Interlude

Warm beams of light broke through high, ornamented windows as the sun reached its peak above the horizon and made gold adornments look like they caught fire. Silence filled the corridor, save for rhythmic, light steps that somehow composed perfectly into that silence. The steps of a predator - almost soundless.

A tall, male silhouette emerged from around a corner. The armour that covered his form was as practical as it was intimidatingly beautiful. Adorned with a wolf's pelt, it gave power to the elf's presence if he ever needed more.

The elf came to a halt before a double door at the end of the corridor. He extended his magic like a net, covering all his surroundings and what was behind the door. The wolf found what he was looking for—his prey was in the room. All alone, ready for the wolf to hunt and devour.

The elf delicately, almost sensually, mapped the wards covering the room and, with little effort, fade stepped inside through them.

A spacious study was bathed in the light and gentle breeze that was coming from a glass door with a white, delicate curtain, now wide open. The view that spread from a balcony could make anyone speechless. A city. The city. Built wide around a river, dotted with graceful towers that seem to reach towards the sky like spires. Green parks with floating islands and waterfalls. Numerous marketplaces with every good that a heart might desire. Simply majestic.

The olive walls of the room were half hidden behind bookshelves, the floor covered with plush, rich carpets. The centre of the room was dominated by a big, mahogany desk, now littered with various papers and scrolls, as well as small plants and sweets. The far right corner of the room was occupied with a chaise longue with a ridiculous amount of pillows on it. Very plush pillows.

An Elvhen woman sat at the desk, writing on one of the papers. She was facing the open balcony door and didn't seem to notice the intrusion. As she dipped her quill into a bottle of ink, the elf noted that her heartbeat was slow and her breathing was calm and deep.

The elf allowed the smallest of smirks to creep into his face and advanced towards the sitting woman, matching his steps with her intake of breath.

Another dip of the quill in the ink.

He was directly behind her. A predator, ready to strike his unsuspecting prey. She was completely defenceless. Her neck, so slender and graceful, fully exposed by a high coiffure, was almost too tempting to grab with his hands. Her hands, expertly writing some complex mathematical formulas, never making even the smallest blot of ink on the paper, almost begged to be bound or chained. Her half-exposed shoulders...

The elf froze, all thoughts escaping him as he felt the cold metal of a blade touch his exposed neck from behind. He knew that weapon like the back of his own hand. He had fought so many times against it that he could see the blade in the eyes of his mind.

He dared not to even breathe as he saw the woman in the chair fade into nothingness, her heart and breath stopped like an illusion she was. The quill fell onto the paper, making a nasty smear. The elf felt a presence behind him, holding the blade that threatened to end his existence and forfeit his soul.

"Tell me, Wolf." He heard the voice that could find him even in his dreams. "Why is it that your plans always turn against you?"

Chapter I

The Gods watch over thy end

Somewhere, in a different place, in a different time...

Solas hadn't yet managed to obtain information regarding what exactly had happened in the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, but the outcome was an undebatable catastrophe.

Having woken up from Uthenera not even a year earlier, he was still severely weakened from his millennia-long slumber. Thus, he concluded that he should have just let the magister try to open his Orb. He guessed that the lack of sufficient knowledge and the sheer power released while opening the artefact would kill the lunatic magister and solve his problem. Seeing no fault in his logic, he had ordered his remaining agents to observe but not intervene with Corypheus proceedings. He had allowed the Venatori to locate his Orb and present the artefact to the mad Tevinter. His plan had been to conveniently step in to recover his foci after the magister was done for.

The ancient elf immediately knew that something had gone astray when he was thrown onto his knees by a massive blast of energy and felt the Veil being violently torn open. He saw the sky rupture and split, and the green energy of the Fade escaped the breach so densely that it obscured the sun.

Solas stared at the newly formed calamity motionless for a few moments, realising the severity of his mistake. He felt the spirits in that part of the fade die as the Veil was torn into pieces, so many of them—eternally destroyed—perished. He saw others, twisted in their grotesque, horrid forms. Demons, as the ever-ignorant humans called them, flood into the waking world like the water through a burst dam. He saw the blast, the pure and unrestricted explosion of the Fade and knew that only a few – if any - of the attendants at the negotiations survived. Though he did not care deeply for the self-righteous humans of the Chantry, ignorant and degraded elves, or dreamless children of the stone, it was still a pointless loss of lives. Peace between the mages and the templars might have been achieved, and at least one thing in this twisted, wrong, suffocating world might have been less wrong.

Yet, once again, his actions had turned against him and the world around him. Ages ago, stricken with grief and rage after the murder of Mythal, he had created the Veil. He wanted to see his People free. He wanted to save Them from power-hungry, blood-crazed, self-made gods.

The Evanuris.

But he was not the saviour, for his creation had been the very thing that became the demise of the ancient civilization and its People. It deprived Them of their free connection to the Fade, the timeless body, and, finally, the power to resist their rising enemies. From the Fade, he saw glimpses of the collapse of Arlathan and the misery and pain he inflicted on his People.

Perhaps the Dalish, despite being wrong about him being the betrayer, were at their very right to hate him with all their spite. But the funny thing was, some say that nobody would ever hate you more than you hated yourself. He certainly felt that way. And he saw the confirmation of his feelings in the gargantuan, gaping hole in the sky, expanding with every second of his shock and threatening to consume everything on its way like an avalanche.

It was time to act and control at least a portion of the damage caused by the explosion.

He embraced the alias of an elven apostate that he used after his awakening. Humble, somewhat tattered clothing – not that he cared for it either way. He had always used it to create a certain image - be it a magnificent god or an unthreatening hobo. As he made his way in the direction of the Breach, Solas witnessed more and more evidence of the disaster – fleeing, panicking people, groups of soldiers running in no particular direction, and some half-burned debris that was blown into the sky by the force of the Orb. There were also smaller tears in the Veil scattered all over the valley and probably all across Thedas. He saw the twisted, tortured spirits come out of them and attack the gathered soldiers. He regretted deeply that the only thing he could do was shorten their pain, but he was unable to effectively close those rifts without the Anchor or the Orb.

It took Solas a few hours to reach a larger settlement – called Haven. It was nothing more than a couple of wooden buildings and a stone chantry in the middle of a frozen valley, now absolutely crowded with people of all races running around. Some had purpose in their eyes, some errands to run, deliveries to make, missions to accomplish, a day to save. The others just welcomed the void and numbness that swallow a soul after losing a loved one or experiencing that kind of misery. The healing tents erected all over the main gate were flooded with the groans of the wounded and a sickly-sweet smell of blood mixed with other bodily fluids and healing concoctions. There was a group of children playing around in the half-frozen mud, waiting for their guardians to return, not yet realising that some of them would never return.

He tried not to think of his involvement in this situation as he spotted three humans in military gear walking swiftly in his direction. He didn't find that surprising – he was an elf, a mage, a potential apostate and rebel, a treat four times over in their eyes. He fought the trained urge to flex his muscles and relaxed his posture instead. The ancient elf hunched his shoulders and leaned forward, putting his weight on his staff as if he was leaning on it for support, and bowed his head down. Once a god, now an image of perfect submission and humility, he tried to look as little as possible of the danger he could really be.

He succeeded, partially. The guards eyed his form with distrust and wariness. He could see the tension and exhaustion creeping in on their faces, but they didn't draw their weapons when they approached. The human in the middle made a hand gesture, and he felt the quiet, electric song of lyrium somewhere behind him – a templar ready to smite him if the situation became unpredictable.

"By the order of the Seeker Cassandra Penthagaust, every mage or other suspicious person"—a flexible and convenient way of enforcing law, thought Solas as the guard in the front stated"—is to be brought before her for questioning about their involvement in the Conclave and judgement. State your name and hand over your weapon, mage."

"My name is Solas, and I don't think such measures will be necessary as I..."

"We didn't order you to think." The guard interrupted him, trying to emphasise his point. He put a hand on the pommel of his weapon. "You are to hand over your weapon and follow us. Get it, mage? I won't repeat it for the third time." He was looking somewhere behind Solas' head, at the templar to get ready, if necessary.

As Solas suspected, the aversion to thinking seemed to be a plague around here, but discussing epidemiology with the Chantry wasn't high on his list of priorities. He needed to get closer to the temple and the place of the blast, find out what had happened, get his Orb and the Anchor, and try to close the gaping hole in the Veil. It seemed that the way to his goals led through this Seeker. He preferred to avoid unnecessary physical confrontation, especially with an unknown number of enemies, as he was still weakened from uthenera. Sneaking also wasn't an option with all the soldiers running around to stop the demons coming from the rifts. The chance of their interference was too high, and the task was too delicate. He supposed the most sensible option was to ally with this force for now and get their trust by offering them his help. He could offer them his knowledge of not only the Fade, but also the Veil, which was for sure greater than their mages had given him because he was its creator. He had to consider that the plan involved significant risk, but for now it was the best option available, so he decided to proceed with it.

Granted they wouldn't try to kill him first. That would be troublesome.

"Ma nuvenin. As you wish." He said calmly and let go of his staff, letting it fall to the ground. The sound of wood banging against a stone path was overshadowed by the templars' clanking armour as he rushed to pick up his staff and push him forward in the direction of the chantry. How did the saying go – to enter the wolf's den?

The elf was led inside the stone building and manoeuvred between praying or crying people into one of the rooms next to the main hall. Even before the door opened, he could hear a heated discussion between two women. Solas could identify the accent on one of them as Orlesian, the other probably Nevarran. That and the name of the Seeker matched the description of the left and right hands of the Divine from one of the reports from his agents. Caution was required then, especially around the Nightingale.

Solas and his esteemed escort stepped into the room after a barked "Enter!" and were greeted with the sight of two women that indeed matched the description in the report. The description, if only accurate, was a little dry and didn't mention the iron will and fierceness that were hidden in the Seeker's eyes or the quiet, calculated danger that screamed from the Nightingale.

"Seeker," started the head guard, "we have found this, ehh, dangerous elven rebel mage sneaking around the encampment. We have managed to successfully disarm and detain him." The apparently very ambitious soldier spoke proudly, suggesting that it was indeed both a challenge and an achievement. "And we present him to you for questioning and judgement, as we highly suspect that he was involved in the Conclave… being gone." He finished as convincingly as he could, but the silence that followed made him uncomfortable, so he looked expectantly at his two compatriots. They seemed to catch up with the game and started nodding enthusiastically, backing up his words.

Apparently, the templar didn't get the memo. He opened his mouth with intent to state his objections but was quickly silenced by the trio's warning glares.

Solas raised an eyebrow and almost smirked. Almost. The guards thought that they could exploit the situation to their advantage and try to get a quick promotion in this chaotic time. It would be a good idea if it wasn't so poorly executed. The Seeker and Nightingale unknowingly shared his opinion as they dismissed the whole four from the room without a word of praise that they craved and listened to the recollection of a scout that sneaked into the room in the meantime.

"So, Solas." Nightingale tasted his name on her tongue, and whatever she found there, she deemed sufficient. "You were not at the Conclave, but you did come here after the explosion. Most people look at the sky and do the exact opposite." She looked him straight in the eyes and gave him a small, encouraging smile. The same kind of smile that a scorpion might give before stabbing. "Why then?"

"There is no point in running away from the Breach. I'm sure you have already observed it, but it's pulsing, and with each such pulse, it's expanding. The pulses become even more frequent as the Breach grows, creating an exponentially growing threat. It is devouring everything in its way, creating smaller rifts, and allowing demons to trespass to our side." He started with some simple yet alarming facts, it was usually harder to argue with them. Indeed, neither face of the woman showed much surprise but a reasonable amount of distrust.

"You can fight off demons, but that is merely destroying their physical form here. More will come over from the Fade, more rifts will open. You can still try to fight them off, but soldiers need rest and supplies, and they die. As time progresses, you simply won't have enough manpower and resources to stop them anymore, and you will fall." These, again, were not surprising discoveries, but both women looked grim and upset at him for stating their future was so bluntly disastrous.

"So, what do you suggest we do then, mage?" asked the Seeker through clenched teeth, her eyes boring holes in his hunched form.

"The main goal should be to close the Breach, or at least stop it from expanding. I don't know exactly what happened at the conclave. This magic is unlike anything that I have seen before," which was technically true since he has never used his foci in such a way and he had no idea what went wrong at the Conclave for it to create something like the Breach. "However, I would advise searching through the place of the explosion. I have reasons to suspect that the power that has opened the Breach will be needed to close it. It would…"

"Leliana, this is ridiculous!" The Seeker exploded, "We are not having this conversation with him. The Conclave is gone! Justinia is gone! And somebody's responsible for it!" She stepped forward and, in one trained, swift movement, unsheathed her sword. The weapon made an arc, light from the candles gliding along the blade, and stopped just next to his throat. He felt like he had been in this situation once. Solas willed himself not to make a move or spell - he had to be cautious, but the situation was not yet without solution. Grief was a powerful emotion, he knew that from experience, but it just needed to be pointed in the right direction, namely, not in his neck.

"We don't need unknown apostate mages strolling into Haven and telling us what to do! How can we know he was not involved? We should throw him into the dungeon and decide what to do with him after the sky stops trying to kill us all."The Seeker was looking at him heavily with hooded eyes, but the Spymaster put a hand on her shoulder, and she calmed a bit. Leliana whispered something to the Seeker, got an answer and a reluctant nod from her, and then turned again to face him.

"Were you involved in the events at the Conclave?" she asked softly.

Such a simple and complicated question. One could think that Leliana was on his side and tried to persuade the Seeker, but he made no such mistake. He was sure that she would, without a thought, drive one of her knives, one that she surely had somewhere on her, through his throat if she found his answer unsatisfying.

"I swear by Mythal," he supposed that it would look better if he swore on some higher power, and out of elvhen 'gods', Mythal was the only option. "I have never been here or seen such magic." Which was technically true since he has never seen such usage of his foci. "I don't know what happened at the Conclave that resulted in the explosion of the temple." Because only the magister and maybe some nearby lakeys should have been affected, he added in his head, "And I had no involvement in the explosion." At least, not directly or personally - the Orb just happened to be his, and he didn't intervene when Corypheus obtained it.

"I have spent many years wandering the world and studying its wonders. My research has been particularly dedicated to the topic of the Fade and the Veil, trying to understand its structure and purpose. The Fade contains a wealth of knowledge for those who know where to look and are willing to learn. As I said, I came here to offer my knowledge and help voluntarily because the Breach is a treat to all of us, and I occasionally do enjoy living. Of course, you are free to reject my humble services. I'm sure such an esteemed organisation as you represent has experts on the Fade on its own and hardly needs any more help on that matter."

Seeker made a frustrated groan from the back of her, easily rivalling the groan of an enraged young dragon. The last jab was unnecessary, he was guilty of that, but he wanted to emphasise that it was in their best interest to let him have a look at the matter.

"You are an apostate, and if what you say is true, you have frequent dealings with the Fade and probably demons. How come you are not possessed?" asked the Seeker, still holding him at the sword's edge.

"One could assume that I am moderately competent at what I do." He answered plainly to her challenge and was rewarded with another warning groan.

His answers were apparently enough for Leliana to come to a decision. He was sure that was not the end of the questions and that she would verify everything that he had said so far and dig some more, but for now, it was enough.

She nodded her head, a movement barely visible, and turned to the Seeker again.

"We don't have much time, Cassandra, and it will kill him if we don't do anything. We can let Solas examine him. We will observe and intervene if we have any... doubts or concerns." She gave him a look, and he nodded in return, signalling that he understood the message.

"Fine, but if you try something suspicious or don't produce satisfying results, mage, your head will roll!" Cassandra finished, as if the Spymaster's warning needed any clarification. She moved her blade away from his neck, but still not to the sheath.

"Very well, Seeker. I agree to your terms."

"Follow me then. Let's get that over with."

He was led by Cassandra and shadowed by Leliana and her scout, now carrying his staff, to the main hall again and then down to the dungeons.

They stopped at a heavy door at the end of a narrow, cold hallway, guarded by two heavily armed Templars. The Seeker opened the door and let him step inside. But what he saw there froze the very blood in his veins.

There, in the centre of the room, chained by cuffs at his hands and feet, lay an unconscious male elf. He looked rumbled, his clothes torn and dirty. He had a shallow cut on his thigh and a head wound that was already closed on his temple. There was Mythal's vallaslin decorating his forehead and high cheekbones with deep blue vine-like lines, now partially obscured by his blooded dark hair. He was surprisingly tall for a modern elf, only an inch or two shorter than Solas when standing, probably. His body also didn't carry any immediate signs of neglect, abuse, or starvation. He was fit with lean muscle, indicating he was probably a warrior or a hunter in his clan.

But what really made Solas stop dead in his tracks was his own Anchor flaring angrily with the vivid green energy of the Fade itself in the left palm of this unknown elf.