Starry Wolf

You awaken incredibly well rested. Last night you slept far more deeply than you are accustomed to, though your dreams were slightly strange. Despite or perhaps because of those dreams you arise well rested, ready to face the new day.

When you exit the flap of your tent, you find Solas leaning nearby against a wall. In sharp contrast to you, he looks terrible. There are bags under his eyes and a certain dimness to his usually keen gaze.

"Solas." You greet. "Are you well? You seem, less than optimal shall we say."

The elf grimaces. "I am, fine. I did not sleep well, that is all."

Strange, you would have thought him used to battle based on, well come to think of it not much. He simply gives off the impression of one who has lived a long time and seen much. That, might actually have been a mistake on your part.

"The rigours of battle can weigh heavy upon the mind." You say cautiously. "If there is something you wish to discuss, I am of course available, but if not I than you should speak with one you trust."

Solas gives you a look of such utter exasperation that it is only the potential seriousness of the moment that prevents you from bursting into laughter.

"That's not… No. Just no." Solas pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was thinking. That's all."

"Very well, the offer stands if you change your mind." You reply, concealing your scepticism. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to talk to you… Not about that." He snaps suddenly.

"Of course," You gesture to your room. "Do you wish to come in or shall we go somewhere else?"

Solas glances into the tent and grimaces. "I think it best if we do this elsewhere."

Perhaps your tent needs cleaning, though you cannot detect any particular problem. Then again, it is equally possible that he does not like the idea of trying to squeeze into it with you. As big as it is, you still take up a great deal of the space within.

"Lead on." You say.

Solas takes you to the ruined chantry or whatever it is. The Wardens have not yet returned, and the area is largely deserted. Not too far away, the supply and logistics teams are managing the stockpiles. Above the tower of Ishal, the two rampant lions on a quartered shield flies.

"I see the king has returned." You observe as you walk.

Solas nods distractedly, busy casting a spell.

Subtly you marshal your strength and lay a hand on the hilt of your sword seemingly at rest. Solas has not given you any great reason to be suspicious, but sudden shifts in mood or behaviour were often a sign of the Enemy.

The last thing you hear before all external sound cuts off is a quiet rap on stone. A glance reveal Maeglin leaning nearby. He too, it seems, has noticed Solas' strange actions. It is a comfort to know that you have backup should the worst come to pass.

After far too long a silence, you speak. "So, what was it you wished to discuss?"

"Yes, yes." Solas mutters absently, hand bracing his head. "Forgive me. This is not an easy conversation to have."

"Perhaps some small talk to ease us into the matter at hand?" You suggest, mostly in jest. "The weather is thoroughly adequate today."

Solas rolls his eyes. "Please, spare me."

You allow the next silence to persist longer this time. Solas does not seem to wish to be prodded, and so you will not do so. Of course, should he prevaricate too long, say half an hour, you will simply have to leave.

Hmm, perhaps you should make that an ultimatum at some point.

"I, you…" Solas begins at last. "Everything you have told me, it was true as far as you know, yes?"

"Of course." You reply easily.

"Why?" He asks.

You frown, confused. "Why what?"

"Why tell the truth?" Solas clarifies. "To a stranger no less, one you have only just met."

You shrug. "Why not? What have I to gain from lying?"

"Perhaps it would have convinced me of your innocence sooner." Solas argues. "If it had not been a tale so difficult to believe."

"Or it would have led you to mistrust me as a liar." You counter.

"Well, there is that but you had not way to…" Solas cuts himself off suddenly, and takes a deep breath. "I apologise once more, this is not how I want this conversation to go."

"We do seem to end up arguing quite often." You muse idly.

"Yes, I suppose we do." Solas agrees with a soft laugh. "I suppose I haven't been particularly fair to you, have I?"

You raise an eyebrow. "What brought this on."

"Thinking." Solas replies. "A great deal of thinking. I have recently been forced to reconsider a number of my base assumptions. One of which was that almost anything you said could be a lie."

"Falsity has never been a particular vice of mine." You reply blandly. "Rather the opposite in point of fact."

Solas grins, as though recalling a joke. "I suppose it was."

That was a suspicious comment on its own. It sounds like the kind of thing your brothers might say. Also, come to think of it why has he suddenly decided your words are true after such a long period of mistrust. You recall the potion you drank last night and frown in suspicion.

"Perhaps we could come to the point." You say. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

"Well, myself I suppose, as vain as that sounds." Solas replies contemplatively. "History too, to an extent. To return in kind the story I have demanded of you, in so many words. Tell me, what do you know of Elven history?"

"I know much of what transpired in the Dales." You reply carefully. "Though from a rather biased source. I have theories on the nature of the decline in elven immortality, but I naturally have no proof one way or the other."

"Well, then allow me to correct a running misconception you have about the Elvhen." Solas states quietly. "We did not diminish through interbreeding with humans. No, what separated us from our immortality was simply the Veil."

There is a pause as you take in the information. Solas is clearly waiting for some kind of response. While your mind races with questions, you are not sure whether speaking will serve you particularly well.

You take a long deep breath. "Continue."

"Truly?" Solas asks in surprise.

"I thought we established that I am not in the habit of lying." You reply with no small amount of irritation.

Solas nods minutely, and replies. "Even allowing for that, I would have thought you would have some questions, or perhaps a demand for proof."

"I do indeed have questions." You reply. "However, asking them now would be futile. I lack the information to ask anything helpful. It serves both of us best if I allow you to finish your tale before asking any questions."

Solas seems surprised, which is strange. You are famed for your diplomatic ability, and this is not exactly an advanced method. Perhaps it is your temperament making it seem as though you are worse at your role than you truly are.

"Well, I suppose I should continue." Solas says at last. "As you may recall, my comrades and I grew to great power within Elvhenan."

"I recall." You reply.

Solas nods and continues. "I won't go into the details of their, our, rise to power. It doesn't really matter. What matters is how we, they, maintained power. It… No. In order for you to understand, I will need to explain the problem to you."

"This is still related to the Veil correct?" You ask.

Solas smiles. "It is as a matter of fact. Recall, this was before it existed. This meant a number of things. Spirits, for example, were simply something one could meet and interact with rather than the bogeyman the Chantry has turned them into."

"Something does not need to be evil to be dangerous." You observe neutrally.

"Perhaps but…" Solas visibly forces himself to stop. "That is an argument for another day. The point I was trying to make is that 'mages' as you understand them were not the only ones able to use the Fade to shape the world."

For a moment you do not understand, then you connect the dots. "The energy of potential was omnipresent, and anyone could theoretically wield it with enough training, while those who are now mages would merely be natural talents."

"An oversimplification but correct in the essentials." Solas agrees. "I am sure I do not need to explain the difficulties in controlling such a population to you."

There is an expectant silence that prompts you to wrack your thoughts seeking the possibilities. After several seconds, nothing occurs to you.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me." You say.

Solas raises an eyebrow. "It is rather difficult to maintain control over people when any one of them can start creating lightning storms."

"It is not that hard." You disagree. "By and large the majority of any given population merely wants a relatively secure and stable life for themselves. Since maintaining security and legitimacy is the cornerstone of rulership the only thing you need otherwise is to allow for local expressions of power, bailiffs and sheriffs and the like. From there you merely need to take the truly ambitious and dedicated into the governmental structure, there is always more work to do. Naturally exceptions exist, but we are hardly discussing orcs."

It is now Solas' turn to surprise you by bursting into laughter.

"Perhaps you are correct." He says, wiping tears from his eyes. "But I do not think the others were as enamoured with the concept of ruling 'well' as you seem to be. They were far more concerned with their own petty desires and endless squabbles. To this end, they created a variety of control mechanisms, essentially and literally enslaving the People."

Your right hand tightens on the hilt of your sword, and you do not doubt that your eyes are flinty. "Tyrants, you said."

"The very worst sort." Solas agrees mournfully. "They grew so cruel in their arrogance they believed themselves gods. Their slaves were forced to worship them as such."

"Including you." You note evenly, strength slowly marshalling anew.

Solas sighs. "I cannot pretend to be completely innocent of the Evanuri's excesses, but I was never wholly in accord with them. At length I grew tired of their bickering and endless wars. If there was ever to be peace for the People I decided it would have to be without them."

Solas looks down at his staff, idly toying with its head. "I declared war on the others, waged a guerilla campaign. I had those who pledged themselves to me and made it my business to free the others' slaves to aid me."

"A noble endeavour." You observe carefully, considering the tale.

Solas shakes his head. "I was a fool, young and hotblooded, it was an all but impossible task. I can no longer count the number of elves who suffered, well death is the wrong word, but the closest equivalent, due to my mistakes."

There are a number of things you consider saying. That those who died had likely died proud to fight for the freedom of all, that to follow him had been their choice and that was to be respected. In the end, you say none of it, as it is as likely that Solas bemoans his own lack of skill more than anything else.

Something in his words still makes you uncomfortable.

"We all make mistakes." You say instead.

"Some worse than others." Solas replies.

"Do you wish to have a 'who has made the worst mistake' contest." You ask light-heartedly. "Because I assure you, I will win."

Solas gives you a long considering look and there is silence for a time.

Then he says, "We have wandered off track."

Solas is silent once more, clearly weighing up options, for a short time and then he sighs.

"During my time among the Evanuris I had, let us call her an ally, Mythal." He says softly. "We, well, I like to think we had shared goals, but sometimes I wonder. It matters little, of all the others I thought her the best of them. And they murdered her."

"My condolences." You say slowly. "Though I thought that your people were immortal at this time."

Solas' lips twitch. "It is complicated, she lives still, from a certain point of view."

Your mind races to interpret that comment, quickly seizing upon his reaction to the wraiths of the Hahren. Given what you understand of the fate of those who die and the character of these Evanuris, it is likely that Mythal became a wraith.

For a moment you consider mentioning that, but you decide against it. The thought of the odds your father would end up as a wraith is quickly repressed back to the part of your mind you do not visit. Ever.

Solas continues speaking, oblivious to your thoughts. "It drove me to desperate measures. I had been working on something off and on, a theory of how to separate the Evanuri from the world permanently."

He looks up to the sky, seemingly annoyed at what he sees there. "In hindsight, I rushed. I made a mistake. The prison was larger than I intended, but I had not though of the effects that it would have on the People. I made the Veil, and in doing so we lost more than our immortality, but part of ourselves."

A silence passes as you digest that information. Though the words are brief, for you they paint a terrifying picture.

Perhaps a human would struggle with the concept, but you can vividly imagine the utter horror of having your immortality torn from you unexpectedly. You are not one of those who envied the gift of Men, but even they would rather choose to give up their own gift rather than having it torn unexpectedly away.

"I am glad then, that I have assisted, however little, in taking steps to rectify that." You say quietly. "Though I must ask, now the tale is done, you have long kept silent on this matter. Why tell me now?"

Solas strokes his chin. "Well, as you yourself pointed out, Merrill's little discovery changes much of what I had planned. When I first awoke I immediately regretted my actions and thought to reverse them. Thankfully, that is no longer necessary."

"That still does not answer my question." You point out.

"No. However, it raised my suspicions on its own." Solas explains. "You see, I do not think you realise what Merrill has done exactly. She has, somehow, found a method of internalising the Fade. Not mana, the Fade itself. I do not believe you have any conception of how utterly insane that is."

"I cannot say I do." You reply.

"No." Solas smiles. "I can't imagine you do, it comes naturally to you, doesn't it?"

"That is untrue. I cannot take in mana." You correct him.

"Yes." Solas replies. "But that is not because you cannot do so, but rather because you are full of something else already. I suppose, what I am trying to say is, all this time I have assumed that you came from this world, that you were somehow connected to the only people I thought could work out the Veil."

Solas face screws up in what looks like pain. "I was wrong. I do not know where you came from or what you truly are, but I believe it was not here. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol. I am Solas, the Dread Wolf."

The bright morning sun slants through the shattered roof of the chantry to strike your clasped hands.

Consolidating the Circle

After your conversation with Solas ended, you spent some time thinking. What was said, what it meant going forward, how you felt about everything you had learned, all these matters were examined in turn.

It took time, long enough that it was near noon when you finally departed. Maeglin had wandered off after Solas had. The son of Eöl had not spoken to you, but you think he is satisfied that Solas is not a spy. Or perhaps not, you might need to speak with him soon.

Still, prior to any such conversation, there is another matter you need to address. Senior Enchanter Wynn seemed rather distraught at the death of Knight-Captain Shepherd. The Templars too are in rather a great deal of disarray at the loss. It would be wise to speak to them.

The mages and Templars have sequestered themselves in the middle of the camp on the western side of Ostagar. Vaguely you recall them being based there initially, but it does seem a great deal like they are staying very close to other forces since the ambush.

At this point, there are surprisingly few humans who do not recognise your face. It takes very little time for someone to direct you to the Senior Enchanter. Said mage is not with the rest of her group. Instead, she has gone to the local chantry, not the broken one, but a large tent set up a distance away from everything else.

Unsure of protocol, you hesitate outside. Human places of worship are not something you have much experience with, and as such you are not quite sure on how to proceed. Still, your mother did not raise a coward, so you step through the flap.

The first thing to strike you is the quiet. Though the noises outside can still be quite clearly heard, it is clear that this space has been organised in an attempt to dampen them. There is a rather beautiful sun ornament place upon a rather rickety table, which you take a moment to admire.

Then you turn your gaze about the bench filled space. Here and there are a few warriors, most on their knees with eyes closed. There are also a number of what you have been told are camp followers but not 'those kind of camp followers'.

Whatever that means.

Senior Enchanter Wynn is in the back corner, sitting on a bench with head bowed. Slowly you make your way over to her and, after a moments thought, you sit down beside her.

Dropping your voice down even softer than your true speaking tone[1, you speak. "Forgive my intrusion, and I apologise if I am giving unintended offense."

The Senior Enchanter sighs and replies in a quiet voice. "What do you want, lord Russandol."

"I had thought to offer my condolences for your loss." You reply just as softly. "To offer words of comfort or and ear to listen if either should be desired."

There is a long silence before the old woman shakes her head. "No. I just, I just want to be left alone."

You do consider speaking further, but you recall well the days after Fingon's death, how words seemed hollow and empty, and how every attempt at comfort stuck like a stinging blow. So, instead, you nod.

"Do not dwell over long on your grief." You caution, standing. "It need not be me, and it need not be soon, but speaking of your feelings can help when all seems dark and lost."

Senior Enchanter Wynn does not respond and you turn to leave. Before you go, you seek out one of the Chantry Sisters to ask whether or not they tend to the grief of those who have lost friends. They do but the nature of the recent battle sees them far too busy to pay attention to any one individual.

They do promise to keep an eye on the Senior Enchanter when they can though. It is not enough, not truly, but it will simply have to do for now.

That leaves the Templars to speak to.

The Templars do not lack for courage, you will grant them that. So too, do they need no aid in reinforcing themselves, they have their own organisation to do so. Perhaps there is something you could learn from them, but ultimately you decide that doing so would simply be a poor use of your time.

Given that you expect there to be a significant window of time until the Templars are reinforced, you need to help them improve their skills. It will also assist if they ever need to aid you as they did before.

Finding them is not hard, they are never particularly far from the mages. Which, admittedly, certainly does not help the impression that they are their jailors. Perhaps something you should mention to them during the training.

"Lord Russandol." The dark skinned woman on watch greets you. "What brings you here?"

"Do you have a scheduled time for training?" You ask. "I have some insights into the practice of putting an end to magic that I hoped to share with you."

The Templar keeps a respectably even expression. "With respect Lord Russandol, I doubt that you have any insights that the Templar order is unaware of."

"Then it will take very little time to establish such." You reply without heat. "I assure you, this is not a power play, nor is it an attempt to steal secrets. I have spent a great deal of time honing my talent in enforcing reality upon the world, and I would share my insights. That is all."

The woman's face screws up poorly concealed annoyance. "This is way above my pay grade."

"If you would direct me to whoever is in command, I am more than willing to make my pitch to them." You answer.

Another poorly concealed grimace of annoyance. "I can't."

It takes barely any time to put together what she is referring to. It is a well-known risk of having brave commanders after all.

"Perhaps the simplest solution is thus." You propose. "I shall make my pitch to everyone within your camp, and any who are willing to come may do so."

"You know what? Fine, as long as it's not my problem." The woman grumbles.

Your pitch is reasonably well received and inside of an hour you are at the training ground. To your surprise nearly all the Templars are at least somewhat interested in the lesson. Admittedly, several seem more interested in it as a way to pass the time, but still.

Then there are others.

"I'm watching you, elf." Hisses the woman who will not stop glaring at you.

"Evidently." You reply dryly, opting to ignore her henceforth. "Since this was my proposal I should begin. I assume that we are all aware of the methods by which it is possible to deny the use of magic in an area?"

"Obviously." Several of the Templar respond flatly, while their companions give you looks like you are a fool for asking.

"Excellent, now, when reinforcing reality, it goes without saying that you should of course keep the concept as firm in mind as possible." You continue as though you had not noticed their rudeness. "However, is it standard practice to also attempt to drain the magic as much as possible? I noticed during the battle that much of the ambient mana was being left in the air when you attempted to aid me."

The gathered group gives you blank stares of complete incomprehension.

Taking a calming breath, you rephrase. "Do you try to use up the magic while you stop others from casting or not?"

"What are you talking about? How on earth can you use the magic you're trying to stop." The rude one from earlier spits. "You're wasting our time."

Another calming breath. "What exactly do you do in order to cleanse magic?"

There is some awkward shuffling and pointed not answering before Jenkins finally speaks up. "Uh, you sort of gather the energy you get from lyrium, think about what you're trying to do and sort of send it out? Usually you start by using your sword because it's easier."

For a moment you stumble over the lyrium comment, but you quickly put that aside. Presumably it is intended to compensate for their lack of your inherent might. Now, the fact that Lyrium can grant power to those without magical talent is interesting, but not particularly relevant.

"Do any of you actually know what exactly the energy you send out is doing?" You ask.

Shrugs, shaking heads and one set of bitter comments are your only answer.

"No. This is unacceptable. I am going to rectify this travesty at once." You state.

"What's the point." Your less than civil heckler 'contributes'. "Don't need to know how it works, just that it does."

"There is a world of difference between swinging a sword wildly and doing so with training and understanding of how to do so." You reply firmly. "One cannot truly do so without understanding how the sword and body works. So, it is with this."

To your surprise that analogy actually lands. While the heckler remains unconvinced, she did not come here to learn. Everyone else actually pays attention as you speak, willing to hear you out.

"Let us begin with what 'magic' actually is." You begin.

Thus you begin a rather lengthy discussion on magic, the nature of mana and the purpose of the Veil. It ends up taking a great deal of time, especially once you begin to incorporate exercises into the lecture. Still, it pays off.

These humans could still benefit from future lessons, but they are now much more capable of using what they already know.

[1] I have a headcanon that elves naturally speak in whispers, because keen hearing. They speak to humans kind of like how we speak to the slightly deaf. Bit more force and projection, slightly higher volume that sort of thing.