his armpits and along the groove in his back.

She looked at him, fury and fear and pain laced together in her beautiful face. Solas held himself rigid, refusing to reach out or kiss her in front of the guards no matter how much he longed to do so. But he did plead with her using his eyes, confident that Cassandra and these Templars weren't truly a threat. This was just another part of the Game and if he could just reassure their former allies he posed no serious threat…

Nostrils flaring with emotion, Ellana glared at the Templars now. "One of you, take me to Divine Victoria."

"We are not yours to command," the speaker snapped at her. Then, to Solas, he motioned. "Come along with us."

"Of course," Solas said, polite and docile. He entered the hallway, letting the five Templar surround him, making his body stiffen at the nearness as his magic recoiled. Sneaking a last look at Ellana, he saw her red in the face with rage, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Then the Templars started marching down the hallway—an escort of jailors.

I'll return soon, emma lath, he promised her inwardly. Please, be patient.

"You left me no choice, Inquisitor," Cassandra said, baring her teeth in a grimace. "Every report I receive from Leliana and Cullen about the Crossroads only leads me to suspect Solas further. We tried to make you see reason but—"

"Reason?" Ellana cut in, shouting and shaking with fury. "Reason? You call arresting the man who saved my life at Haven and was instrumental in closing the Breach reasonable?" Her shoulders heaved, hunched with the tension setting her body rigid. "And why? Based on ridiculous suspicions that he's some kind of vessel for one of my people's gods? The worst of them, in fact." She shook her head only to sway slightly, the room spinning.

"It is not as farfetched as you make it sound," Cassandra insisted. "We have met Mythal. We know this other wolf god of yours is free. At any rate, it is now clear Solas has been deceiving us for years, Inquisitor. If there is another explanation you're aware of, I'd welcome it. I did not want to order his arrest, but it was clear to me—as well as Leliana and Commander Cullen—that Solas has been using us to deal with these Qunari."

"And I'm glad he has," Ellana retorted, snarling. "Did you forget the Qunari planned to have us both killed in a gaatlok explosion? Solas saved your life and mine by exposing it."

"Yes," Cassandra admitted with a nod. "But it was obvious he only did so because he had run out of other options. He knew of this threat long ago but chose to hide it from us. He did not trust us, Inquisitor." Her brown eyes softened and her lips twisted in a tender frown. "He did not even trust you."

The words stung Ellana, particularly because she couldn't deny their truth. Solas had withheld so much from them—but she found she couldn't resent him for it. In his place, with so much at risk, she'd have hesitated too. She was doing just that now.

Choosing to ignore Cassandra's point, Ellana said, "How long will you keep him in custody? What charges are you leveling against him? Suspected elven trickster god? What's the punishment for that particular crime, most holy?"

Cassandra scowled, her lips pinching into a hard line. "He is an apostate, Inquisitor. I need no other charges and I will hold him until I am convinced he is no threat to the Chantry, or to the Inquisition…or to you."

Ellana scoffed with derision, rolling her eyes. "The only one posing a danger to me right now is you, Cassandra." The enormous, luxurious bedchambers Cassandra stayed in as Divine swirled around her and her stomach clenched. One hand to her head and the other to her stomach, she concentrated on not losing what little she'd eaten for breakfast.

"Inquisi—Ellana…" Cassandra said, her voice abruptly gentle with sympathy. Ellana heard her step forward and a moment later Cassandra's hand gripped her shoulder. "I am so—"

Ellana batted the other woman's hand away and withdrew several steps away, backing toward the closed door of the Divine's bedchambers. "No, you don't get to ease your conscience apologizing for this, Cassandra." Whipping around to face the door, she paused with her hand on the knob, swallowing as she fought back vertigo and bile. "Will I be allowed to visit him?"

"Of course," Cassandra replied. "And no harm will come to him—assuming he causes no trouble."

Ellana gnashed her teeth together, her grip on the doorknob tightening. "And what will you do if you believe he is a threat?"

The silence in the room stretched, heavy and thick. Ellana heard the sound of her pulse whooshing in her ears with each beat. Sweat doused her body. Finally Cassandra said, "I do not know."

Glaring over her shoulder, Ellana saw Cassandra had lowered her gaze to the floor. The Divine's expression was tight and unhappy. "You don't know or you won't tell me?" Ellana asked, almost growling.

Cassandra looked to her and then away again, her jaw squaring. "I do not know," she repeated.

But Ellana couldn't stop the answers to her own question spinning through her mind. What did the Chantry and Templars do with any mage deemed too dangerous even for a Circle? He could be made Tranquil. Her blood ran cold and her innards curdled with both horror and outrage. It seemed impossible that the humans could make an Evanuris Tranquil, but the mere idea made her want to strike Cassandra across the face.

Pivoting around again, glowering and shaking with rage, Ellana said, "Tell me they will not even consider the Rite of Tranquility. Promise me, Cassandra."

The Divine's expression pinched with pain. "I will never give such an order."

"But you'd sit back and let it happen, is that it?" Ellana asked, snarling.

Cassandra shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "No, Inquisitor. I will not allow it. But should Solas prove to be a threat I will have no option but to imprison him or order his execution. The Rite may soon look preferable to those options."

"I cannot believe you would do this," Ellana hissed, shaking her head. Her knees felt wobbly. "I thought you were my friend. I trusted you, Cassandra."

"I had no choice," Cassandra repeated, her voice and expression sad. "Solas' own actions brought us to this point, Inquisitor. My advice to you is to—"

"I don't want your advice," Ellana cut in, slashing the air with her left hand. Oddly, she felt her fingers tingle, but the Anchor remained dormant.

Clamping her mouth shut, Cassandra's eyes dropped to the floor as she sighed. "Then we have nothing further to say to each other—but I did this for you as much as for our security. I will always be your friend, and part of that is knowing when another has lost her way. Your feelings for Solas have allowed you to be blind to his—"

"Yes," Ellana growled, jabbing a finger in Cassandra's direction. "My feelings have allowed me to accept Solas for who and what he really is, not who I wish him to be. While you and the others only see him as a nefarious knife-eared apostate. If he were human you would not care."

Cassandra frowned. "And what is he exactly, Inquisitor?"

Flinching as she realized how close she'd come to revealing too much, Ellana turned and ripped open the door, calling over her shoulder as she stormed from the room: "My beloved."

The Templars around Solas stood at attention, their bodies charged with lyrium. They repelled the Fade, making the waking world hard and unchangeable, smothering the mana in Solas' blood, skin, and spirit. Considering he'd been born a mage, like all Elvhen before the Veil, the disconcerting abilities of the Templars made his flesh crawl with revulsion.

He'd been in a windowless underground stone cell for about three hours now, guarded by four Templar knights. Two remained at the locked gate over his cell while the other two stayed inside the tiny space, staring off into space and ignoring him. After the first hour Solas had given up standing and waiting in favor of sitting on the chilled stone floor. Pulling his hood up to shield his scalp form the cold stone, he leaned back and tried to doze to pass the time—but the guards in his cell commanded him to stop.

"Am I not allowed rest?" Solas asked them, scowling.

"Not without a draught to suppress dreams," the right guard told him in a deep, grumbling voice.

Solas curled his lip with a silent snarl. There were herbs to block sleepers from accessing the Fade, but Solas never used them—for obvious reasons. But the unfortunate truth of having allies turn on you was that they knew the most about you. Cassandra and Leliana may not understand his abilities as a Dreamer and they couldn't begin to grasp the power he possessed as an Evanuris, but they did know the power of making him uncomfortable and just how to do it.

Obedient and passive, Solas then remained awake and used meditation to pass the time instead. Turning his thoughts inward, he refocused the mana in his core, steadying himself for a somewhat difficult fight if it became necessary. He made sure to murmur aloud to reassure his guards that he wasn't actually sleeping. The Templars likely felt his magical ministrations, even though they were internal and should have been invisible. It was the same way he sensed their ability to deny magic. They were foils of each other and despite Solas' earlier casualness with Ellana about the dangers Templars posed to himself, now he could not help but instinctually feel a chill of fear.

At long last, after over three hours, the guards at the door to his cell admitted another Templar with a slightly different suit of armor. The metal gleamed and clanked, heavy and authoritative. The man wore a helmet with the bristling feathers Solas had seen so much of in Red Templars during the fight with Corypheus. A commander of some sort.

"Elven apostate," the commander said, his tone formal and cold. "By order of Divine Victoria, you are to submit to questioning at the hands of myself and Lady Nightingale. Will you come peaceably?"

Solas gave a slight nod. "I will."

The commander motioned with one hand. "Bring him."

The two guards inside his cell strode forward to reach for him. Solas grimaced at their firm, frigid grips as the metal bit easily through his clothing. He twisted, tearing one arm free in a little motion. "I can walk of my own—"

One guard elbowed him across the face and Solas gasped, recoiling and holding his nose. He tasted blood and felt pain radiate from where his teeth had cut into his lip. Glaring at the guard and then the commander, he spat onto the floor, biting back the surge of fury scalding him from within. "How very expected. Was that truly necessary?"

"The prisoner will not speak," the commander growled and then turned and walked out of the cell.

With his guards still holding him by the arms, Solas only half-walked from his cell as the guards also partly dragged him into the bleak gray hallway. Water dripped somewhere, leaking from a pipe or some crack in the palace's foundation. The air smelled musty and stagnant and there were only two torches flickering at opposite ends of the passageway for light. Solas focused on his mana core, like a man petting a beloved pet to find strength when facing turmoil. The strength of it provided comfort, reminding him that he could escape at any time, though he had no intention to do so.

The guards escorted him up a set of stairs and to a dingy interrogation room with a crude wooden table and several chairs. Leliana stood in one corner, her blue eyes somber as she watched. The guards brought him to one end of the table and sat him in the chair, then stepped backward and took up positions behind Solas near the door. The Templar commander stomped in after them and Solas heard the metal door creak shut on rusty hinges.

"Was hitting him really necessary?" Leliana asked, irritation flashing in her gaze.

"He resisted," the commander grumbled.

"I did not," Solas said, wiping at his bleeding nose and sniffing. "I merely suggested that I'd prefer walking here as opposed to being dragged."

Leliana's glare aimed at the commander almost made Solas smile. The thuggish brutality of the Templars was already working in his favor.

"Solas was instrumental in closing the Breach," Leliana said, still glowering at the commander. "He is to be treated with respect at all times as long as he does not resist." She reached inside her pocket and fished out a handkerchief, moving to the table and extending it out to him. "Here."

Solas took the handkerchief but didn't thank her as he dabbed at his lip and nose. "I would prefer a healing spell, if I am allowed."

"You are not," the commander said. "Magic use is forbidden in apostate prisoners."

Solas gritted his teeth together and ignored him, focusing instead on Leliana. "Surely I have earned enough respect serving the Inquisition to afford me one healing spell?"

She sighed, closing her eyes. "I will allow it."

"Lady Nightingale, I must protest—"

"You owe him this," Leliana snapped, motioning at Solas. "For hitting him despite his cooperation. Divine Victoria's orders specifically stated he was to be well-treated."

"He's an apostate," the Templar commander snarled. "A powerful one."

"I understand that," Leliana retorted. "But he has never used his magic irresponsibly while in service to the Inquisition and he is not resisting us now. There is no reason a harmless healing spell should not be allowed, especially when that spell is to undo damage that should not have happened in the first place." She turned her gaze on Solas and nodded meaningfully. "Please, Solas. Go ahead."

At her permission he drew only the barest amount of mana from his core and murmured the quick incantation over himself. A moment later the pain in his nose and lips faded, leaving only an itchy tingling as the magic knit the small wounds together. Using the handkerchief again, Solas wiped at the residual blood on his face, cleaning it away.

"Solas," Leliana began then, her voice solemn and her gaze heavy with a sort of exhausted weariness. "You know why we have taken you into custody, I'm sure. We will hold you in custody until such time as we have learned the truth of your origins."

"Then I suspect you will hold me the remainder of my natural lifetime, spymaster," Solas said with a little shake of his head. "As I have told you everything noteworthy and that has not satisfied you. I cannot confess to be something I am not."

Leliana crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him stolidly. "If you are not a vessel of Fen'Harel, then how do you explain the sentinel elves following your leadership and calling you by that name?"

"Fen'Harel is a myth," Solas said, scowling. "There are no gods."

"And no Maker?" the commander asked, his tone promising punishment if Solas answered incorrectly. Leliana's gaze had gone cold as well.

"I made no such claims," Solas murmured. "I have no evidence for or against your Maker, but in my journeys in the Fade I have seen ancient memories and reflections like ripples from a stone cast long ago into a pool. In these dreams and memories I have seen glimpses of the true figures who inspired the elven gods and so I can say with confidence that they were merely mortal mages." He set the handkerchief onto the table, folding it neatly. "The sentinel elves did not consider him to be a true god or even a singular being in the way they do with Mythal. He is much like Shartan from the Chant—a rebellious figure. Dread Wolf is more a title to the sentinel elves. As the leader of a spy network myself, Abelas' elves insisted on calling me by that name on occasion as a sign of respect."

Leliana's lips curled in a coy smile that didn't touch her eyes. "How interesting. Yet I still find myself with more questions than answers. For instance, why are you and the sentinels in the Crossroads in the first place? What are your goals?"

Solas was sweating, fighting the instinct to fidget under her scrutiny. The knot of his lie was a tangled, unstable thing and the more questions Leliana asked the more likely it'd unravel and give way. When he ran out of things that hedged on the truth without going too far he'd have to start refusing to answer. Once that happened she'd know she had him trapped. And unfortunately she'd already come upon that point.

Forcing a smile, Solas said, "I would hardly be a very good spymaster myself if I divulged such secrets."

Leliana clasped her hands behind her back and lifted her chin in an authoritative stance. "And I would be remiss if I accepted such an answer when you have been operating within the Inquisition for years as though we might become enemies. Your spies are not merely within the winter palace. You have infiltrated our ranks as well, have you not?"

"A handful," Solas hedged. "And only after I began leaving Skyhold. I needed updates when I was not physically present. My desire was to ensure the Inquisitor remained safe."

"And you did not trust myself and Commander Cullen to adequately protect her?" Leliana asked, frowning with disapproval.

"Forgive me," Solas murmured, averting his gaze, feigning embarrassment. "I worried for her safety and preferred knowing I'd seen to it personally." That wasn't untrue, either, a fact that made his voice soft with tenderness when he spoke. "And had I not done so I would not have uncovered the Qunari spies within your ranks—which allowed me to save her life and Divine Victoria's."

The commander behind him shifted while he spoke and Solas resisted the desire to look at the man's face, but he suspected he'd see something like surprise. Chances were high that Leliana and Cassandra had ordered his arrest using the Templars but neglected to share much information with them. Ellana and her advisors had been covering up the Qunari plot on their lives, determined to clean up the mess before allowing anyone else to know of it. He kept the smirk from his lips with an effort, wondering if the Templar commander regretted his earlier cruelty, though he doubted it. Even with Cassandra's reforms the Templars were just brutish thugs who weren't encouraged to think, only to obey.

Leliana frowned briefly and then switched topics. "You've said this Dragon's Breath plot by the Qunari has them collecting magical artifacts. I seem to recall your near-obsession with one particular artifact two years ago—Corypheus' elven orb. Tell me, is that perhaps why your elven spy network and the sentinels are within the Crossroads? You're seeking another orb." Her brow furrowed, her expression dangerous. "For what purpose? I cannot believe you intend to tear open the sky as Corypheus did."

He stared at her, stunned that she'd made the connection. He also realized this was why she and Cassandra had ordered his arrest so suddenly. They worried about him having access to the Qunari base and its artifacts.

Smothering his surprise, Solas feigned a small, enigmatic smile. "Such artifacts have always interested me, much in the way relics from the time of Andraste or the first Inquisition would fascinate you. However, my interest in them now has grown because my hope is to save the Inquisitor from the Anchor should it destabilize."

The spymaster was silent a moment, her eyes flicking over him, judging his answer. Slowly, her expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained wary and doubtful. "We will keep take that into consideration during our operations there."

"You are sending forces after the Qunari without me?" Solas asked, eyebrows rising with surprise and then furrowing with disapproval. "You are putting your people in danger, Leliana. Even I do not know what artifacts will be at the Qunari base. Some of them could cause explosions like the one at the conclave. If you will not allow me to guide your people than at least permit me to ask Abelas to accompany them. He can—"

"Our people will manage well enough," Leliana cut him off, smiling coyly. He realized she'd been reading his reaction and found something interesting—most likely damning.

Schooling his expression and maintaining composure despite the itch of impatience that crawled over his skin at this latest news, Solas nodded benignly. "Very well."

The thought of all those artifacts, most of them from Elvhenan, winding up in the Inquisition's hands made his stomach clench. His people would need the power and magic inside those artifacts in the inevitable wars to come as the People reclaimed their heritage as immortal magic-users. But the Qunari didn't possess the foci Zevanni had found in Tevinter, and that was the most important artifact for his plans currently.

He drew in a quick breath and asked, "What else would you know of me? I'd prefer to finish this and not to spend the night locked up here. Also, I have not had a meal since last night."

"You will be fed shortly," the Templar commander said, almost grunting the words.

"How reassuring," Solas murmured, still looking at Leliana. "Am I to be released shortly as well?"

"To a Circle, yes," the Templar commander growled.

Now Solas twisted in his seat, snarling at the commander. "Excuse me?" He faced Leliana again, feeling his cheeks flush with rage. "Is this true?"

The spymaster merely stared at him, her expression unreadable. Solas' stomach seemed to drop through the floor, his heart pounding and his body breaking out in cold sweat even as his hands clenched, shaking with fury. He would not join a Circle. For them to even threaten him with it…

"I understand you've displayed some spells that even the Tevinter ambassador was unfamiliar with," the commander said, his voice dripping with revulsion. "The Val Royeaux Circle's First Enchanter has already agreed to come here personally to assess you. She'll be here tomorrow afternoon we expect."

"Is this true?" Solas asked, hissing. His lips curled back from his teeth as he glared at Leliana, shaking with rage. "After three years of loyal service to the Inquisition, this is my reward? To be enslaved inside one of your Circles?" Leliana met his stare but remained silent, her eyes searching over him and her body tense.

"The White Spire is hardly a prison," the commander said, snorting. "The mages live in pampered luxury, as good as any nobles. They'd certainly be able to get you better clothes than what you're wearing now."

"Yes," Solas spat without looking at the other man. "But even a gilded cage is still a cage and the mages are anything but free. The Chantry takes their children away and forbids them from seeing their families or taking lovers." He'd never be able to live freely with Ellana, never raise their child…

"I'm sure they'd make an exception for you," the commander said snidely.

"Yes, and I will still be a slave to your petty Andrastian fear of magic."

"Watch your tongue," the commander snarled.

"Or what?" Solas snapped, glowering over his shoulder at the Templar. "What more can you threaten me with? A lifetime of imprisonment here? What is the difference?"

"You could always be made Tranquil," the commander said, grinning.

Cursing in elven, Solas fought to breathe through his fury. His cheeks burned as if aflame. Gnashing his teeth and facing Leliana again, Solas placed his fists on the table, glaring at the spymaster. "I have nothing further to say to either of you." He could feel his core seething, ready to boil over with the power of his anger. "Please escort me to my cell."

Now at last Leliana arched an eyebrow. "You will not submit to the First Enchanter's assessment of your magical abilities?"

"Return me to my cell," Solas growled. Before I petrify you all. He stared Leliana down, waiting for her to flinch or reveal this had been a ruse to test the limits of his patience. Behind him the Templar commander shifted and Solas felt his skin prickle as the other man likely prepared for a fight. He could probably feel Solas' tumultuous magic right at his fingertips, ready to attack. What he didn't know was that the attack would happen without Solas even moving. There'd be no spoken spell, no wave of his hand or flick of his fingers. He'd brace for an attack when he felt Solas draw the mana but he'd never have a chance to deflect it before he turned into stone.

Leliana clucked her tongue then, smiling her small, coy smile. "Solas, there's no need for you to get so angry over this. I would never force the Inquisitor's Fade expert into a Circle. My only stipulation is that you allow the White Spire's First Enchanter to assess your magical talents and to collect a few drops of your blood in a phylactery. That will be enough to reassure the Templars you—"

"No," Solas spat, interrupting her. "I will not relinquish my blood to anyone." He thumped his fists on the table. "We are finished here."

"Insufferable, stubborn knife-ear," the commander grumbled behind Solas.

"Call me that again and I will kill you," Solas growled only to wince as his temper got the better of him.

"Try it," the commander taunted sarcastically and then grunted. "Knife-ear."

"Enough," Leliana intervened, raising her voice. "Commander, please escort the prisoner back to his cell—and do not make him bleed this time." Her blue eyes pinned Solas. "We will continue this discussion after you have had a meal and had some time to contemplate my offer. We will not force you into a Circle should you agree to certain concessions—including the phylactery. But we will discuss those later." She motioned toward the commander. "Take him."

Solas rose to his feet and pivoted to glare at the commander before the other man could reach him. The Templar stiffened, ready to fight, but Solas strode past him for the door at a brisk but steady pace. Additional guards had gathered outside the interrogation room and several had drawn their swords and had their shields raised. Solas let them surround him, hoping they'd touch him or manhandle him along the way and make him lose his temper again—if only because he could be done with this charade. His patience had grown as thin as the Veil around the Breach in Haven. At any misstep by his guards he'd crack like an egg and wind up petrifying the lot of them.

At his cell he strode immediately to the far wall and watched with his heart pounding, his jaw clenched and shoulders stiff as the guards locked the gate. Two guards stood inside his cell with him, still watching him to make sure he didn't sleep. Glaring at them as he called out to the hallway, Solas said, "I request I be allowed to speak with Inquisitor Lavellan."

"Shut up," a guard growled from outside.

If they refused to release him without forcing him to provide blood for a phylactery, which would allow him to be tracked by Templars, Solas would have no choice but to show his hand and escape. To keep himself calm he returned to meditation, but his mind refused to empty and his fingers kept twitching, imagining the spells he would cast. The Templars' presence still made his skin prickle as they deadened the power of magic within their vicinity but Solas knew it'd take an army of them to dampen his magic. He had only to wait a little longer to be sure…

Next Chapter:

"Solas," Ellana shouted, shaking the bars of his cell. She could just see Solas' face, his lips curled in a snarl of rage as the Templar moved to stand in the doorway, his back to his companion as yet another barrier between their prisoner and Ellana. "Damn you—he was just saying goodbye!"

"We warned you," the guard to her left snarled. "No elven rubbish." He reached for her, his armored hands rough and bruising. Ellana fought, letting out a cry and twisting. Defiant with fury, she spat, "Art u na'lin emma assan, shemlen." I will see your blood on my arrow.