Day 1

The pain hit Solas the moment he crossed the Veil. Though he had braced himself for it, knew exactly what to expect, his knees threatened to buckle under the weight of regret that settled over him, so much heavier here in the Fade. The effect was compounded by the state of his physical self. He had never been so close to death, so close that he could feel the Fade thinning, preparing to finally reclaim his ancient soul. Death would have been a mercy. But, at last free of Mythal's conscription after centuries of servitude, he had finally been able to catch the faintest glimpse of a path to redemption, one necessarily demanding of his body and soul, so profound were his many, many betrayals. So grave were his errors.

And, the final regret added to his burden: he had draggedherhere with him. There was perhaps no one in all of Thedas less deserving of this fate. He had failed her again. He had failed to dissuade her. He had not frozen her where she stood the moment she told him of her intentions. And yet… he could barely bring himself to confront the fact lingering in the corners of his consciousness. As he had stood atop Minrathous, the cool blade of his enchanted dagger mere inches from the Veil, he inhaled sharply as Ell burst onto the platform. Her spirit overwhelmed him—though confounded by the nature of her soul, he had never forgotten—would never forget—how itburnedwith a conviction that could not be denied. And burn it did, this close to the Veil. As he stared into her eyes for the first time in a decade, and found there the gift he desired more than he had ever desired anything in his eternal life, a despicable thought emerged from a weak and selfish part of him, . I cannot bear to face eternity without the past decade, the possibility that their paths might cross had been enough to sustain him. In weaker moments, while walking the Fade in his dreams-when he was more at risk of indulging his whims—he would seek her out, only drawing close enough to catch the faintest breeze of her soul. Once, he got close enough to lay eyes on her. That, of course, had been a foolish mistake. It had halted his progress for nearly a month as he worked to reassemble his resolve, to shove away his aching heart and turn back to his grim quest.

After all his plans had turned to dust and he had committed to atone—at least, try to atone—for the destruction and misery he had caused by sacrificing his own soul for the world she loved...perhaps it was then. Perhaps that had been his mistake. He had indulged himself with a kiss he had not deserved. The feeling of her skin against his, so warm, brought flooding forth the blinding memory of their love, the eons passing through his fingers like so much water. It had broken him. He had stood there before the Veil, could feel her unmistakable aura impossibly close to him. He had frozen as he felt the warm pressure of her hand on his shoulder. Walked right into the Fade, knowing the doom it promised let it face twisted with frustration. It was too much. With effort, he shunned the thought. He immediately resolved to right his sin. He would find a way to free her, to return her to the life she had earned, while he faced the punishment he had earned, alone. Let your freedom be my first act of redemption, vhenan.

He scanned his surroundings. Though he now appeared to be at the bottom of a canyon, he knew instinctively this was the same place. The place was barren and grey. A low rumble, as if some distant continent were slowly sliding into another. He did not see Ell. His aching muscles trembled with each labored step as his eyes roamed with increasing panic over the landscape, sparsely punctuated with dead, twisted foliage. The quickening of his heartbeat and the icy panic that suddenly tightened around his chest betrayed his desires. If he were a better man, he would feel only relief upon realizing she had not come after all. He closed his eyes. That her gift would be lost to him forever would be the price for her freedom. He dropped to his knees, ready to collapse in grief.

But he could almost still feel the warm pressure of her hand on his shoulder. She had been physically touching him when he entered the Fade. He was certain of this. Though she had managed remarkable feats before when it came to the Fade, she could not have crossed the Veil with him and…somehow not arrived in the Fade. She must be in the Fade…but perhaps not in this prison. The prison rejected her. Of course. She didn't belong there and so she entered the Fade elsewhere, beyond the prison…alone. His thoughts raced as he tried to sort through the implications of this realization. He rose to his feet, renewed by determination to find her, though he did not know how. He closed his eyes and felt for her spirit. Only silence. Only stillness. Only…

There. Distant. Faint. But unmistakable. Even at a whisper, it elicited a soft sigh from his chest.

Faint as her spirit was, he knew the Fade had must have flung her quite far from his position. In the physical world, perhaps the equivalent of hundreds of miles, though the concept of distance didn't follow the same rules here. Even from here, it was like catching the distant glow of a campfire in the Hissing Wastes, promising respite, if only for a few hours. This thought made his mind tick with faint recognition, as though he had made a connection but could not see where the other end of the thread led. He did not dwell on the thought. She was alone. He would see his promise kept, and so he set out.

He had walked only a few miles before he collapsed, exhausted, and quite literally fell into a fitful sleep.

...

When the remnants of the Templars had returned to Haven after the collapse of the conclave, he immediately approached the armored man carrying the limp body of an elf, the anchor in her hand dangling listlessly as he clumsily shifted her weight in his massive arms.

Solas stood in the man's path and locked eyes. It was little effort to impart his words with a confident authority, but given his low status in this world, he quickly reconsidered the words he would use to persuade the man to release her to him. "Please, I must tend to her right away. She will die." The man looked back at him vapidly before shrugging and hoisting the elf toward him. Surprised, Solas awkwardly took her in his arms. She was slight, even for an elf. How had such a body survived an explosion that had killed hundreds of well-equipped templars and mages and wounded hundreds more?He carefully maneuvered through the crowd of templars streaming through Haven's gates toward the infirmary.

Adjacent buildings had been commandeered by the surgeon to accommodate the many injured survivors of the explosion. Relieved to find one empty, he lay the elf down gently on a vacant bed and kneeled by her side. He took her hand in his and examined the anchor. It pulsed ominously. He knew it would spread, and ultimately kill her if he did not somehow interrupt the process. He considered a moment before he began to draw forth a spell. Meticulously, he wove the magic around her, pulling one thread from the Fade and following with a complementary one that would improve the strength of both, then starting anew, this time a different thread for a new purpose. The process took hours. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead by the time he was satisfied with his work. It would not hold indefinitely. But it would give him time to assess the situation and chart his course.

Having attended to the most life-threatening of her conditions, Solas took stock of her other injuries. He was not a skilled healer, but even his meager knowledge rivaled that of the local surgeon. Wearily, he called forth magic to carefully and precisely cauterize her clothing so that he could peel it away. A few relatively minor cuts and bruises, most requiring no more than salve and bandaging. He examined her body, clad only in her smallclothes, with a clinical eye, occasionally placing his hands to manipulate a limb and ensure the bones were intact. Satisfied that none of these injuries were pressing, he turned his attention toward her face and smoothed her long hair away from clammy skin. She was beautiful, he observed, even as her face was twisted in pain. Cynically, and despite his distaste for the Dalish, he was grateful that her face was adorned with the vallaslin, as she would otherwise undoubtedly be used as so many elves were to satisfy the carnal whims of the powerful, or even those with no status at all, so low was an elf's rank in this place. This place he had made.

After gently pressing a disinfecting salve into each of her cuts and wrapping the few open wounds in loosely woven cotton, he sat back for a final assessment. She had stirred little. Her brow had smoothed, the tension in her face eased. He eyed the pale vallaslin. Her clan evidently worshiped Mythal. It was difficult to be around these elves he no longer recognized. He was eager to leave her but loathe to part with the anchor. She was unlikely to awaken any time soon. With the chaos outside, few if any would bother to investigate. He would be nearby. He took one final look at this elf he had tediously pieced back together, only to find her inevitably incomplete. He left the makeshift infirmary, careful to shut the door quietly behind him.