~ Prelude ~

As the light of dawn gracefully infiltrated the dense canopy of the ancient forest, Serana awoke to a scene of enchantment. Shafts of golden sunlight filtered through the emerald leaves of broad trunked trees that touched the skies effortlessly, casting a gentle warmth upon the elven treetop homes. Dew-kissed leaves glistened like jewels, and the air was infused with the earthy perfume of moss and ferns.

Birdsong, harmonizing with the rustling leaves, filled the air as the creatures of the forest began their morning chorus.

Serana relished the sounds that embraced her as she stepped through the tree line to reach the clearing. Her fingers traced the intricate carvings adorning the tree trunks, crafted by generations of Dalish artisans. Elven sentinels stood tall, their silhouettes blending with the trunks, guardians of this sacred woodland realm, eyes following her as she passed.

The clearing welcomed her, as it did every morning, with a vast sky painted in hues of rose and gold, reflecting off the dewdrops like scattered stardust. In this tranquil ritual of awakening, Serana embraced her profound connection with nature, enveloped by the timeless beauty of her ancestral home, untouched by the outside world. Protected by the spirit of Asha'bellanar. The whispers of the forest's protector filled Serana's ears.

It is time. The whisper tenderly brushed Serana's face, which then whispered through the trees guarding the entrance to the clearing.

Serana sighed, weariness gripping her heart as the idea of departing from her home weighed on her. Yet, she understood that whatever her clan's sage old protector needed her to do was vital for the survival of her people, and perhaps, all of Thedas.


~ One ~

The onset of winter made its presence known through the brisk, cool air, nipping at the edges of Solas' ears. From his vantage point, he observed a diverse assembly converging on the Temple of Andraste grounds—Circle Mages, Templars, and a plethora of Chantry officials. The unmistakable arrival of the Divine herself became evident. Divine Justinia's grand procession included a multitude of Templars and Seekers. Solas couldn't hide his distaste for the ostentatious display; the concentration of power and reverence in one individual unsettled him. Surprisingly swift, the procession moved faster than anticipated, allowing the Divine to disembark her chariot and enter the Temple of Andraste's courtyard in under ten minutes. Impressed, Solas acknowledged the Divine's promptness, contrasting his initial expectation of a prolonged wait for the commencement of the Conclave charade.

As the crowds followed the Divine's lead, Solas sought out yet another vantage point from which to observe the gathering about to unfold in the temple's courtyard. While watching the various factions assume their positions as though seemingly rehearsed, a figure captured his attention from across the expanse. Standing beside a pillar just a stone's throw away from the Divine's seat, this person somehow eluded the notice of everyone else, leaving Solas perplexed. How had they managed to get so close to the courtyard's center? Even Solas had to maintain a considerable distance, both to avoid drawing attention and due to the heavily guarded premises.

As the Divine commenced her speech, an eerie hush enveloped the crowd, raising the hairs on the back of Solas' neck. Despite the profound silence that gripped the gathering, Solas found it challenging to concentrate on anything other than his recent discovery. Squinting his eyes, he strained to discern the shadowy figure beside the pillar. It became apparent that the figure was a young woman, clad in lightweight armor crafted from more cloth and leather than metallic materials. A sizable hood obscured more than half of her face, leaving only a fraction visible. What Solas could discern revealed a solemn expression, her lips pressed into a straight line, exuding an air of tension. The young woman subtly edged along the pillar, as if drawing nearer to eavesdrop or observe. Perhaps both.

Apprehension swelled within Solas as he sensed a tangible tension enveloping the Chantry courtyard. Magic? His thoughts raced. He scrutinized the young woman more intently, searching for any signs of magical implements or hand gestures. Just as he delved into his observations, chaos erupted with a resounding crack echoing from the courtyard's center. An emerald-colored sphere materialized, hovering above the colossal statue of Andraste. Gasps and screams pierced the air as an ominous swirl engulfed those in proximity to the sphere, including the Divine and the mysterious young woman.

In an instant, the remaining people erupted into shouts, casting alarmed and panicked glances at each other. Templars drew their swords and accused the mages of treachery. The mages vehemently refuted the allegations, and just as a conflict seemed inevitable, the sphere abruptly vanished. The tension in the air escalated, accompanied by a dense mist of magic that enveloped the courtyard.

Solas swiftly descended from his vantage point, only to be seized forcefully by an armed female warrior. The painted white swirls of a flaming eye on her breastplate immediately marked her as a Seeker. Her expression was stern, her eyes a blend of accusation and apprehension. A lengthy, deep scar marked the side of her face, undoubtedly a testament to her seasoned experience in numerous battles.

"Where do you think you are going?" she asked. She spoke with an Orlesian lilt, and her voice resonated with a depth and strength that aligned seamlessly with her stern countenance.

Solas remained silent, his gaze fixated on the spot where the sphere had materialized and disappeared mere moments ago.

He straightened, making no attempt to loosen her hold, recognizing it would be futile. "That magic will lead to an explosion. Everyone must be cleared from the area. Now," he urged.

Her incredulous expression morphed into shock as another crackling blow sliced across the sky. Releasing Solas' arm, she swiftly began issuing orders for the evacuation. Other soldiers followed her lead, rallying the crowd to clear out. As she sprinted back in Solas' direction, she seized his arm once more, dragging him along with the evacuating masses. In the chaos of the moment, she was determined not to let a potential suspect slip away.

Ominous sounds continued erupting from above, like whips cracking across the sky. Solas held his breath as the magic in the air intensified, causing a disconcerting unease in his stomach. While a significant portion of the crowd managed to reach the temple's gates, others were ensnared in the ensuing explosion that painted the sky in a fiery green haze. Demons emerged from the tear in the sky, cascading down like heavy raindrops from a storm cloud.

Both the armed and unarmed alike fought with every ounce of strength they could summon. After what felt like an eternity, the courtyard was momentarily cleared of demons.

"There!" cried the Seeker. She pointed at what seemed like a lifeless body near the now destroyed statue of Andraste.

"The girl…" Solas murmured to himself, his brow furrowing with consternation as he realized hers was the only body to rematerialize after the explosion.

The Seeker ran toward the body and pulled back the hood covering the young woman's face. Her face bore the markings of a Dalish elf. A beautiful flow of interlocking roots and veins blossomed across her forehead, curving up each cheek like wings. Solas instantly recognized the vallaslin, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.


Solas observed his patient's rhythmic breathing. Despite numerous attempts to awaken her, all proved futile. Her left hand pulsated intermittently, emitting flashes of green embers and emitting crackling hums. When she was initially brought to the Haven cells, her hand crackled incessantly. Eventually, Solas managed to temper the effect with a makeshift barrier, sourcing elements of his ancient knowledge, but limited by his weakened state.

"It will have to do for now," he thought with a grimace.

The young elf possessed soft features, fair-skinned with a golden undertone that paired delicately with the deep brown of her vallaslin. Her hair, the color of burnt amber, was intricately woven into braids that coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Delicate wisps of hair framed her features, as if tenderly cradling the vallaslin that concealed most of her natural face.

Adan and Solas kept a vigil over the girl for three days until she awoke in the middle of the night; her eyes bright and wide, yet devoid of any discernible emotion. Just as quickly as she awoke, however, she fell back into a fitful sleep.

"I guess we'll have to let Seeker Pentaghast and Lady Nightingale know the prisoner is responsive. Sort of," Adan said, shrugging before sauntering off.

Solas simply nodded, never averting his gaze from their patient. The word "prisoner" irked him, evoking a strong sense of injustice that he had to swallow back. He knew Cassandra had eyes on him at all times, making him feel like a prisoner without chains. Looking at the young woman's hand once more, Solas turned on his heel in frustration. If she couldn't master the anchor, they were all surely doomed.

When Solas next laid eyes on the young elf, he was stunned by the way she dashed in and out of view as she darted across the field, slashing at demons in every direction. Her grace and strength in battle reminded him of seasoned warriors, unexpected given her apparent youth. After the wave of demons had been cleared, he quickly seized her wrist and directed her hand toward the tear. As expected, the mark on her hand reacted with the tear's energy, closing it. Shock and relief adorned everyone's faces except his; he simply wore a bemused smirk. Their eyes met, and she hastily snatched her hand back.

"What did you do?" she asked breathlessly.

"I did nothing," he said as his smirk deepened. "The credit is yours."

"Well, at least this is good for something," she said, examining her hand.

"Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts left in the breach's wake. And… it seems I was correct." He said, sounding pleased with himself.

"Meaning it could also close the breach itself." Cassandra said pensively.

"Possibly," Solas said. He clasped his hands and locked eyes with the young elf before saying, "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

Solas watched her as she looked at her surroundings with no discernible emotion. Her ability to remain composed in the wake of all such chaos gave him pause.

He learned her name was Serana Lavellan and eyed her silently while she spoke with Varric and Cassandra. She spoke in a soft, deliberate manner, seemingly choosing every word with great care.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," he said, smiling warmly. "I'm pleased to see you still live."

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,'" interjected Varric sarcastically.

Serana arched an eyebrow and turned her gaze to Solas. There was a studious air about her as she remarked, "You seem to know a great deal about it all."

Cassandra commented on Solas being an apostate, noting his extensive knowledge in magical matters. Serana keenly observed a fleeting hint of discomfort that flashed in Solas' eyes.

"Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra." He said lightly, and then looked at Serana. "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond the experience of any Circle Mage." Maintaining a small smile, he continued addressing Serana.

"I came to offer whatever help I can give with the breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin." He added.

"I see," Serana said, eyeing him thoughtfully.

Solas found it challenging to discern her perception of him. Her gaze seemed to penetrate him, as if she could see through to his depths, sending a chill up his spine. Guilt stirred within him, promptly silenced by the newfound hope that things might be made right again. Her mark held the potential to restore what was lost—all he had lost and would lose again if he couldn't find a way to close the breach.


Solas, Serana, Varric, and Cassandra approached the first rift in the courtyard. As they closed the distance, Solas couldn't help but wince inwardly at the sound of Corypheus' voice.

"What are we hearing?" Cassandra asked.

"At a guess? The person who created the breach," Solas replied emotionless, suppressing the tempest within.

At Solas' suggestion, Serana opened the closed rift to repair the tear properly. The battle was hard-fought, and by the end, Serana released a fatigued sigh as she gazed at the glowing, ebbing rift. She held her hand out awkwardly, uncertain whether to say something or what exactly to do next.

Solas approached her and gently took hold of her wrist, aiming it higher.

"Feel the veil, sense the tear and repair it in your mind's eye," he guided her in a hushed voice.

Serena swallowed dryly before closing her eyes, visualizing herself mending an open wound. The energy surged through her hand and down her arm, spreading throughout her body. She felt as though she was on fire from the inside out. The humming of the breach intensified before everything went black.


Serana jolted awake, her eyes scanning the dimly lit room in confusion. A throbbing pain in her forehead made her groan and she cradled her head in her hands. A young elven girl entered and upon noticing Serana sitting up, knelt before her, offering hurried apologies.

Rising from bed, Serana, despite her shaky knees, carefully lifted the elven girl, insisting, "We bow to no one, sister."

"'At once' she said. I must go tell her you've risen, my lady." The girl's voice trembled. She turned and exited the cabin briskly.

Serana sighed, taking in the warm surroundings of the small cabin, noting the well-tended fireplace. The exhaustion hit her, and she sat on the edge of the bed, attempting to soothe her discomfort by rubbing her temples. Memories of the chaotic events at the Chantry were elusive, leaving her feeling disoriented.

It all appeared hazy to her in her current state. The bedlam at the Chantry unfolded so swiftly that it disappeared from her immediate recollection. She recalled the reason for her presence at the Conclave, although gathering information was all she could ascribe to her mission, the finer details eluded her grasp. Adding another level of complexity to the whole matter, the peculiar touch of magic in the air before sensing her essence being drawn into another realm lacked any real answers. Her memories halted there, and any effort to recollect beyond that point inevitably resulted in a piercing shrill that intensified the throbbing in her already aching head. The stillness within the compact cabin only amplified the ringing in her ears.

Serana felt a sudden wave of nausea and was sure she would begin to hurl at any moment when a soft knock sounded at the door. She tried standing but immediately sat back down, the force of swaying vertigo threatening to knock her down.

"Just enter," she called out, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

Solas' face was quickly marked with concern at the sight of Serana's pale visage. He closed the door behind him and walked over to Serana intently. Kneeling before her, he placed the back of his hand on her forehead.

"You've a fever," he stated matter-of-factly.

With a swiftness that might have startled a healthier version of herself, Serana could only observe as Solas assisted her in reclining back onto the bed.

"What's wrong with me?" She whispered. She tried clearing her throat, but her strength waned as more time passed.

"I gather the amount of magic flowing through you due to the mark may be the culprit." His face was grave as he studied the mark on her hand. Upon meeting her gaze, he offered a reassuring smile.

"You will feel better soon," he said, patting her hand gently.

"Why are you helping me?" Serana inquired, a slight resurgence of strength coursing through her. A tingling warmth enveloped her, and her symptoms appeared to be gradually receding. "Healing?" She asked him quietly.

"Of a sort," he mused, his grin quickly replaced by a slight grimace. "Lady Lavellan, this mark is... ancient. If we cannot find a way to control it, it may kill you."

His eyes appeared to delve into hers, seeking some unspoken emotion.

She arched her brow quizzically. "Lady? Please, just call me Serana," she managed to say with a raspy voice. Closing her eyes momentarily and replaying his words in her mind, she felt a lump forming in her throat. "And I know you're right," she whispered. "Why is this happening?"

Seated in the chair beside her bed, Solas let out a quiet sigh. He avoided meeting her eyes, choosing instead to focus on her hand once more.

"I have spent many years traveling through the Fade, observing memories otherwise dead to this physical realm," he began and willed himself to meet her eyes before continuing. "I have seen men seek great power only to be eviscerated from within by that very power. I've witnessed the demise of the innocent, entangled in the aftermath of disasters unleashed by souls hungering for power," he paused, studying her hand intently.

"Yet this power... I have not seen this kind of power outside of the Fade. It is as if the very power of the Fade is in this mark."

"Perhaps you can search the Fade for more answers," Serana offered, her eyes seeking him out. She looked at him, and for the first time since they met, a smile graced her lips. "Your manner of speaking reminds me of my people."

Perplexity furrowed Solas's brow as he arched an eyebrow, inquiring, "Your people?"

"Yes," she said, with a small chuckle. "My people. What?" She shrugged. "Just because you don a pair of pointy ears doesn't make us all the same."

Her response caught him off guard, as did the subdued snicker that slipped from his lips. "In that regard, Serana, you are correct."

Solas grinned before standing up and casting another appraising glance over her.

"Your fever has broken it seems," he said, sounding pleased. "I am sure there are those who wish to speak with you once you are feeling up to the task. In fact, they may not even wait for you to be," he said with a smirk.

Serana rose to rest on her elbow as she watched him walk toward the door.

"Solas," she called out.

His hand on the door, he turned to her wearing a curious look on his face.

"Thank you." She said in a quiet voice, almost shyly.

Solas nodded, offering a faint smile, before ducking through the door and shutting it behind him.

Serana threw herself back in bed and heaved another sigh at the thought of having to meet with anyone else. To a small degree she felt better, but she was not used to being around so many people. And she was sure these people would have many questions. Questions she would have no answer to, or simply not have the permission to answer.

Contemplating the purpose of her sneaking into the Conclave, Serana's thoughts devolved into a flurry of concern and confusion. She knew her clan must be apprised of the explosion, even if the breach might not be seen directly from their home. She wondered what they could see, or how they would be affected by it all. Surely, Asha'bellanar knew something like this would happen. But how? And why?

Serana's thoughts shifted at the hint of another headache. She thought of Solas. He was kind and different from the others. He bore no vallaslin, which was not uncommon among elves who lived in cities or amongst shemlen. Yet, he did not behave like the average city elf, not in the slightest. His eyes seemed to carry a great depth of wisdom and knowledge. She was grateful for his aid, and more grateful that he did not seem to care that she was Dalish.

City elves, if Solas could even be categorized as such, typically either held the Dalish in high esteem or looked down upon them, lacking an understanding of the old ways. Other Dalish clans she had come across seemed to hold completely new and odd ideas regarding their elven history.

She had to admit, she was intensely curious about him. Traveling the Fade? She did not know anyone outside of her village who would openly proclaim such a gift. In fact, she knew how dangerous such a confession could be. Thinking of her own ability to traverse the Fade, and her affinity to project her essence as a spirit through the waking world, she wondered at how far his knowledge extended. Would he know of such a gift as hers? Based on her limited interactions with him, he seemed a man who appreciated newly found knowledge instead of opposing it in fear. An idea took shape in her mind, and she smiled as made mental preparations for the evening ahead.


The night air held a crisp chill, and a low-lying fog gave the illusion that one could tread upon clouds. After locating his cabin she hesitated a moment, asking herself if she should follow through. Undeterred by physical barriers, her spirit's essence slipped inside the dark room, her choice made. In the darkness, she could discern his sleeping form. He rested above the covers of his cot, an unusual choice given the cold, but she dismissed it as just another of his peculiarities.

Hovering over him, she examined the contours of his lips as they released gentle breaths. Tracing the side of his face with her gaze, she became captivated by the serene expression he wore in his slumber. Was he in the Fade now, she wondered. What dreams occupied his mind? She hesitated to enter his dream state, feeling a reluctance for the first time in her experiences with dream travels and astral travel. It bothered her, the idea that he might perceive her as an intruder in his private moments.

She held her breath, though it served no purpose in her current form. "Fenhedis," she cursed to herself. Deep down, she acknowledged the true reason she chose to observe him silently as he slept. The fear of unveiling herself to him gripped her. What would he think? Certainly, he wouldn't be frightened; he was, after all, an adept mage. However, how could she account for her unique ability? She wasn't a mage, and she couldn't easily divulge her clan's secrets—her secret. The most troubling factor being she didn't know the man well enough, and she felt foolish for even considering exposing herself so soon, if at all. Saving her life meant she owed him a great debt, but she knew that did not mean forsaking all she had been taught about protecting herself and her people.

She glanced at his face once more before taking her leave. The desire to be acknowledged by one of her own weighed heavily on her heart, the time spent away from her people casting a profound sense of longing within her.

"Dareth shiral," she whispered, departing into the night.

Solas' eyes fluttered open, scanning the darkness above him, yet discerning nothing unusual. An unassuming smile graced his lips as he turned, choosing to lie on his side to gaze at the window closest to the cabin door. "Interesting," he thought.

Clearly the young enigmatic woman had secrets of her own, and on some perverse level that knowledge comforted him; to know that he was not the only one protecting a hidden version of themselves. He could only hope he survived long enough to see his ultimate vision come to fruition.