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Banal Silaima V

Not much phased Solas. He'd seen too much during his travels in the Fade to be intimidated by happenings or people around him. The very first time he experienced true dread, dread so life-altering that is settled in the pit of his stomach and gripped his heart like a vice, was when he looked over The Fields of Nehn, filled with the bodies of slain elves that stretched on until the horizon.

The Fields stretched out between the sea and the Dales. From a distance, Solas assumed that the Fields were filled with crimson poppies, like some fields closer to Arlathan, but as he approached, he realized that the grass was splattered with blood. There was no green to be seen. Every piece of nature was covered by corpses and the corpses were covered by flies and maggots. Condors circled overhead, their large black wings blocking the sun from view, while vultures, with their hideous pink faces, picked at the cheeks of the long dead.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever forget the smell. It clogged his senses and gagged him. He covered his nose and mouth and walked along the outside of the pit of bodies. Several of the corpses were pierced by glowing, magic laced arrows with red feathers on the tail. Andruil, Solas realized, confused that she was present for this slaughter.

The remains of a varterral had a woman caught in its legs where they both died. So, Dirthamen was here as well. At least two Evanuris against a group of civilians. Disgraceful.

Far towards the end of the field, a figure stood in a billowing black gown, a black lace veil flowing in the wind. Beside the figure was a flag decorated with the symbol of an owl at flight.

Falon'Din had been causing nonsense in the Empire for several years now. Shortly after Mythal married Elgar'nan, Falon'Din decided that he didn't like the influence the couple had in Arlathan and across the country. It started simply, with egotistical tournaments held to discern great mages and single them out to be defeated by Falon'Din. His circle grew and tournaments turned into games held in ancient amphitheaters where people fought to the death for his approval and favor. The man was mad and felt that any elf that wasn't marked by his vallaslin was his to brutalize.

Eventually he was invited back to a party in Arlathan where Mythal asked him to reduce the violence in the south. In the presence of hundreds of eyes in attendance, they shared a laugh.

"I'm sure you're worried about your colony in Nehn," he remarked, chuckling. "My men settled not far from there recently."

"I'm aware," Mythal replied, taking his hand amiably. "And I'd like to sleep well knowing that they won't be swept up into your little games."

He seemed to agree and left Arlathan after several weeks to return to his horde. It was a few weeks after, that word spread throughout the Empire about the battle in the Fields of Nehn between Falon'Din's brutes and Mythal's followers.

Solas, who had been at Vir Dirthara for the entirety of Falon'Din's nonsense, immediately went to Nehn, completely unprepared for what he would witness when he saw the bloody Fields. And there stood Mythal, over the bodies of the people she wished to protect.

"Mythal?" Solas called gently.

She turned to look at him; her eyes were puffy from crying and her hands were covered with blood. At her feet was a girl, too young to be a warrior, seconds away from death, gasping for air. "I can't save her," Mythal whispered, tears running down her face. Solas knelt to the girl and throughout her body were dozens of shivs made of crystallized blood. He could not remove them or close her wounds and within moments she died.

"Dareth shiral," he murmured and embraced Mythal as she sunk to the ground and sobbed. Her screams were the worst sounds he'd ever heard, because nothing he could do in that moment would ease her pain.

I've never seen Sara cry, he thought suddenly, wanting some reprieve by such a haunting memory. His mind wandered blankly for several moments. Unbidden, a gust of biting, snowy wind nearly made him lose his footing as he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

"Don't fall, mage," The Iron Bull called from behind him, looking frostbitten and ridiculous with no shirt to protect him from the cold and a pair of dragon horns under each of his arms. "I don't want to be the person to tell the boss that you fell to you death over a little bit of snow."

"Shall I be the one to tell Dorian that you caught your death for not wearing a shirt in the snow?" Solas called back.

Iron Bull barked out a laugh. "I'm warm from the inside out. There's dragons nearby that we'll get to fight soon. Doesn't that warm your skin?"

"No," Solas replied.

Iron Bull snorted with a shrug. "You're no fun."

Solas would have liked nothing more than to warm himself with magic but it seemed foolish to waste his energy with the impending threat of dragons.

Ahead of him, Sara and Cassandra marched through deeper paths of snow in the hills. Another gust forced them to stop moving and faintly, he heard Cassandra yell, "This is foolish. We should go back to camp and wait for the storm to pass."

"Alright. Fine. We'll try tomorrow," Sara called back. They each turned and began to traipse back down the hill, stepping in their old footprints.

"What about the dragons?" Iron Bull insisted.

"They can wait," Cassandra told him firmly and gave him an insistent push forward. Iron Bull grumbled the entire trip down the hill. It seemed that as soon as they reached the base of the hill, the winds softened and made their walk to camp pass quickly.

At camp, the soldiers had pitched a large tent for their Inquisitor. Inside, they'd built a fire pit and warmed furs and blankets. Solas nearly sighed with relief when he shed his snow covered cloak and sat by the fire, his hands practically covered in flames. Cassandra and Sara ducked behind a privacy screen to remove their wet clothing while Iron Bull sat beside Solas, his face still frustrated with the lack of dragons slain and a wooden bowl in his hand.

"Hey, Boss," he called gruffly. Sara peaked her head from behind the screen with a smile. "If you think bribing me with onion soup will make forget about our retreat-"

"I would never try to bribe you with food, Bull," she insisted sarcastically and came out, dressed in wool leggings and a thick tunic.

"I'm not easy," Iron Bull grumbled.

"Who said you were?"

He took gulps of his soup and ignored her. Sara's face brightened with understanding. "If this is about Dorian-"

"It isn't."

Solas rolled his eyes. How a man like The Iron Bull could be predictable was baffling.

Sara sat beside Iron Bull and nudged him with her elbow. "Why are you two fighting?"

"I have no idea, Boss. All I know is that he's acting like a cat."

"A cat?" Cassandra asked, joining them.

"You know how house cats act like they hate you, but then also sit on your shoulder and purr when you're having an off day," Iron Bull explained. "That's what he's doing."

"You don't like that he plays hard-to-get?" Sara asked.

"No."

Cassandra groaned, clearly exasperated and stood to leave. "I don't want to know anything more about your... habits. I know too much already."

The Iron Bull smirked. "I thought you liked erotic stories."

She blushed and bolted from the tent in a huff as Sara held her stomach in laughter.

"We're awful to her," Sara giggled.

"Ah, she'll get over it." Iron Bull waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, I've decided to ignore Dorian's antics."

That won't work, Solas thought. Dorian loves attention.

"That would only make him upset, Bull," Sara replied. "I think Dorian just likes to be chased. I wouldn't take his behavior too personally."

Iron Bull shrugged and took a deep swallow of soup. "Whatever you say, Boss."

Sara stood and stretched languidly before circling the fire pit to sit beside Solas. He immediately took her in his arms and heard Iron Bull murmur something about privacy and curtly leave the tent. For several moments, they simply held each other. The only sounds in the tent were the logs crackling in the pit and Sara's steady, deep breathing.

Solas adored moments like this because time moved so unnaturally and kept him locked in time with her. Minutes would pass gently and the sunset seemed to go on for weeks. If only... Solas thought ruefully. I wish it could always be like this. He kissed the top of her head and stifled a regretful sigh. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this moment with his melancholy.

Their fight against Corypheus would conclude soon, likely before the year's end. Solas always assumed that if and when the Magister was dead, he'd reclaim his orb and proceed with his plans. But now...

Sara's soft snores pulled Solas from his musings. Rest, he thought. I must rest, too. Sleep would calm his mind.

He brought her to a small sleeping mat away from the fire and pulled thick furs over them. Sara's arm wove around his waist tightly and he sighed, content.

The temple's walls were collapsing. Each intricately laid stone plummeted to the ground, shattering the gleaming mosaic floors into shards and turning grand sculptures of an owl at flight into crude lumps of clay.

The sound of war flooded the air; screaming, clashing steel, the roar of fire, the crackle of lightening, screaming, the groans of the dying.

By the time the deepest sanctum of the temple was breached, Falon'Din had surrendered to Mythal. Defeated and humiliated, Falon'Din became as wild as a toddler. He crashed is fists into the walls, again and again until his knuckles were red and raw and screamed obscenities.

Mythal accosted him during his tantrum. Solas would never forget the way Falon'Din looked at her; his eyes were wide, childlike and fearful, but also fiery with rage. They were a deep blue-black, shining with unquenchable hatred.

Regardless, when Mythal gripped her hand around his throat and demanded that he never slaughter the innocent again, all Falon'Din could do was whisper, "I'll do whatever you ask."

Solas woke with a nearly painful jolt. He sat up quickly, his heart pounding and a sharp sting between his shoulder blades. The tent had gone rather cool and beside him, the mat was empty. The memories he dreamt made him stumble dizzily toward the entrance of the tent. The cool air would surely clear his mind.

Outside, the camp was chaotic: soldiers marched aimlessly, all talking over each other in panic stricken tones. Perhaps the dragons crossed the bridge, Solas mused. Cassandra commanded an air of crippling concern, though it was hidden under her booming voice as she yelled at officers to "Scout north" or "Look in the ruins nearby."

Solas approached her calmly. "What is the matter?"

"Sara is missing." Solas felt a familiar pang of dread that made his blood run so cold it made the snow on the ground reminiscent of sand upon the Waking Sea.

"I'll find her," he said resolutely. Sending parties to find Sara would take time; none of these men knew her the way he did, thus making the search impersonal and fruitless.

"She left a few hours ago without a word to anyone," Cassandra explained. "If we can make contact with her before nightfall, I'll feel better." The sun was due to set in another hour and Solas nearly scolded her for not waking him sooner.

"How did she seem?" he asked.

"She was fine. She and I were talking near that fire over there." Cassandra pointed to a pit near the southernmost point of the camp. "She was opening letters during our conversation. I left for less than a minute and when I returned to the fire she was gone. It took us a while before we realized she left camp and she hasn't been back since."

"Pardon me, Seeker." One of the army's scouts bowed quickly. "Here are the missives you asked for." He handed a small stack of letters over to Cassandra.

Cassandra flipped through each letter quickly, her eyes scanning each note for some vague importance. One of them finally caught her attention. "This one's from Josephine," she muttered, mostly to herself. "She never writes us when we're in the field. What could she-" Cassandra's eyes looked over the letter once, then again, more slowly as her face drained of color. "Maker," she whispered and handed the letter to Solas somberly.

My Lady Inquisitor and dearest friend, I sincerely regret to send my condolences-

"I'll find her," Solad murmured gently, his stomach twisting.

By the time Solas journeyed across the crossing, Sara had been gone deep into nightfall. Every step through the snow, he reflected on Josephine's letter:

My Lady Inquisitor and dearest friend, I sincerely regret to send my condolences. I received word that our efforts to quiet the bandits in Wycome were unsuccessful. The bandits, I am sorry to say, attacked your clan some weeks ago. No survivors have been found at this moment, however, the governing family of Wycome has agreed to forward any discernible remains and keepsakes that were left behind to Skyhold in the hopes they will offer some solace. I am so sorry, Sara. If you need anything at all, please allow me to help. Josephine.

The entire situation reeked of betrayal to Solas. Sara never liked flexing the power of the Inquisition for what could be viewed as personal gain. Her humility, though admirable, could be seen as meekness. People were inclined to trample over the small. Solas remembered when Sara was informed of the bandits near her clan; she was a new leader then and she wanted to address the situation with tact. Diplomacy would send the message that she was a thoughtful leader, but this particular situation required force. Leaving her clan's safety to nobles on the strength of their word was a mistake. Her so-called allies in Wycome may have dallied or even complied with the bandits on purpose, as a way to remove the Dalish from their land. No one would ever know now. Any one that did would take the betrayal to their death.

Death. Her entire clan was completely gone. Wiped from the world like a sudden gust of wind. While Josephine spared Sara any morbid details, Solas knew that her own mind would create the ghosts that haunt her. It would not take much for her to imagine the slaughter; her days were filled with fighting and she would be quick to replace the face of some outlaw with face of her father or brother.

She had three brothers, Solas remembered suddenly. All boys. The youngest one... What was his name?... Ardis? Yes. He was practically a toddler. Slaughtered. Her mother was gentle, Sara said. Soft-spoken, loving, matronly. Killed. Her father; she loved her father dearly.

But he was dead too. All her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, comrades, teachers, former loves, childhood rivals, all gone. Everyone that shared her name was gone.

More and more she and I share despair. When I find her, she will look to me for strength but even I haven't soothed the pain of waking to a world where everything you knew vanished like an impulsive whim. What can I say to her, when she likely feels that she caused the slaughter? She will never forgive herself of this mistake.

As I haven't.

Solas found her huddled within a ruin, warmed by veilfire. She trembled, though if it was from the cold or her tears, he could not be sure. "Sara." His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him; her eyes were nearly swollen closed, red and wet. Her face was streaked with the dried salt of her tears and her fingers were almost blue from the chill.

"Let me take you back to camp," he murmured, taking her hands and quickly warming them with magic but she didn't stand.

"I couldn't save them," she rasped.

"You..." Solas swallowed with a breath. "You did what you could."

"What is all this for, if I couldn't protect my own family?" she asked him, she eyes taking on a sudden fire.

"You've protected other families and you will save more by the time this is over," he assured her.

"So I must be willing to sacrifice people I love for everyone else?" she demanded, rising to her feet. "Is that it?"

"Leading requires many sacrifices, you know that," Solas replied, her fury stunning, forcing him to be stuck in her rage. "You are a woman of power and influence. Nothing was stopping Corypheus or any of your other enemies from going to Wycome and doing the very thing a few bandits did. People will look to weaken you through pain."

"So I have to be above pain?" She gripped his hands tightly as if to squeeze an answer out of him.

"No. You have to remember why you took the role of Inquisitor in the first place- not just for you but for everyone." Solas brought his hand to her face and wiped away a fresh tear.

"I can't-" A sob stopped her from talking and Solas took her in his arms.

"You can," he whispered gently. "You are strong and while this pain will linger, I know you can overcome this. You will go on."

"No," she choked out. "I can't lose you."

Guilt raced through Solas fast as wild horses. And before he could even address the cruelty of his relationship with her, the screech of a nearby dragon startled both of them. Sara pulled away from him and wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing her discarded sword and shield. They left the ruins and Solas started toward the camp while Sara turned to follow the dragon.

"Sara, come back," he called. From far away, closer to the dragon, they both heard Iron Bull's enthralled laughter. At the sound, Sara ran toward the fighting and Solas followed her. This recklessness, when consumed by grief, was something he knew well. The worse decisions were made when the mind was clouded with regret and violent melancholy.

And shouldn't I know, Solas thought solemnly. In this moment, all the mattered was helping Sara choose a wiser path than he did.

Elven Phrases

Nehn: Joy

Varterral: A huge creepy spider-like creature, first created by the Elven God, Dirthamen.

Dareth shiral: Farewell

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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