A/N: Is everyone ready for a BOMBSHELL? *Maniacal laughter* Sorry for my tardiness. I don't know why, but I have great trouble writing while pregnant. Just...no discipline or mental focus for it. But I am still trying!

Twenty

The Hidden Memories


Skyhold was busier than the inside of an anthill in the weeks after Tal returned from Crestwood. The charred remains of the fire were already cleared away before his arrival and manual labor teams had returned to active construction. Private residences in the keep were restored—as much as was possible—allowing people to leave the makeshift tents behind and sleep inside. Solas, Dorian, Fiona, and that sexy, scary horned Enchanter whose name Tal kept forgetting, all moved into one wing of the keep that included a library and a rookery. Leliana worked at the uppermost level with her ravens and Tal hated going in there to see her. The birds filled him with unease, reminding him of Rosa's creepy story of Fear and Deceit.

But even if the constant cawing and croaking of the ravens didn't spook him, Tal would've steered clear of the area just to avoid Solas. He knew he should be grateful to the Elvhen man for saving his life at Haven, protecting Rosa and Eliana's interests, and serving the Inquisition as a tireless researcher of the arcane and obscure. None of those accomplishments, however, could overcome Tal's growing resentment and suspicion.

Solas was…an insurmountable obstacle. His secrets were so vast and frightening, Tal dreaded interacting with him. He didn't want to worry for his sister. For Eliana. He didn't want to wonder if the Elvhen man had a connection to the darkest of the Creators. He didn't want to distrust him. Didn't want to think about any of that at all—as if, by denying it, the issue would vanish into Fade ether.

The denial was all the more galling because evading Solas also meant estranging himself from Rosa. It wasn't as though he never saw her or spoke with her. It was just that Solas was always there with her. And, knowing her as well as he did, Tal sensed she was holding back, preserving the Elvhen man's secrets with the same tenacity as she protected Eliana. Rosa knew something huge, and she wasn't sharing it. Worse, it acted like an invisible wall between them, making any encounters with her short and somewhat strained.

Stripped of his sister's company and guidance—no matter how often he'd criticized her as a nanny in recent days—left him feeling like a ghost. Hollow. Lonely. How ironic that he could be one of the busiest people in Skyhold, dragged from one place, one meeting to another, constantly surrounded by people of every race, nation, and creed…and yet inside he was mad with loneliness. Alienated from the person who'd been his pillar for years. Any moment something made him laugh, or angry, he'd immediately think I have to tell Rosa, only to remember she was a stranger to him now.

He could confront her. Corner her alone. It would be easy, considering the insane and stupid amount of power he could wield now. All he had to do was give Solas some distraction. Go ahead of the main bulk of our forces and investigate the Venatori presence in a weird temple ruin in 'the Forbidden Oasis.' It'd be totally natural. Solas was the self-proclaimed expert on fording into ancient Elvhen ruins. And, being a concerned, responsible parent, he wouldn't insist on taking Rosa and Eliana. It was perfect—and yet Tal wouldn't do it.

It wasn't fear of interacting with Solas to hand out the mission that held him back. He didn't need to do it personally, after all. He could order a servant to do it. He could dismiss any protests Solas offered up. You'll have a full contingent of soldiers from Commander Cullen to protect you. Josephine will furnish you with all the rare, dusty tomes you could ever want. Leliana will give you her fastest ravens for swift messages. But he just…couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because the moment he confronted this issue head on, he'd find out the truth. And that scared him shitless. So, as much as it hurt, he let the fear of that sunder him from his sister.

No wonder Rogathe had so disagreed with him. He really was an unimaginable coward.

He might've sought comfort and companionship from Dorian, but Tal's study of necromancy had soured their flirtation lately. Dorian's dismissive comments on Tal's understanding of the discipline still stung, bitterly. So, while Tal still enjoyed crossing paths with Dorian, he didn't feel comfortable seeking him out, either.

The rest of the inner circle all fell short in one way or another, too. Cassandra was as much an advisor as anything else, more judgmental than Rosa. Tal didn't need more shame. Varric was racked by guilt over his part in hiding Hawke, deceiving Cassandra and mildly betraying the Inquisition for months before he revealed the truth. The dwarf didn't need Tal's drama added to his own. Iron Bull reminded him of the Tal-Vashoth who'd died at the Conclave. Tal didn't need to feel any sadder. Sera was nonsensical and pseudo-hostile to him because he was an elf, strangely, which made her totally unappealing as a shoulder to cry on. Blackwall had enough to worry about, with the Wardens all messed up the way they were. And the Circle Enchanter lady with the horns was right out. Way too scary and…well, she didn't strike Tal as being a particularly sympathetic person.

The only reason he didn't drown himself in booze to escape this misery was because being Inquisitor kept him so damned busy. Even when no one really needed him there, they had to have him smile and nod his approval. Tal wanted to rip his hair out at the end of each day, but settled for collapsing into the little pile of blankets he'd set up on the uppermost level of the tavern while he waited to be given proper bedchambers, as his advisors called them.

And so it was, three days before he was scheduled to pack up and ride out to the Western Approach, Tal found himself following a beaming Josephine through a tour of the tallest tower Skyhold had to offer.

"This will be your bedroom and office," she announced, ever-smiling at him.

Tal forced himself to smile back. He even feigned true pleasure. "Nice digs." The enormous bed, desk, and balcony only served to bewilder him. Creators, how did she expect him to be comfortable up here in this possibly unstable tower where the walls were as airtight as chainmail was watertight? The stone was cold. Some of the windows didn't appear as though they were capable of shutting. And all that space? The only thing Tal saw in it was loneliness.

Mythal's milky tits, he was Dalish. He'd spent most of his life crammed into aravels, snuggled against other elves.

His stomach sank, wishing he had the courage to go find where Rosa and Solas slept in one of the restored bedrooms and just weasel his way in there, terrible secrets be fucked. He wished he was a Dreamer like Rosa, because then he could summon his mother to him in the Fade and at least take comfort in her sleeper presence.

But no, he was alone.

He didn't sleep in the bed that night, or even in the tower. Instead, he left for the tavern's uppermost floor as discreetly as possible just after sundown. He used the ramparts to sneak into the top level rather than go through the tavern itself and risk someone waylaying him. He'd picked this spot to sleep because Cole had taken to haunting it. And only Cole, of everyone in Skyhold, had offered him any reprieve from loneliness.

The scent of ale washed over him, heady in the air as it tormented him, but Tal pushed through it as he sat on the furs in his dark corner. "Cole?" he called, keeping his voice soft. The tavern was rowdy below, noisy with chatter and song, but he didn't want to risk anyone hearing him.

"Yes?" the boy answered, behind and to his right.

Tal glanced in that direction and saw the spirit sitting cross-legged a short distance away. Cole was pale, like always, and wore his ugly, floppy hat despite the fact they were inside. "Can you come here and do your thing?" he asked, gesturing.

Cole was at his side between one eye blink and the next. His touch was gentle as it brushed Tal's shoulder, tousling his dark hair slightly. Tension eased in Tal's spine and he sighed, slumping backward against the wall behind him. Whatever Cole did, it emptied his mind and helped momentarily drain away his loneliness. It was as addicting as booze, without the side-effects. In fact, it even momentarily made him stop craving a drink.

They had done this often enough that Cole no longer tentatively asked if he was helping and knew what Tal needed from him. As relaxation finally settled into him, Tal sighed and let himself fall sideways onto his bed of furs. "Thank you."

"He was supposed to tell you the truth," Cole whispered. "He didn't."

Tal grunted. The vague prattle was also normal and totally part of their tradition at this point. Tal almost never puzzled out who Cole was talking about, but that hardly mattered. He encouraged it because it was interesting…and because he suspected Cole enjoyed it. This was his contribution to Cole's wellbeing. "Why not?"

"He's afraid," Cole answered. "So is she."

"Why?" Tal asked, cracking one eye to watch the spirit. "What're they afraid of?" He didn't know who they were talking about, as usual.

"Losing her," Cole said, as if that was a shocking revelation.

"No kidding," Tal said, grunting. Rolling onto his back, he clasped his hands over his middle and said, "I don't suppose you'd tell me who we're talking about this time, would you?"

Cole blinked at him. "Her."

Tal chuckled. "Okay, thanks. That totally clears it up."

"Yes," Cole agreed, nodding his head. After a beat of silence, he said, "Varric's looking for you."

Tal lifted his head, cocking an eyebrow. That was a lot more specific than usual. "Is he?"

"Yes," Cole affirmed and then went on in the hushed, altered tone that told Tal he was repeating something someone else had said. "When you see him tonight, tell him to meet me in the library."

Tal swore. "Fuck that. Solas could be there."

"No, Solas is with them in the Dreaming," Cole said.

Tal didn't know who them was, but he'd wager Cole meant Rosa and Eliana. The elven family unit was rarely apart since Corypheus' attack on Haven. Tal couldn't blame them, even if resentment burned like acid inside him because he was clearly the odd one out. "What did Varric want with me?"

"Memories," Cole whispered.

For an instant Tal snorted, thinking Cole was making a silly joke—and then he bolted upright. "He's ready with the lyrium and herbs and shit?" he asked, heart pounding. "The stuff he wants to use on Dorian and me to retrieve our memories?"

"The ones the other me took away," Cole murmured, nodding. But his eyes were surprisingly dark, as though torn and troubled. "He wouldn't want you to find them."

"Of course he does," Tal rejoined, already moving for the stairs. "It was his idea."

"Yes," Cole agreed, his eerie blue eyes following Tal's progress. "To protect you from him."

Tal chuckled as he sprang down the stairs. "I love you, dude. Never change."

Alone, Cole blinked.


"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Dorian said, frowning doubtfully at the two vials sitting at the tiny table across from his usual plush seat in the library. They were faintly glowing blue, but had noticeable flecks of other colors and debris inside.

"This is the recipe Aveline gave me," Varric said, lifting his hands in a motion of surrender. "And I did make sure to ask about her witness' health after he drank it."

"And…?" Dorian asked.

"And he had only minor side-effects according to her," Varric said, shrugging. At Dorian's continued expectant look, he added, "Like he was hungover, I guess."

"You're not going to wuss out on me, are you?" Tal asked, scowling at the other mage. "You were all-in on this when Varric first suggested it."

Dorian frowned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "That was before I learned more about the ingredients." He waved a hand to indicate the vials. "Lyrium of this purity is inherently dangerous on its own for anyone. Mixed with Maker knows what the Qunari have concocted, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if it splits our bellies open like overripe fruit."

He looked up at where Tal and Varric lingered near the railing and smirked sardonically. "You do know those horned lunatics have found non-magical means of creating explosions, yes?"

Varric shrugged. "If you're not comfortable with it, don't take it. You're not going to hurt my feelings either way. I know this shit is weird." He glanced over the railing, down into the rotunda, where Solas had drawn sketches over some of the wall, preparing a fresco. It was empty and silent now, late at night. "Chuckles would probably lecture us if he were here. Violet, too."

Tal scoffed. "Fuck them."

"Oh," Dorian said, chuckling. "I'm sure they are."

Tal shot him a look of disgust. "Are you trying to make me puke, Dorian?" He motioned at the table. "I mean, before we even drink this crap?"

"Hey," Varric complained, albeit lightheartedly. "I worked hard on that crap, Stoic."

Tal winced apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. I know you did. And I appreciate it very much." He strode over to the table and grabbed up one of the vials, lifting it to examine it with squinted eyes.

"I rather think we should research this a touch further before we dive headlong into it," Dorian cautioned again, concern darkening his handsome brown eyes.

Ignoring him, Tal plucked the cork out and downed the vial.

Dorian sighed. "Or not. Truly, you Southerners are all mad."

The taste was acrid, burning all the way down his throat and even rising into his nasal passageways. He coughed, choking a bit as he smacked his tongue, scowling at the terrible flavor. "Tastes like dragon piss."

"I've never had the pleasure of drinking a swill of such dubious vintage, I'm afraid," Dorian muttered.

"You'll want to turn your mind to what you do remember," Varric advised him, wearing an anxious expression. He rubbed his meaty hands together in a further sign of his nervousness. "Aveline warned me it might be, uh, disorienting."

Tal stared down at the vial and wrinkled his nose. "Other than it tasting awful, I feel fine."

"Oh," Varric said, pulling a face. "Just wait." He motioned at the chair Dorian often occupied during the day. "But, maybe make sure you're sitting down."

Shrugging, Tal plopped into the armchair and placed the empty, re-stoppered vial onto the table. Idly, he ran his fingers over the wood, nudging a small stack of books sidelong so he could read the spines. One of the books was an ancient Tevinter record from about the time of the First Blight. Tal vaguely remembered Dorian was researching genealogies, hoping to find Corypheus' true identity in the deep past.

"Are you going to get in on this, Sparkler?" Varric asked.

Dorian sniffed. "Eventually. I think it'd be best that my arcane and cognitive abilities remain intact on the not-unlikely chance that our hapless Inquisitor needs them over the course of this little experiment."

Tal snorted. "You just want to see if this all turns to shit for me."

"I hardly think it makes sense to have both of us risking our skins simultaneously," Dorian quipped, notably failing to deny Tal's lighthearted accusation.

As Tal shook his head, reacting to Dorian's comment, a wave of vertigo made the room spin. He stiffened, blinking several times. "Whoa."

"Dizzy?" Varric asked.

"Yeah," Tal responded, drawing out the single word for emphasis. He shut his eyes as the room grew increasingly unsteady. His stomach went loopy and he swallowed hard to suppress it. "Now…I get why you wanted me to sit."

Varric muttered under his breath and suddenly bolted down the stairs to the rotunda. His heavy footsteps echoed from below, out of Tal's sight—and then came a spatter of liquid and a metallic creak. The dwarf reappeared with a metal bucket tucked under one arm and set it near Tal in the armchair.

As Dorian and Tal stared at him, he wrung his hands together. "Uh, just in case."

Dorian heaved a sigh. "I do so hate being right all the time." He walked to the other side of the table and dug through a large bag, producing a sizable sack, stained black. "I'll go whip up an antidote."

"I didn't poison the Inquisitor," Varric rejoined. "Stop worrying, Sparkler."

"I'm fine," Tal snapped, backing up the dwarf, but his eyes were having difficulty focusing now. He saw double. Two Varrics and two Dorians. Two tables, two stacks of books…with a jolt of alarm, he realized he couldn't read the book spines anymore. His vision was too blurry and his brain too muddled.

"You can both thank me later," Dorian said and hurried away, carrying the smaller, stained bag.

"Okay," Varric said, sounding as nervous as he looked, swaying back and forth. But then again, Tal couldn't be sure that wasn't a visual hallucination. "I'll try to guide you, but Aveline was a bit sparse on the details. I guess…close your eyes and…uh…think about Redcliffe. Gloomy stonework. Dog-obsessed…"

Tal complied out of necessity rather than obedience as Varric commanded him to shut his eyes. He breathed deeply, trying to picture Redcliffe castle…and sank back into the armchair like a deboned fish.

All awareness of Skyhold faded away.

And out of the darkness, a nightmare rose up to greet him.

Dorian's face swam into view. "You look…" He grimaced. "How do I say this…delicately? Bad. Yes. You look like the peasants in Minrathous after a weeklong tavern crawl celebrating Satinalia."

Warm healing magic made him shiver, but it did nothing to ease his nausea. He opened his eyes and saw the sickening glow of red lyrium crystals. "Where the fuck are we?"

The walls were cracked, allowing water to spill in. Red lyrium crystals grew in places along the wall. The whispers in his ears didn't seem to increase or decrease as he moved to or away from the blasted stuff. He shook his head, trying to clear it. His ears were thick, as though he'd been diving and had gotten water in them.

"Okay, Stoic. Just follow the memory where it leads."

A figure in silver armor—Elvhen armor, the kind his father wore in dreams—held aloft a green-gold dome that magically repelled and slowed enormous boulders falling from the ceiling. A black wolf pelt was draped over one shoulder and a gray cloak with a large hood covered its face and head. Leliana, Cassandra, Sera, Varric, and Dorian all gawped beside him, weapons in hand but lowered harmlessly to their sides as they stared slack-jawed at this wonder.

The figure moved slightly, clenching its fist. The dome over them crackled with magical energy, green iridescent mist flowing from it for an instant before the translucent barrier turned opaque and then went completely black. It was stone now, he realized, gawking anew.

And then the figure turned toward him and spoke with a familiar female voice. "Da'isamalin."

"Don't push too hard, though. It's going to be fragmented."

A triumphant shout echoed from the ugly green sky and figures appeared, scaling the half-collapsed wall with surprising ease. And all of them, he saw dizzyingly, were elves. Every. Single. One.

"Fen'Harel vir'enasalin," they called. "Fen'Harel vir'enasalin!" The elves swarming into the castle reached the courtyard as more Venatori, scattered now, ran to fight them. Every elf erected barriers over themselves in blue. They lashed out with fireballs and ice spikes, Fade stone and lightning.

"And it might be out of order."

Rosa motioned at him, pulling him close. She riffled under the Inquisition-issue leather vest he wore and pulled out the pendant with its old dried blood still on it in flakes—the token he wore at all times to restrain Rogathe. She tossed it carelessly aside.

He touched his forehead to hers and shut his eyes. A second later he inhaled sharply as his muscles snapped taut and he felt a prickling heat move inside him, lurching up and out, straight for Rosa with all the eagerness of a toddler rushing for candy. Rosa flinched in his grasp, breathing faster as the spirit—Rogathe—sank into her.

"Maker help me, I should've asked Aveline to handle this."

There were elves everywhere in the courtyard. One shouted with a thick Orlesian accent, "Herald of Andraste!" But a different elf with an accent from Ferelden scoffed loudly and said, "Fen'Harel's Chosen."

He almost staggered with shock as his eyes met a familiar face and his stomach lurched into his throat. He half-collapsed backward, hitting Rosa who moved to support him again. His eyes stayed glued to the young elven woman wearing Keeper armor standing some distance away in the rubble along the fallen wall.

"Nola is here, yes," Rosa said softly.

"Hey, Stoic? Stoic?"

"The Elder One will be here soon," Rosa said. "Assuming Fen'Harel doesn't just kill him outright."

Something in his chest lurched with shock.

"Oh—oh! Bucket-bucket-bucket…"

The sky swirled overhead, green like the Fade. It was the Breach, impossibly large, consuming the world just as Cassandra thought it would when he woke in the Chantry cell in Haven. Bits of statues hovered in the air, floating like clouds. Andraste stared down at him from overtop the castle walls, slowly rotating. It looked like soon the statue, and large chunks of the castle, would be pulled into the vortex of the Breach.

"Ah, shit. That's going to stain."

Rosa was red-faced, shaking with both rage and grief. "Tell her it isn't about our heritage as much as it's about—" She broke off, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. "It's about Solas. Not Dirthamen. Not lenalin. Not Falon'Din, Mythal, Elgar'nan, or any of them." She gave him a little shake. "It's about Solas. It always was."

"Varric?! What's going on here?"

"Seeker, it's not what it looks like! I swear to Andraste I didn't—"

"You've given him something to drink, haven't you? How could you, Varric?"

Solas smiled tightly. "It was a pleasure knowing you, Talassan. Your father would have been proud of you."

"I swear to the Maker, I haven't given him a drop!"

"Then kindly explain to me why the Inquisitor is passed out in that chair and covered in his own vomit. No more lies, Varric!"

The wolf god stopped at the archway where Rosa stood and faced her. He reached out, laying a hand on her shoulder like a fellow soldier and comrade—but his touch lingered too long. His head and body moved too close to her. And she, in turn, dipped her head low, as if looking at him hurt.

"I should've known you would be involved with this, Tevinter."

"I assure you, dear Cassandra, I am the least of your troubles. In fact, I expect you'll be thanking me soon. I've come with a tonic to clear all this up."

"What is that? Give it to me."

"I told you, it's tonic water…along with a healthy sprinkling of charcoal to absorb any disagreeable substances the Inquisitor may have consumed."

Solas grabbed the pendant he wore about his neck—a wolf jaw he realized and almost let out a quick guffaw—and lifted it away. "Please give this to my younger self."

"Charcoal, Sparkler? Are you sure that won't make him sick again?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how often poison is used in Minrathous? No, of course you don't. Trust me, this marvelous antidote, albeit disgusting, has foiled countless would-be murders. No one of standing goes anywhere without these ingredients. And yes, that includes charcoal."

"The People will survive because it is how we were meant to live," Rosa said, walking with him into the throne room. "We will be immortal again without the Veil."

"You're choking him. Slow down."

"Hush now. I know what I'm doing."

Solas glanced one last time at him, nodding once. "Dareth shiral, Talassan."

Then Solas stepped into the green-white shimmering, twisting glow of the rift-portal. The Elvhen guards in the circle rushed after him. The rift flickered with each elf passing through it, hissing and fluctuating. The Veil was warped, twisted and fractured. He caught a glimpse through it of dark arches, a glitter of crimson from what might have been red lyrium.

"C'mon, Stoic. Wakey-wakey."

Fen'Harel reached up and removed the wolf headdress, revealing a familiar bald, pale, smooth-skinned Elvhen man beneath. Solas extended the headdress out to Rosa like a gift.

Tal sucked in a ragged, wheezing breath.

"Inquisitor? Inquisitor!"

Hard slaps landed on his cheeks and, for an instant, he saw Cassandra hunched over him, her face creased with concern and her eyes too-wet with worry. Then reality slipped away again.

He kept lifting his head, looking to where Rosa stood near the remaining Inquisition. The wolf headdress covered her eyes, but he guessed if he could see her face she'd be struggling not to cry.

The memory leapt forward, stiltedly, as Cassandra's voice shouted again, "Inquisitor!"

His head suddenly pounded. He bit his tongue, gasping, and tasted blood. He heard an angry shout from Rosa, furious and full of anguish. "No! Cole! No! Stop!"

A white-green flash of light blinded him.

He opened his eyes, half-gagging at the chalky taste of ash and bile in his mouth, and saw Dorian staring down at him, wearing a look that was both relieved and self-satisfied. "There we are," Dorian said. "See? His color's improving already. I told you the antidote would work."

Darkness enfolded him into its crushing embrace.


Next Chapter:

Tal pinched his lips together tightly before answering. "I reclaimed my memories from the dark future at Redcliffe."

"Oh?" She blinked, taken aback. Some of her tension eased. That didn't seem so bad. In fact, it might be good. Tal had come back with a vague warning to her on how best to protect Eliana. It wasn't much to go on though. Surely, if he'd recalled everything, he'd have a better idea how they could best protect her.

Tal eyed her expectantly and seemed perplexed by her nonchalant reaction. Slowly, he went on, "Yeah. I saw enough, anyway." His jaw clenched tightly. "I know."