Part Two:
Serana turned the trebuchet's gear one last time before hearing the satisfying click of its intended position locking into place.
"It's ready!" She called out, jumping down from the low hanging perch.
Serana exchanged quick glances with her companions. They all nodded in unison as Serana prepared to activate the trebuchet's lever. However, a deafening, roaring screech interrupted their plans from above. The dragon unleashed a torrent of thick fire across the small field, creating a barrier between Serana and her crew. The dense, blazing flames obscured her vision, and the intense heat made it unbearable to let her eyes linger.
"Solas!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "Cassandra! Varric!"
The thunderous roar of flames intensified, and Serana could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Sensing the dragon approaching, she swiftly tucked and rolled to a small, sheltered area away from the fire, blades drawn. The dragon descended from the skies with the predatory elegance of a raptor closing in for a kill, landing with ironic grace just a few meters from the trebuchet. Now, the flames formed a menacing circle around Serana and the trebuchet.
Serana's adrenaline surged, her eyes scanning her surroundings while mentally calculating the distance to the lever. Abruptly, her thoughts halted as a dark, revenant-like figure emerged, walking through the flames seemingly untouched. The mark on her hand felt ablaze, causing her to reflexively drop her blade. A moment of paralysis set in as the creature came fully into view, his appearance embodying horror in every sense of the word.
His voice resonated in her ears as if he stood right beside her, sending a chill down her spine. The mention of him calling himself a god stirred a cold sensation, swiftly replaced by a fiery defiance burning deep within her belly and filling her chest. Corypheus. The Elder One. She wanted to rip the remnants of his face off his corpse-like body.
"I will not yield to you or anyone, monster," she spat venomously. "You are the pretender. My people walked this plane before the likes of you were even a thought."
He growled menacingly before pulling an opaque sphere from his robes.
Serana stifled a gasp, the memory of her vision crisp in her mind. "That doesn't belong to you." she snarled, feeling a deep sense of outrage at the sight of it in his grasp.
Corypheus held the orb, its power activating and red tendrils swirling around it.
Serana fought the urge to kneel in pain as the mark flared in response. She ground her teeth, stiffening her neck and shutting her eyes tightly in an effort to remain standing.
"I am here for the anchor," he began, the orb glowing brighter. "The process of removing it begins now."
As he reached for her with a glowing clawed hand, her mark sparked painfully, causing her to finally fall to her knees in agony. Hot, angry tears filled her eyes, burning her skin as they spilled over.
He cursed her for undoing his work with the very tool he meant to use to destroy the veil and remake the world in his image.
"The gall," he growled at her.
"Your first mistake was thinking no one would stop you," she managed through gritted teeth.
Corypheus hid the orb in his robes once more and stalked towards her. He grabbed her sparking arm forcefully, holding her up like a ragdoll.
"I once breached the fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the Empire in person," he said, his hot putrid breath brushing her across her face. "I found only chaos and corruption; dead whispers."
His grip on her arm tightened painfully causing Serana to cry out before continuing his verbal onslaught. His cold dead eyes bore into hers as he spoke of his thousand-year confusion coming to an end. He would champion the blighted world and reimagine it as he saw fit.
"Beg I succeed," he snarled in her face. "For I have seen the throne of the gods and it was empty."
He hurled Serana through the air, her back colliding with the trebuchet's positioning gear. Gasping for air, her lungs burned with each short intake. Realizing her proximity to the lever, she clumsily rolled off the perch, thudding onto the cold, hard ground. Corypheus and the dragon advanced slowly, inducing a wave of disgust in her stomach.
Observing her chance, she activated the lever with an awkward thrust of her pocket dagger, then collapsed to the ground as the trebuchet launched its payload into the mountains. Almost instinctively, Serana rolled under the trebuchet, descending through half-broken planks into a hole in the ground. Darkness clouded her vision, and a warm sensation of falling into a billowy cloud left her disoriented. Her body touched the ground gently, as if placed there by a nurturing giant. Shivering, her eyes rolled back, and darkness consumed her.
As Serana lay on the ground, a dream-like state enveloped her consciousness. A large white wolf with golden eyes appeared before her, its telepathic voice urging her to rise. "Get up, Len'dirthavaren," it whispered in her mind. Despite her exhaustion, Serana summoned the remnants of her strength to stand, her curiosity eclipsed by weariness.
Following the wolf through the dark, cavernous path, Serana refrained from questioning its cryptic words or origins. As they encountered a rift along the way, the wolf guided her in utilizing her anchor to extract more magic, enhancing her ability to combat the demons. After vanquishing the foes and closing the rift, Serana's energy waned, and the wolf supported her weight by walking closely alongside.
When they confronted the rift, Serana had mustered the last reserves of her magical strength, guided by the wolf's telepathic instructions. The surge of power momentarily invigorated her, but the toll on her already depleted energy reserves was evident. The cavern's chill intensified, and Serana's limbs felt like lead, the weight of fatigue pulling her down. Serana staggered, her steps labored, and the weight of exhaustion bore down on her weakened frame. The wolf's ethereal guidance became a lifeline as the cold, damp air seeped into her bones, intensifying the shivers that coursed through her body. Despite the wolf's silent encouragement, each step felt like an arduous journey.
Exiting the cave into the biting cold of heavy snowfall, the wolf continued its silent guidance. The frigid air gnawed at Serana's senses, and the once-gentle snow now felt like icy needles against her skin. With each passing moment, the cold seeped deeper into her bones, sapping what little warmth remained. The wolf pressed on, a steadfast companion in the relentless storm, until Serana, on the brink of collapse, heard Solas' distant voice. As the Inquisition forces approached, Solas' voice rang out again, calling for her. Weakened, Serana dropped to her knees in the deep snow, her consciousness fading to black, the echo of Solas' voice the last thing she heard.
Amidst the swirling uncertainty, Cullen approached Solas with a furrowed brow, concern etched across his features. "Solas, we've scoured the area. There's no sign of the Herald. Are you certain she survived that avalanche?"
Solas, his eyes betraying a depth of understanding beyond immediate explanation, met Cullen's gaze. "I am sure of it. The spirits of the Fade whisper their assurances to me." She is alive, and her path is intertwined with greater threads than we comprehend, he finished in his mind.
Cullen, skeptical yet compelled by the urgency in Solas' voice, pressed for more clarity. "How can you be so certain? The avalanche was relentless, and the terrain unforgiving."
Solas, his expression holding a mix of defiance and conviction, responded, "The Fade speaks in riddles, but its truths are unwavering. Trust me; we cannot afford to lose her."
Reluctantly, Cullen relayed the orders to the Inquisition forces, his voice echoing Solas' urgency. "Spread out, search meticulously. The Herald is out there, and we cannot leave her fate to chance." He shook his head disbelievingly, hoping he wasn't placing what remained of their troops in risk at the word of an apostate mage.
As Solas navigated the treacherous terrain in search of Serana, a familiar voice echoed in his mind, and he recognized the ethereal resonance of the white wolf. "We meet again," Solas mused silently, acknowledging the creature that had guarded Serana's repose that fateful night in the forest. "You have been a silent witness to more than I anticipated."
The wolf's telepathic response reverberated in Solas' thoughts, carrying a mysterious air. "Fen'harel, I have watched and waited. The threads of fate weave a complex tapestry around this one, and for the moment, I am but a guide in her journey."
Solas, intrigued by the wolf's connection to both Serana and himself, inquired further. "What manner of spirit or creature are you? Your knowledge extends beyond the ordinary, and your presence is not of the Fade I know."
The wolf's response carried the weight of ancient knowledge. "I am Len'dirthavaren's guardian, a sentinel of forgotten realms. In your shadowed past, our paths have intertwined. Now, they converge once more in the wake of chaos."
As the wolf led Solas closer to Serana's location, the Inquisition forces trailing in their wake, Solas probed for more understanding. "Why reveal yourself now, and what is your purpose in aiding the girl?"
The wolf's reply resonated with enigmatic purpose. "The time for the veil to be lifted approaches. Serana, child of promise, walks a path entwined with yours. The answers lie not only in the unraveling of her destiny but in the unveiling of truths long concealed."
Solas, absorbing the cryptic revelations, pressed on through the snowy expanse, the white wolf guiding him closer to the woman whose fate was intricately enmeshed with his own.
As Solas moved through the wintry landscape, the weight of impending revelations gnawed at him. The thought of Serana rejecting him, unable to fathom the intricate motives behind the creation of the Veil, filled him with a profound sense of dread. The possibility of her incomprehension, coupled with the potential for her rejection, cast a shadow over his steps, adding a layer of heaviness to the already burdened path he had tread. In the quiet of his thoughts, the fear of estrangement from the one who had begun to confound his emotions, loomed like a haunting specter, leaving Solas to grapple with the unsettling uncertainty that lay ahead.
Continuing to venture through the snow-blanketed terrain, a subtle shift in the air caught his attention. The familiar energy of Serana's presence tingled at the edge of his senses, and he turned to find her standing not far away. Relief and a certain vulnerability marked his expression as he beheld her.
In that moment, the white wolf, still a silent companion, seemed to sense a juncture in the weaving threads of fate. "We shall meet again, Fen'Harel," the wolf communicated cryptically, its golden eyes fixed on Solas as if holding within them the weight of unspoken truths.
Solas, caught between the anticipation of reunion and the unresolved mysteries of the future, met the wolf's gaze. The parting words echoed in his mind, leaving him with a sense of both foreboding and inevitability as Serana, clearly injured and weakened, collapsed to the ground.
As Serana slept in the makeshift Inquisition camp, Solas maintained a vigilant watch over her, his concern etched across his usually composed features. The passage of a whole day seemed an eternity to him, every moment marked by a silent worry that lingered like a shadow.
Solas, who had witnessed countless ages unfold, found himself tethered to the fragility of Serana's mortal form. His desire for her well-being transcended the boundaries of mere curiosity or obligation. The weight of worry for her safety rested heavily on his shoulders, revealing a side of him rarely exposed—a vulnerability that echoed through the quiet moments as she slumbered.
In those fleeting hours, his thoughts were consumed not only by the imminent threat of Corypheus but by an earnest wish to see Serana awaken and thrive. The desire for her success against the looming darkness became a silent fervor within him, a whisper of hope that carried the weight of ancient regrets and a yearning for redemption. Solas, the observer of ages, Dread Wolf, now found himself ensnared in the intricacies of a single life, fervently hoping that Serana would rise, not just from her slumber, but to the challenges that awaited her.
As Solas continued to keep a watchful eye on Serana, a resolve crystallized within him. The weight of his concealed identity and the truth about the orb he carried pressed upon him, demanding acknowledgment. In the quiet moments of the camp, he steeled himself, recognizing that the time for secrets had passed.
Determined to unburden his soul, Solas resolved to reveal the truth to Serana. The weight of millennia-long secrets and the consequences of his actions lingered in his gaze as he prepared to lay bare the revelations that would undoubtedly reshape their journey together. The camp, once a haven of temporary respite, now held the charged atmosphere of imminent confessions, and Solas, with a mix of trepidation and conviction, readied himself to share the truths that had long remained shrouded in the shadows of his enigmatic past.
But first, she must rest, he thought to himself, already feeling himself withdraw from his sudden resolution to be forthcoming.
A young Serana sat on the floor of her room, her ear pressed firmly against the door. She could hear her mother's voice rise and fall, punctuated with angry hisses every other word. A man's voice responded, soft and difficult to make out through the door.
Serana jumped when she heard the tell-tale sound of the main door opening and closing, an eerie silence followed by footsteps approaching her door. She dashed toward her bed, throwing herself haphazardly across the covers, clumsily trying to regain her breath after the rush of adrenaline.
Her mother stepped in, her face stern until meeting her daughter's eyes. Immediately, a warmth lit up her face, illuminating her warm amber eyes; her long silver tresses braided into a thick cord which rested on her right shoulder gracefully.
"What is my little girl up to?" she said with a twinkle in her eye. She sat at the edge of Serana's bed, smoothing the girl's auburn hair out of her delicate face.
Serana studied her mother's face. So beautiful, she thought. Deciding to be honest, Serana confessed she was trying to listen in on the conversation taking place in the main room. Her lips pressed into a line remembering the distress in her mother's tone.
"Is everything alright, a'ma?" Serana's eyes pleaded for the truth.
Her mother's smile waned as she looked at the door and back at her daughter. "All will be well, emm'asha."
"A'ma, I 'm nearly ten years old. I can try to understand, if you would only just tell me," Serana's voice broke, but she cleared her throat and straightened her back, defiance blazing in her gaze.
Her mother's warm smile graced her face once more, the pride in her eyes meeting her daughter's strength. "You are a wise little girl. Much wiser than I was at your age, I would say. But there are things that even a wise young elf should be protected from."
"Protected?" Serana asked, worriedly furrowing her brow. "From what?
"Perhaps the right question would be from who, dhalen." Serana's mother said, scooping her up into her lap and hugging her tightly. "I love you dearly. Fiercely. And I will not let any harm come to you so long as I live."
Serana could feel consciousness beginning to pull at her, her limbs still feeling heavy and aching. Her lids felt heavy as they opened slowly. She stared through blurry eyes at the thick red canopy over her head. She shut her eyes tightly, shaking off her dream. There was so little she remembered of her childhood; the days before waking inside an unknown Keeper's tent, although a kind stranger that would go on to teach her much of the world.
She wanted to cry at the lost memories, and the feeling of love and warmth in her mother's embrace. Some memories felt so clear, while others teased at the edges of her recollection, daring her to allow the memories to take shape in her mind. Each time she tried to remember more than the memories relived in dreams, she felt as though there were a literal block in her mind, a physical obstruction keeping her from the truth of her past.
Her throat felt dry and looking around her she noticed Mother Giselle at her feet, wringing a steaming washcloth with her bare hands.
"She wakes," said Mother Giselle with a small smile. She pressed the warm wash cloth against Serana's forehead lightly. "It is a confirmation of the Maker's hand upon you that you yet live, child."
Serana closed her eyes groggily, images of a white wolf with golden eyes flickering across her closed lids. She sat up, panting and shivering.
"You must rest," Mother Giselle said, her voice filled with concern. "Please," she said, gently pressing Serana's shoulders back down toward the makeshift cot.
"Solas," Serana breathed, allowing herself to be lowered. "Where are they? Did they make it out alive?" She asked hoarsely.
"We did," Solas said, stepping into the tent, his face wearing a peculiar expression. "If we may have a moment…" he nodded to Mother Giselle.
She nodded, a slight hint of disapproval in her gaze, before stepping out of the tent.
"Solas," Serana breathed again, "I am so glad you are alive. The others?"
"They are well enough that you should focus only on gathering your strength." He sat beside her. Looking down at her hand, he seemed lost in deliberation, before taking her hand in his, gingerly stroking her soft skin with the pad of his thumb.
Taking great comfort in the warmth of his touch, Serana began to cry softly, hot tears spilling down the sides of her face.
Solas watched her intently, his jaw muscles clenching in a strained effort to remain composed.
"You are safe now," he said soothingly. "Although, I should tell you that everyone is eager to know how you survived."
"How did you survive?" Serana managed to say with a hoarse rasp, her tears now mere sniffling. "I was so sure that dragon's attack had killed you all."
"Cassandra managed to shelter Varric behind her shield, while I cast a barrier allowing us to retreat to a safe distance. There was no way through the flames, even with the strongest barrier I could conjure." His hand tightened around hers briefly, before meeting her eyes with a solemn gaze.
Serana looked down at his hand, noticing the faint traces of a burn scar. It appeared years old, but she knew it was not there previously, and immediately knew that the burns he suffered trying to traverse those flames did him great bodily harm.
"Solas," she said, sitting up, not letting go of his hand. "You could have died."
"I nearly did," he laughed dryly. "Varric says Cassandra threw me over her shoulder, yet the details on how we managed to regroup with the rest of our forces remain unclear."
Serana shook her head. "It all feels so surreal. One moment I'm sent to the Conclave, and the next I am up against an old Tevinter Magister."
Solas arched a brow. "Do tell," he said.
"I met him," she began, shaking her head once more. "The "elder one". He was horrific, Solas. Looked like a corpse. His face was… just awful. His skin was stretched onto his skull as though some macabre mask." She shivered at the memory of the creature.
"His name is Corypheus. He said he breached the Golden City. All of the stories– I just can't piece and parcel what is true anymore." Serana trailed off with a faraway look in her eyes.
Solas could only feel grateful at her inattentiveness at that moment. He felt dread well up within him, concerned at what else Corypheus may have said. Remembering his resolution to come clean to her, he cleared his throat abruptly.
"Serana–"
"He had this orb, it was unlike anything I have seen in the real world." She inwardly winced at her wording, but shrugged the thought away. This was no time to cling to secrets, she thought.
"The orb," Solas said, letting go of her hand and standing. He walked toward the tent flaps, and cast a glance outside before turning to her again. "Corypheus used it to open the breach, unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived, nor am I certain of how people will react when they learn of the artifact's origin." Solas stood rigidly, looking down at Serana who was still seated.
"It is Elven," Serana said quietly.
His silence confirmed her estimation louder than words could have.
"Foci," she whispered.
Solas shifted, his brow furrowed as he crouched to meet her eyes. "What did you say?"
"I don't know how I know it," she said, shaking her head, her silver mane spilling over her shoulders like waves. "I just do. It is powerful, Solas. It seemed ineffective toward removing this… anchor, but I know he will try to use it again. We can't let that happen."
She looked in his eyes, her gaze searching his own for an answer, one he felt unprepared to give.
"We will not," he said firmly.
After a brief moment of silence, Serana asked, "How do you know so much about the orb, Solas?"
Solas stood, turning toward the tent flaps once more. Serana noticed his shoulders slump ever so slightly, almost as if watching a man surrender to internal defeat.
"The Fade is a treasure trove of knowledge for those who ask the right questions." Coward. He shut his eyes tightly, feeling the knot in his chest grow tighter.
"There is a fortress to the north of here, about a two-day march. It is old, yet strong and will provide a perfect home base for the Inquisition. We must make preparations to leave once you are up for the task."
Without turning toward her, he lifted one flap before saying, "I am glad you survived, lethallan. Truly." Letting the flap close behind him, Solas somberly stalked to his tent, feeling the hot glare from Mother Giselle on his back.
Serana felt a great weight settle in her chest. She knew he was keeping something from her. She could feel it, and she fought the urge to run after him and shake it out of him. Sighing, she stood shakily before taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes, continuing to take deep breaths, feeling her spirit calm, and her body's aches slowly dissipate. A soft breeze gently lifted the flaps of her tent, allowing a flurry of snowflakes to swirl around her face. In the gentleness of the breeze she could hear the voice of the one who called to her in dreams. The one who sent her out into the world with little answers. Come find me, child.
Serana opened her eyes slowly, her throat feeling dryer than before as she swallowed nervously. Perhaps I will get some answers tonight, she thought, mentally bracing for what lay ahead.