Mythal

Ennaly had always been a dreamer and lover of make-believe stories, and when she was younger, she loved to lose herself in outrageous scenarios and imagine what she would do. Unlikely as they had seemed at the time, some of those scenarios had already become reality. What would she do if she were invited to dance at a royal ball? How heroic would it be to slay a dragon to protect a village? What sights would be waiting for her beyond the confines of the plains and forests she knew? She had even found herself in scenarios her fantasy couldn't dream of, like watching Corypheus' rebirth.

Yet this scenario had been something she had imagined, but none of it fit in with what she had envisioned.

Her heart beat in her throat. She had just said goodbye to Morrigan, who walked in the opposite direction, following after her son. It was early evening, just after sunset, those beautiful twilight hours when the skies were still lit by the memory of the sun.

Ennaly nodded at the few people who walked the garden pathways, increasing her pace in her barely contained excitement. Up the stairs, quick, almost at a run. Her feet made barely any sound as she sped over the stones.

There was one person here who could truly appreciate what had just happened, most out of everybody, and his rooms were nearby. At this time, he was probably back from working on his latest fresco that depicted the temple of Mythal. Soon, he would run out of space on the walls.

The thought that Solas had turned away from her three days ago wasn't present in her mind. She could only think of what she had just witnessed, and she had to talk about it with someone else than Morrigan, or she would burst.

The last steps before she reached his quarters were a full run. She opened his door without knocking, heart still pounding rapidly, with exercise now as well as excitement. It didn't matter that she had just praised her manners, for right now, manners and etiquette were not on her mind.

"Solas," she breathed, staring at him. He stood in front of his wardrobe, having just pulled a clean shirt over his head. Startled, he turned around, surprised at her sudden appearance as she rushed forward past the paper-strewn surfaces without waiting for a reply and grabbed his upper arms. She had to hold on, or her nerves would make her collapse.

"Ennaly – what?" he replied, clearly alarmed by her agitated state.

"You won't believe what happened," she continued, staring up at the familiar face she had been avoiding for three days, barely registering that those days had passed at all.

"Sit – sit down," Solas suggested, gesturing to the edge of the bed, the closest available surface to sit and Ennaly did so. He remained standing, staring down in careful apprehension.

"I just met Mythal," she declared, eyes still large with awe and locked on Solas.

"You… met Mythal?" Solas repeated slowly.

"Yes!" she exclaimed and she pressed her hands on her eyes to clear her mind. "I followed Morrigan through the Eluvian, she was following her son, we ended up in the Fade, and then... There she was. Mythal," Ennaly added in a reverent whisper.

Solas moved forward just a little bit, but steadied himself, clearly worried. "You were just in the Fade? Physically? And you entered through the Eluvian? Ennaly, are you alright?"

She laughed, but ignored Solas completely as she relived the moment. "She was…" Her excitement faltered a little as she tried to put into words what she had witnessed. An hour ago, she hadn't even known Mythal was still alive. Abelas had told them she was killed, but there she was, physical and all.

It shouldn't have been possible.

Or it might have explained everything. She was a Goddess, after all. Perhaps a God was above a silly finality like death?

But to find out she had a real body, that she could speak with her...

The figure that had appeared in front of her had been nothing what she imaged the Goddess to be like. Mythal had been... "Asha'bellanar," she said out loud. "Human. And… Morrigan's mother?"

Even more impossibilities.

Solas arched his eyebrows and leaned back on his paper-covered table, but remained silent. As Ennaly focussed on him again, she noticed he was holding his breath in some kind of anticipation.

"I'm doing a very poor job of explaining her," she continued. "It was… I could feel her power, her magical aura, you know. Much, much greater than any of us. Her body wasn't what it always had been, this Human form… I think she was mostly like Cole. She was so… lively. She said things but she never said them straight? And she laughed so much. Who would have thought…"

She trailed off in the memory of the meeting, the magical energy that had pressed on her senses still sharp in her mind.

Solas frowned anxiously. "Did she… force anything upon you?"

Ennaly jerked her head up again. She'd almost forgotten he was there too, that she wasn't talking to herself. But she had come here, because Solas would have respect for what this all meant, much more than any non-Elf would.

"No," she stated. "Well… She forced me to restrain Morrigan. She was about to attack her for harming her son, and because I drank from the Well, I was compelled to listen and… It was as if my body reacted to a mind that was not my own. I grabbed Morrigan and…"

She shook her head. It had been a strange feeling, gazing at the woman whose power was immeasurable and feeling the magic spread through her body, from within her, but not called forth by herself. Like the whispers of the Well, it murmured just below her skin and made her react without being aware of it.

"But she did not compel me to do anything else. I think she could have made me do whatever she wanted, but that was all she forced. Solas, I met Mythal."

"So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far. As for me, I have had many names. But you… may call me Flemeth."

Ennaly scrambled back to her feet after her bow of respect and stared up to the face of the Goddess she used to revere her entire life. "You look… Human," was the first thought that escaped her lips, and she wanted to curse herself the moment she said them.

The woman laughed. "Not a word many have used for me in a very long time."

Her hair – or her horns? – bobbed up and down in the movement of her laughter. It was the only thing in her appearance that made sense to Ennaly, since Mythal was often depicted as a dragon.

She, this woman, Human, Goddess, or whatever she was... She was Mythal, and after years of devotion, Ennaly no longer had the marks that showed it. She touched her cheekbones, blind to Morrigan and Kieran standing nearby, forgotten that she was in the Fade. "I – I used to carry your Vallaslin. Only – only recently was it taken away from me."

"Child," Mythal spoke soothingly, before another laugh escaped her. Her laughs were captivating, and Ennaly never expected a God capable of producing something like it, so lively. "You are not the first to burn my marks from their face, and you might not even be the last. I care not what you wear on your face, but your heart…" She laughed again. "Oh, your heart, I care about. I have listened to yours. Such a strife to do good, but have you ever stopped to wonder what good means?"

Ennaly stared open-mouthed, unsure if she had to take the words seriously or as a tease. "I try my best," she pleaded. "I care about others, I am not selfish. At least… I try not to."

Yet she had drunk from the Well, and had that not been a selfish act?

"Do you doubt yourself, child?" Mythal said, a smirk still on her lips. "The mighty Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, doubting herself?"

"Only fools have complete confidence in themselves," Ennaly replied without wavering.

The smirk almost turned proud. "And you are no fool."

A second wave of realisation hit Ennaly. This was Mythal, her Goddess, the one she had prayed to her entire life. To protect her clan, for the blessing of a child, for the ability to lead the Inquisition with justice, for strength to keep doing the right thing. Yet… She had never gotten an answer.

"I have prayed to you, called to you… Why haven't you helped us? My clan..."

Mythal's golden eyes reminded her of Abelas, and some kind of sorrow settled in them. "What was could not be changed. I regret their loss, child."

Ennaly swallowed back her own sorrow. "I have so many questions, could you…?"

She was unsure where to start, what to ask, how she should posture herself, what she needed to do with her hands. Out of all the useless things the Dalish taught her, why hadn't they taught this?

"Questions, questions… Always with the questions." Mythal laughed. "I only have few answers to give, child, and you know not what you ask, what might slumber below the surface of truth."

Only a few nights ago had she spoken to the Dread Wolf, if it truly had been him. Uncertain about the dream, she hadn't mentioned it to anyone. But he had claimed he hadn't killed Mythal. "I always thought you were locked away by Fen'Harel, but then I learned... You were murdered? Yet here you are."

Mythal gazed at her sharply. "Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her." She took a deep breath, calming her increasing aggravation. "You were also a woman crying out for justice. And now you are touched by two of your Gods. Can you truly say your prayers were never answered?"

Ennaly's vision swam before her eyes. This… Flemeth had not been the real body of Mythal, it had merely been a… host for her spirit, the way Compassion inhabited the body of Cole? Yet Mythal clearly was a different spirit than Compassion, in more than simply a difference in power.

Her vision returned to her and she faced Mythal again with begging eyes. "What do you know about Fen'Harel?"

Mythal smirked. It was a knowing smirk, the smirk of a person who knew more than you could even imagine. "That is not my answer to give, is it?"

"But this is his?" she pleaded, lifting the Anchor in front of her.

Some humour slipped out of Mythal's speech. "Do not ask for confirmations to questions you already know the answer to, but are too frightened to accept. Truth is not the end, but a beginning."

So it was. And since she had already accepted it once, it wasn't hard to accept it again. So, she carried Fen'Harel's power on her palm, and Mythal's knowledge in her core. Touched by two Gods, and she had met them both.

"Must I serve you now because I drank from the Well?"

Mythal chuckled at her. "Is that how you see yourself? A servant? I have no commands for you. Not yet. Go. Live your life, if you dare. Do good. And say hello to my old friend, when you see him." She barked a laugh. "I believe you have met him. Once, or twice..."

Her laugh lingered as she turned to face Morrigan, and Morrigan showed that she cared, that she understood love, and that her son meant more to her than herself.

I will not be the mother you were to me.

The phrase kept spiralling inside Ennaly's mind as she faced Solas and tried to explain how it had been. She laughed, but it was a cold, self-deprecatory laugh. "The Dalish Goddess of Motherhood is a bad mother. They really are… so wrong about everything. We knew absolutely nothing, and prided ourselves for it. Kieran, Morrigan's son… Mythal absorbed some sort of power from him. And he must have been powerful too, to be able to redirect the Eluvian to the Fade."

Solas' gaze remained fixed on her with full attention while she spoke. Ennaly blinked, a little caught off guard by the intensity in his eyes. She sighed and stared down at her Anchor. "She said I had to say hello to an old friend of hers. Three days ago, I had a dream, and... I thought… It was probably nothing."

She didn't want to confess to Solas that she had spoken to Fen'Harel, that he had helped her chase the demons away that preyed upon her after his breakup. Overwhelmed, she buried her face in her hands, her elbows on her legs, and sat there, on Solas' bed, contemplating the last hour of her life. Time passed without her active notice as her mind was directed inward.

The power of the Anchor pressed on her face, like the power of Mythal had pressed upon her entire body while in the Fade. Touched by two Gods. If only the Dalish knew, if only she could have the words to make them understand... But they wouldn't, she knew that by now, not without her Vallaslin. The only Elf who would believe her was in the room with her.

It was the scent that jolted her mind back to reality. This was his room, after all, and it smelled like him, comforting. She hadn't smelled it in three days.

Something within her heart ached, a sharp pain that appeared at every breath she took. She had always thought it an odd phrase, heartache, and deemed it more poetic than realistic.

She hadn't felt anything like this with Anarel, for she realised before the end that the pain he inflicted hadn't been love at all. After him, she hadn't quite opened her heart to the other men she'd been with, knowing it would be temporary anyway.

And it was only now that she could feel her actual body aching, that she realised heartache was a literal phrase after all.

What a bitter realisation.

She lifted her head from her hands and looked up. In all this time, Solas hadn't moved and just leaned back against the table, immobile, eyes on her, a whirlwind of emotions visible on his face.

This was the first time she actually looked at him and saw him since their parting, and it hurt more than she wanted to admit. Everything about her had changed, but he was the same, immutable.

She shouldn't have come here.

But she had, and she started talking as if he wasn't a former lover, almost matter-of-factly like she might address a distant Inquisition agent with her Inquisitor's voice. "She told me how to fight Corypheus. We need to go to one of her altars and summon a dragon. If we can tame it, it can fight Corypheus' dragon. Without her, he no longer has the power to change bodies, and we can kill him for good."

"That is a plan, at least," Solas replied stoically, before it softened down to concern. "Ennaly… are you – are you alright? You were just in the Fade."

Uncertain how to respond to his concern, she averted her gaze and her eyes fell on something on his desk. With an intake of breath, she realised it was one of her bracelets.

She had likely forgotten it the last time she was here, the night after they returned from the Arbor Wilds. She knew she hadn't left it there, on the desk, since she always placed her trinkets on the table. That meant that Solas must have placed it there, but why hadn't he just given it back to her, even indirectly via Varric, or placed it in a drawer so it was out of sight, so he didn't have this constant reminder of her?

"What's it to you how I feel," she said without meeting his eyes, her voice devoid of emotions.

She heard him shifting around, but she didn't turn to look. "Ennaly... Do not assume that I care nothing for your wellbeing."

Ennaly fidgeted with the bracelets on her wrist. He had fixed her mother's one, that night when the nightmare demon had shown her a nightmare in which Solas abandoned her, calling her nothing more than a distraction. Had it known?

I distracted you from your duty, Solas had said.

"Duty, isn't it?" she muttered. "Duty dictates I have to tame a dragon. Doesn't matter how I feel about it, or whatever my wellbeing is."

"That is not what I meant," Solas tried, a plea in his voice. "I still wish..."

She could feel his eyes burning at her as he was failing to find words to speak. Stubbornly, she ignored his attempt at seeking her gaze and let her own eyes wander over the desk. There, they found another sight that halted her breath.

It was the sketch of her. Days ago, she had placed it on the stack of maps herself, had considered it cute. She realised only now that it must have been the first thing he saw when he returned here after their breakup.

Served him right, Ennaly thought bitterly.

She wanted to turn back to him, when another detail made her stop mid-turn. The sketch was a very close likeness to herself, from the scar over her eye, the freckles around her nose, to that one stubborn lock of hair that grew in the opposite direction, but there was one thing missing.

Her Vallaslin.

Had it been like that when she saw it last, had she simply not noticed it?

With great effort, she swallowed back the growing lump in her throat. "Tell me you don't care," she demanded resentfully as she finally faced Solas again.

"But I do care," he said, the plea still audible. "Ennaly, you are still..."

He didn't finish. Instead, he made a move forward, almost involuntary, as if he wanted to touch her. Defensively, Ennaly leaned back to avoid him. His hands on her would be too much to bear, and Solas returned to his distant pose.

"What?" she continued, bitter now. "I am still the Inquisitor, bound by duty? Trust me, I received the message. Solas, I only want to hear one thing from you." Eyes sharp, she leaned closer. "Tell me you don't love me."

But at the word love, his expression broke and he looked hurt, his voice an odd low quality. "I cannot do that."

His hurt and his words fuelled the anger inside her. How dare he be hurt, when he was the one to end it? How dare he withhold the words she desperately needed to hear?

She rose from the bed, anger sparking off her like magic and she took a step closer, face tilted up to Solas. "I don't care that you cannot do it. If you ever felt anything for me at all, you owe me those words. I need to hear it so I can move on."

But his eyes pleaded in a way Ennaly didn't understand. It ignited her anger. "I am sorry," he said quietly and remorsefully. He made no attempt to defend himself from her frustration as she jabbed her finger in his chest.

"Sorry?" she repeated incredulously. She wanted to continue, but the anger was only a thin façade over her hurt, and the faster it raged, the quicker it burned up, leaving her sorrow bare with shimmering embers.

Not wanting him to see her emotions, she jerked her hand back and spun around. "I don't think you know what that word means," she said, swallowing back the tears she wanted to hide. "You end things, yet you never gave me a reason, and I am just supposed to get over this, like it was no big deal, like we didn't share..."

Like they didn't spend all those moments together, in the Fade and awake, the comfort they found in each other, the way he had made her feel beautiful, made her feel safe. She remembered the night after Adamant, when he whispered the thought of losing you... The first night they'd spent together awake, she thought it truly meant something.

No one had ever run his hands over her skin like him, made her feel the way he had, and she thought she offered him the same sense of stability and comfort in the current chaos.

But clearly not.

"We must focus on what truly matters," came his voice from behind her, pleading.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging in her palms. She took a deep breath and spun around again to stare up at him. Her eyes were mercifully dry. "Because we were just a distraction? Solas, please. Just tell me why, give me something. I need closure. Please. I can deal with ugly truths."

He looked at her, failing to hide pain, a pleading urgency in his voice, begging her to understand. "The answers would only lead to more questions, an emotional entanglement that would benefit neither of us. The blame is mine, not yours. It was irresponsible and selfish of me. Let that be enough."

Her resolve to keep her tears to herself cracked at hearing those words. The first tear ran over her cheek, hot in pain and desperation. "Emotional entanglement…"

She stepped back until she made contact with the edge of the desk. A sob escaped her. "It's too late for that..." She stared up at the ceiling. "I should have listened to you when you were so hesitant to ever give in to me. I loved you, you know. I thought it was special. Turns out I really am a foolish little girl who likes stories too much."

"Ennaly –" Solas began and he took a step forward to her.

Angrily, she shook her head and leaned back so she was even further away from his touch. "No. You can call me Inquisitor again."

Suddenly, the Anchor flared bright green and she hissed at the unexpected pain. She raised it in front of her just as a spark of energy arched from the mark, dissipating into the air.

Solas reached out and wanted to grab her hand, concerned, but Ennaly pulled it back. "I'd rather deal with the pain right now. I distracted you from your duties and I apologise for coming here. Good evening, Solas."

There wasn't a lot of space to pass him, so Ennaly pushed against his chest. He allowed himself to be shoved back into the corner so she could reach the door. She opened it, stepped outside, and slammed it shut behind her.

Outside, it was pouring with rain, one of those heavy downpours that soaked you in seconds. It was strange. Before Ennaly went to Solas' quarters, it had been clear twilight without a cloud in sight, and in just a short time, the skies had fully turned.

From her viewpoint on the walkway, Ennaly could hear the distant echoes of people scurrying for cover. Laughter and shouts filled the air as the last stragglers found shelter inside the castle.

It was a relief.

There would be nobody left to see her, no prying eyes to witness her hurt, no questions about her tears, no uncomfortable conversations to force her to confront her emotions.

With a graceful move, Ennaly Fade-stepped to the top of the little gazebo that was nestled in the garden. There, she sat down on the slanted rooftiles and drew her knees to her chest. After a heaving breath, she tilted her face upwards and allowed the rain to wash over her, the cold droplets mingling with her tears, and her sobs muffled by the racket of the downpour.

A presence appeared next to her, almost as suddenly as if it had Fade-stepped like her, but this was no mage. The rim of a large hat shielded her face from the rain as a pale hand grabbed hers, dulling down the ache in the Anchor. Compassion whispered words of consolation in her ear, words of hope.

She wasn't alone. There were so many people around who cared for her, that loved her, even if they would leave to their separate ways like Dorian was planning. The fear that the nightmare demon had instilled in her, abandonment, was simply that: a nightmare. She didn't need to despair.

The words calmed her and as time passed, the torrential downpour dulled to a deep drizzle.

"Please stay," she begged of the spirit as she put her head on his shoulder. "I cannot bear to lose more people, more friends."

"You helped me when I needed it," Cole said back to her. "I will help you too. I will stay for as long as you want."