"Who is this elf who requests an audience?" You ask the Dalish housekeeper who woke you
"I dunno, sir." The elf girl replies, hurrying to match your stride. "'e called 'imself Solas and said 'e were an apostate."
"Perhaps knowledge of Xandar's fate has begun to spread." You muse. "Inform him that I will meet him in the audience hall."
"The throne room, sir?" The servant asks.
"It is not a throne room, only kings have throne rooms." You correct her. "But the room you are thinking of is the correct room."
The girl bows and scurries away to the gates. Now unburdened by a shorter companion, you double your pace to reach the audience chamber.
The audience hall is a spectacular sight. This is by design; the high ceiling and large windows are intended to impress any visitors. From the walls hang the banners of your house and tapestries from your father's home. The chair at the head of the room certainly looks like a throne. It is not, rather it is modelled on a chair your grandfather gave you.
"It looks just like your throne, grandfather!" you cried, not yet 4 years old1
You shake off memories of better days and unbelt your sword. When you sit, the blade leans against the chair's right arm, for a swift draw should the worst come to pass.
The elf who enters is tall as humans reckon such things. His pale head is shaved bald, and it makes his ears seem comically exaggerated. His garb is simple and plain, and his staff could be mistaken for a walking stick.
The mage pauses a moment staring at you. In most circumstances you would greet him, but you are distracted. Since he entered, you have been plagued by a sense of familiarity. A sensation made all the stranger by the complete lack of recognition you have for his face.
To your surprise, it is the elf who breaks the mutual, silent contemplation.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me." He says, inclining his head.
"You are most welcome." You reply graciously. "In truth a request for an audience was a welcome change from my last guests."
Your jest gets a polite chuckle from your guest, but he quickly resumes his serious countenance.
"I am Solas. An apostate who has spent much time studying the Fade." He says from near the door. "I must say, you have been making quite a stir recently."
Curious, you ask, "Have I? I believe I have done nothing out of the ordinary."
Solas' smile does not reach his eyes. "A palace made out of will and magic, carried through the fade by sorcery. A demon, wounded in an assault, then cast out from a mortal host. A shining beacon in the Fade, suddenly vanished. All connected to a tall red haired creature that cannot be identified as man or elf."
"Is this perhaps leading somewhere?" You ask, leaning your head on one hand.
"Perhaps." Solas says, quietly. "I wished to meet the one to achieve such feats. They are quite unusual. Some would even say divine."
You snort. "In saying so they would reveal their own ignorance. Any could achieve such things in the right circumstances and with the right knowledge."
For the first time Solas' smile reaches his eyes. "On that, we are agreed. If I may be permitted to change the subject?"
He pauses, looking at you expectantly.
"Why do you hesitate? I assumed you were wielding a figure of speech; you hardly need my permission to speak." You state.
"You were the one who demanded I get to the point." The elf comments neutrally.
You raise an eyebrow at the accusation. "I asked you if you were wasting my time. We have exchanged many words, and I still do not know why you are here."
Solas matches you by raising an eyebrow of his own. "You are correct that we have exchanged many words, but you are wrong. I came here because I wished to meet the one causing such a stir in the Fade. Yet you have still not introduced yourself."
You acknowledge his point. "I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol. Forgive me, your words led me to believe you already knew me."
Now it is Solas' turn to acknowledge a point. "By reputation alone, I'm afraid. Your name never came up in my travels."
You straighten up and stare at the distant mage. "Now that we are properly introduced, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why I should indulge your desire for a meeting. I am very busy and lingering by the door as you are makes me question your intentions."
Solas sheepishly looks around him and walks towards the centre of the room.
"In hindsight, it does seem a little rude to linger so. As for why, I simply need you to answer a few questions and I shall be on my way." He states, meeting your gaze without fear.
Perhaps last week you might have refused him on principle, but you see no harm in granting him his request.
"Very well, ask your questions." You state, folding your hands together.
Solas smiles another empty smile. "I noticed that some of your servants bore Vallasin, while others did not. Is there perhaps a reason for this?"
You are silent a moment, genuinely surprised by his question.
"I was unaware that any other than the Dalish who bore such tattoos." You reply, confused. "Why would it be unusual that those who are Dalish bear them while others do not."
Strangely Solas seems to share your confusion. He is silent for a short time, his eyes clearly revealing his racing thoughts.
Eventually he says, "Ah, yes. It must be my mistake. I had assumed no Dalish would choose to serve a human."
You give him a considering look. That would be a logical assumption, but you feel as though there is something else behind his inquiry.
"As I understand the matter, there is some unpleasantness in their clan. They prefer stable employment with one they trust to the risk of attempting to make their own way."
"They are employed? You pay them?" Solad asks, shock colouring his voice.
"I pay them." You reply. "I hardly wish to trap people here. If I am to profit from their labour, it hardly seems fair to deny them a wage."
"Of course. I meant no offense." Solas hurries to reply. "If I may ask another question?"
"I have already said you do not need my permission to speak." You remind him with a faint sense of irritation.
"Ah, yes. So, you did." Solas muses. "Then would you tell me what you are? Human or elf?"
You grow tired of this question. "Neither. I am a Noldo, of the Eldar, of the quendi."
"While I am certain that meant something, I am afraid I do not know what. Could you provide an explanation?" The elf presses.
"Think of the quendi as kin to the elves, though hailing from a distant land." You explain. "The Eldar are those who departed for Valinor, and the Noldor are one of the groups that dwelt there."
"Valinor. I do not know that name. Where would that be? Is it in the Fade?" Solas asks, eyes sharpening.
"West of west." You reply cautiously.
You hesitate for a moment. These questions sound familiar, akin to what the 'witch of the wilds' asked you two weeks ago. Your suspicions are roused, and for a moment you consider leaving your answer there.
The elf maintains a steady gaze at you, face betraying nothing. "I'm afraid I don't know what that means. Could you perhaps explain it to me?"
No, unfounded suspicion would only cause more trouble than it was worth. It had done so with Flemeth, and it would do so now. You had told Marethari of your otherworldly origins when she was actively threatening you, indulging this 'apostate' can be no worse. However suspicious he may be.
Now that you think of it, the conversation with Flemeth might provide you with an option. "I have a proposal for you, Solas."
The elf gives you a suspicious look. "I suppose it would be rude of me to not entertain such a proposal, given that I have come to you announced."
"I have no reason to trust you, and further you clearly seem to want something from this conversation." You smile. "I propose that, in exchange for telling me what it is you hope to gain from this conversation, I will answer your question on Valinor in all the detail you could want."
Solas pauses, thinking. Several moments of silence pass before he speaks.
"That sounds most agreeable. Though I must insist you lead with your tale." The mage states.
"That hardly seems fair. You could easily walk out the door without answering my question." You still do not trust this elf.
"I give you my word that by the end of our conversation, you will know why I am here." Solas swears.
You pause, taking the elf's measure. "I want an oath on the matter."
"You have it." Solas replies without hesitation.
You smile as a familiar weight descends upon the room. The elf's eyes widen and squares his shoulders subtly.
"I see, so that's how it is." He mutters to himself.
Then in a louder voice he continues. "I believe you owe me a detailed explanation of Valinor."
"I warn you; it is tale that is difficult to believe." You warn him half-heartedly.
"I think you will be surprised by the things I believe possible." Solas replies calmly. "I would like to judge your tale myself."
"Very well. To understand Valinor, you must understand that I am not of this world." You begin.
Solas' face is deliberately blank. "So, you are from the Fade."
"No." You bluntly reply. "The Beyond, or the Fade, is as much a part of this world as the sky. I hail from still further beyond. A land my people called Arda. If you wish to reach Valinor, the method is simple. First you must traverse the void between worlds. Then you must find and Eldar or Ainur who is willing to take you there. Then you must sail west until you pass beyond the limit of west. Hence, Valinor is west of west."
Solas' face remains blank. "That is certainly a tale that is difficult to believe. To the extent that one might even wonder if it was perhaps a lie."
"The truth rarely cares for the sensibilities of those who hear it; unlike lies, crafted such that those who hear them desire them to be the truth." You observe.
"You seem quite familiar with lies." Solas notes innocently. "It might give someone a cause for concern."
"Once burned, twice shy." You refute his accusation. "It would be remiss to not study the methods one uses to lie when after your whole world is destroyed by deception."
"So, this world of yours was destroyed? How convenient." Solas observes.
It is an effort of will not to roll your eyes. "Hardly. Arda remains intact, the only thing destroyed was the peace and tranquillity my people once enjoyed."
"I fear we are straying away from the topic at hand." Solas says. "Perhaps we should focus on the tale you promised me."
You lean forward, a slow swell of passion colouring your words. "I disagree. If you wish me to prove my words, I can go into yet more detail. I can tell you the history of the Eldar, I can sing the songs of the Noldor. I could spend the next week describing the War of the Jewels. I will prove the truth of my words by displaying a breadth and depth of history that could not belong to a mere lie."
"A mere lie yes, but not beyond the scope of a well-crafted one." Solas countered. "I have spent a lifetime studying the Fade, and the memories therein. Not once have I found any evidence of the existence of other worlds, let alone someone who has travelled between them."
You lean back, concealing a sigh. "Regardless of if you believe me, I have answered your question. Now it is you who must uphold your end of the bargain."
"Have you?" Solas argues. "You promised a detailed description, yet as far as I can tell you have merely told me an extravagant tale of dubious veracity. Should you not now tell me the truth to fulfil your word?"
"I grow tired of repeating myself. It is hardly my fault that the truth sounds unbelievable." You inform the apostate. "Still, I am willing to compromise on the matter. I promised a description, and I can describe Valinor. Then you may search for it to your heart's content and witness for yourself the truth of my words."
"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence." Solas replies calmly.
You stare at the elf for a long moment. "I have given you my final offer, either accept it or tell me why you are here. I have been more than accommodating thus far, and I tire of your baseless accusations."
Solas meets your stare with one of his own.
"That is true, he has been surprisingly accommodating." The elf murmurs to himself, unaware that you can hear him despite the distance between you.
The silence stretches out as the two of you stare into each other's eyes. You search for weakness or any clue as to the thoughts within his head. What Solas seeks is a mystery to you.
"You are correct." Solas eventually concedes. "I would hear of this Valinor. Perhaps I know it by a different name."
"Valinor lies upon the isle of Aman, the undying lands as men call it. Though in truth the term strictly means the parts of the Island where the Valar dwell, it is commonly used as a catch all term for the inhabited parts of the island." You begin, eyes unfocusing as you begin to lose yourself in the memories.
A smile grows on your face as you recall your home. "I was born in the city of Tirion, within it great white walls. My childhood room overlooked the silver glass of the sea. The light of the trees caught the sands of the shore and they sparkled like diamonds."
A sharp lance of longing pierces your heart. You want to go home. The call of the gulls echoes in your mind, and your heart tugs you west, though you know that nothing is there in this land.
"Beyond the walls of the city there are farms all throughout the valley. High above rises Oiolossë, highest mountain in the world. Many days did I pass in that land with my brothers and father." Sorrow wells within you. "But those days are long past. When the world was young."
You have never seen the sun shine on the white walls of Tirion. You do not know what it is like to rest beneath the shade of the vast forests. You wonder what the moon looks like, when it is reflected in the silver bay by Alaquondë.
Your palm throbs. Perhaps you never will see such sights again. Perhaps you will dwell in Mandos forever, as your father does.
You still want to go home.
"It sounds beautiful."
Solas' words jolt you from your imaginings. The elf looks more relaxed, and his gaze is sympathetic.
"I assume that has satisfied you." You state, as though you had not lost yourself in memory.
"I have one more question, then I will tell you why I came here." Solas replies.
Your eyes narrow. "That is not what we agreed."
"Please, indulge me." Solas requests.
You do not respond, Solas takes your silence as agreement.
"What was your father's name." He asks.
You are not happy about this changing of the deal. Yet the question has a simple answer, one that you often include when introducing yourself.
Seeing no reason not to, you recite your father's full name. "Curufinwë Fëanáro Minyon. Son of Finwë, who was high king of the Noldor in the days of the trees."
Solas looks relieved.
With a wry smile he says. "I suppose I have prevaricated for a sufficient length of time. I confess when I heard tales of your deeds, I feared a great monster had unleashed itself upon the world. I came to see if that was so and, if necessary, to stop you."
Your expression betrays your surprise. "Alone? You must consider yourself mighty indeed."
Solas shrugs. "I have strength sufficient for what must be done."
"You are either recklessly foolhardy or mighty beyond your appearance." You observe in good humour.
Solas smiles. "Thank you, though before I end my questions, I must ask. How did you escape the Fade?"
You do not answer his question immediately. His continued insistence that you are native to the Beyond is understandable. The implications that you are lying about your origins, however, grate at your calm.
You draw a breath, prepared to try one last time to convince the elf of the truth of your words, when the door to the room slams against the wall hard enough to startle both you and Solas.
"I'm here! Did I miss anything? Why didn't you send someone to get me?" Merrill pants in the doorway.
The Dalish elf looks as though she has come here straight from bed. Her hair is a mess, and she has clearly grabbed the first items of clothing she saw. The way her chest heaves indicates that she has likely run here.
Solas had half turned when he heard her voice. His staff moved to a defensive position reflexively. Now he stands still. His façade of calm shattered for the first time as he stares wide eyed at your first student.
Unwilling to reveal your own surprise, you calmly remark, "Welcome, Merrill. I fear you have hastened here in vain. This elf seems to have no interest in your teaching."
"Oh. That's a shame…" Merrill's words trail off as she looks at Solas.
The Dalish frowns. "Have we met somewhere? You seem familiar."
"Is that so?" You note. "I too felt as though I knew him, though I do not recall meeting him."
Solas does not respond, his thoughts clearly racing, though even you cannot tell what those thoughts might be.
"Solas." You attempt to catch his attention. "You have been asked a question."
When the elf remains silent, you repeat yourself, louder. "Solas. You are being quite rude."
Still no reaction.
You call upon your experience of command and infusing just a hint of power in your voice you call him once more.
"Solas!" Your voice rings through the room more forcefully than mere volume would allow.
The apostate starts, roused from his reverie. Interestingly his first reaction is to grasp his weapon and look about with a warrior's eyes. All too soon his expression returns to the bland mask he thus far worn.
"Forgive me, I was lost in thought." He apologises calmly. "What did you say?"
"Merrill asked you a question." You prompt.
Some of your irritation at his rudeness must have bled into your tone because he gives you another considering look. Merrill speaks before he has a chance to act on whatever it is your words have revealed.
"So have we met somewhere? You seem familiar, but I don't remember your face." Merrill is not quite wringing her hands, but she seems close to it. "I'm sorry, I have a terrible memory for faces, and I'm sure you're a wonderful person so please don't be offended…"
"I can't say I recall having met you, no." Solas interrupts her before you get a chance to. "I am Solas. An 'apostate' I believe is the term."
"That's weird. I'm Merrill." Merrill smiles. "Don't worry too much about that sort of thing. Between being Dalish myself and Xandar it's not as though we put much stock in the Chantry around here."
Before the conversation has a chance to wander too far from the initial question, you interject. "Why do you seem so familiar?"
Solas shrugs. "Perhaps I simply remind you of someone else? I confess that it seems a strange question to ask me. If you do not know, how should I?"
"It is not that." You reply, slowly, thinking aloud as much as talking. "I would remember if I had seen a face like yours, it was only a few months ago I saw my first elf. In fact, if I had to pin down what about you seems familiar, I would say that it was how you 'feel'."
"Now that you point it out, that sounds right." Merrill muses, almost too herself. "You do feel familiar. Where have I felt this before?"
There is a quick glimmer of something in Solas eye. Before you can figure out what it is, it is gone.
"As touching as it would be to singlehandedly be the first love of both of you, I doubt that is what is happening." Solas states flatly. "In that case, I cannot explain your own feelings to you."
"It's definitely not that!" Merrill exclaims, red rushing up her cheeks.
Solas quickly seizes on the chance to regain control of the conversation. "Then I have a question of my own to ask."
"I have already told you; I did not come from the Beyond." You begin your defence.
"I do not refer to my earlier question." Solas interrupts you. "I have a far more important question to ask you. What did you do to her?"
His eyes meet yours, narrowed in either anger or concentration. Your initial flare of anger at the accusation prevents you from responding immediately.
"He didn't do anything to me!" Merrill protests hotly. "Well, actually he trained me, but nothing else. Well, there was that time he saved me from a demon. Actually, that might be it. I was possessed for a few minutes once."
Solas takes a few moments to process what he heard from Merrill. You use the time to formulate your response. Your first problem is you are not entirely sure what he is asking. Though, perhaps this is an excellent opportunity to 'kill two birds with one stone'.
While you were thinking Solas was watching with disbelieving amusement as Merrill dug herself further and further into a hole.
"I mean I got better, I'm not an abomination!" She cries at the end of her latest ramble.
"Perhaps it would be best to stop talking and recompose yourself Merrill." You offer. "I will answer his question while you do so."
Merrill gratefully nods and mutters quietly. "Stupid charismatic dream Merrill."
You choose to ignore that and answer Solas' question. "I met Merrill shortly after my arrival in this land, approximately seven and a half months ago. She aided her keeper in teaching me the language of the land."
"I fail to see how this answers my question." Solas says, his tone closer to frosty than neutral.
"Your question was rather unspecific. I am merely answering in such a way that there can be no accusations of leaving things out." You reply calmly. "Besides, the context is important."
The elf's expression does not lighten. "Very well, continue."
Pushing down the temptation to mock his 'permission' you resume your tale.
"During my time among her clan she approached me wishing to learn more of the world I said I came from. In particular she was interested in the magic I displayed, as it was very different to what she knew."
"I don't doubt that." Solas comments.
You give him a look. "Your words say one thing, but your tone another."
The elf shrugs. "I do not doubt you knew more magic that she did not, nor that it would seem different from what she had previously learned."
Your annoyance with his blatant disbelief comes crashing back. Fortunately, and uncharacteristically, it brings an idea with it.
"Is that what you believe?" you ask. "I assume you are capable of sense fade energies."
"The correct term is mana." Solas corrects. "But yes, to an extent."
You pluck a single hair from your head. "The watch closely for this 'mana'."
You tug at the heat sleeping within the hair. A few heartbeats later, the strand catches on fire, filling the room with the foul stench that accompanies such burning.
"Did you see any mana?" You ask.
This is the second time you have seen the elf genuinely taken aback. "No. I cannot say I did."
"So you accept that I come from a different world, where magic is different?" You ask.
"No, but I will concede that I do not have a good explanation for what you just did." Solas states cautiously.
You fight to keep your face neutral. This elf is testing your patience.
"Perhaps we should return to my tale." You change the subject before you do something unwise. "I agreed to teach her, and she accompanied me when she left her clan. She did at one point get possessed by a demon, but I banished it and it has not returned since."
Merrill looks gratefully at you. Perhaps you should teach her how to sound confident at some future point.
"Quite the accomplishment." Solas remarks. "Most would assume that a possession was irreversible."
"I have experience with such matters" you say dismissively. "The point of this story is that at some point in my teachings Merrill assisted me in extracting my soul from the Beyond."
Solas pounces on the admission like a wolf. "If your soul was in the Fade, how could you do anything?"
"Soul and body are linked more closely than most realise. Though I was weakened greatly, my power was sufficient to carry my will from soul to mind and from thence to the body." You answer. "Do not interrupt my tale again."
Solas is clearly displeased but remains silent.
"This inspired Merrill, with some prompting from a cruel spirit, and she decided to undertake the same venture." You continue. "What transpired after that is a question, she is far more equipped to answer than I."
Merrill, now much calmer and cheeks free of blush, takes up the tale. "It's really quite the experience. It's painful, worse than anything I've ever done in my life, but thanks to Nelyafinwë I managed it. I found something in the Beyond and brought it back, though I think it was damaged in transit."
"I am not sure if we have recaptured the nature that should have been hers by birth, or if we have created something new, but she is different. As you can clearly tell." You conclude. "That is what I have 'done to her'."
"She is certainly not Ehlven as in elder days." Solas remarks absently.
"How would you know that?" Merrill choruses with you.
Solas waves a hand dismissively. "There is much knowledge in the Fade, if one is willing to look and skilled in doing so."
"I see." You say, sceptical but unable to refute his claim.
Solas turns to Merrill. "I would examine you, with your permission of course."
Merrill looks taken aback a moment, but quickly recovers. "Sure, I know it's easy to say that you've done this sort of thing without doing it. I have nothing to hide."
Before Solas can start his examination, you lean forward and address him. "Solas. I warn you, if she is harmed there will be no escaping my vengeance."
Solas is clearly surprised by the venom in your voice, but that does not stop him responding. "Oh? And what if it is an accident?"
"If you think there is a high chance of this process accidentally hurting her, I advise you not to do it." You reply flatly.
"I'm a grown woman you know." Merrill protests. "I am more than capable of taking my own bloody vengeance."
You lean back. "Of course, forgive me if I have overstepped."
Merrill nods once, and strangely Solas almost seems approving. He proceeds with his examination, little of which you understand. When he finishes there is silence in the room for a moment.
"You have given me much to consider. May I prevail upon your hospitality for a night or two?" Solas requests.
You raise an eyebrow. "You may, though I would ask what the purpose of this whole interrogation was."
Solas gives you a strange expression. A mixture of grim humour, caution, suspicion, hope and yet more things you do not recognise.
"I am concerned at the state of my people." Solas admits carefully. "I hope to find a solution to it. Speaking to you was part of the process."
Knowledge is power. The one called Fen'harel had always believed this. Yet now he found himself with far too little knowledge for his tastes. In his room, a gift from the subject of his ponderings, he considered what he knew.
He had come here expecting to find an escaped Evanuri. He had instead found something else. The power that flowed around the being was strange, 'flavoured' for want of a better term, with a sense of justice and nobility.
This had not soothed his worries immediately; his one time colleagues and greatest foes were capable of great deception when it suited them. Still, there had been an honesty to his description of his homeland that suggested it was no lie.
He had in fact been considering the possibility that his trap had caught someone it had not been intended for. What Evanuri would reveal a weakness like a son to the others? Mythal perhaps, but she had perished.
Then the other one had arrived. So strange, like nothing he had seen before. It was only the Vallasin on her face that excused her from the suspicion he held for her 'teacher'. None of the Evanuri, nor their descendants, would wear one.
Then the flame, born without mana. The elf some called a god stared out the window. He had come here with for answers but had only received more questions. What was he to do now?
He doubted this Nelyafinwë was an Evanuri. In fact, he was beginning to doubt he was even of the people at all. He certainly did not have their magnificent ears. Then there was the other, Merrill. An abomination? A path to restore what was lost without freeing what must be contained?
Men call Fen'harel a god. They pray to him for guidance. Solas sat on a luxurious bed, in a palace fit for a king, and tried to decide what he should do next.
He was, after all, just an elf.
1 Years of the trees- approximately 22 years of the sun, physical age around 10