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[Brass_Buckles]

Part 21: In Which A Detour Is Continued

 

Spoiler

Mist from the waves that crashed along the coast of the Waking Sea soaked through Fen'harel's clothing, leaving him damp and chill to the bone. He had managed to find two working eluvians out of all of the ones he had visited; the last one had taken him across the sea into a cave where he had needed to battle a small pack of darkspawn to escape. He had managed to survive without exposing himself to the taint, but it had unnerved him. Red lyrium sprouted in the cave as well—the taint was spreading too far.

 

Now, he welcomed the chill air and the meager sunlight. It reminded him of wandering the Storm Coast with the Inquisition. He missed them—the Inquisitor most of all, but he found he could even miss Sera and Vivienne, now that he wandered alone.

 

Though his plan required him to go west, this detour was a necessity for his own peace of mind. It was a way of letting go of his relationship with the Inquisitor, even if he could never stop loving her. That was, after all, the point of giving her such a permanent gift to express how he felt—she would never again wear the vallaslin, and she would always remember the truth of what the facial tattoos meant.

 

He turned his back on the sea. Staring across it, dreaming of the love he left behind, was doing nothing but causing him remorse. He had not met her again in the Fade for several days. Part of him wanted her to seek him out again, to tempt him, to prove that she loved him no matter what he did or said—and he quelled that part, because it was ruled by his vanity and his pride. When she realized, inevitably, that the Dread Wolf she sought was her own beloved Solas, she would surely hate him for it. Even if she didn't, she was better off not being entangled in the business that would one day soon drive him westward once more.

 

The only trails northward were the broken, crooked paths of game beasts. Those were not wise paths to follow, and so Solas wandered the craggy underbrush, using the position of the sun and, when evening fell, the stars, as his guide. He had become accustomed to such rough travels. In the past, it had helped him to avoid travelers who might wish to accost what they perceived as an elven apostate. Now, with some of his power restored, he felt it was kinder to them that he did not have such encounters. It was not an easy journey, but he had his staff and his wits. He would persevere.

 

He was not certain what he expected to find in Wycome, still so far to the north, but it was a long journey away. Perhaps he would approach her family as someone who had word from the Inquisitor. Perhaps he would simply find a camp that they had left behind and sift through the memories they left behind in the Fade. Perhaps he would do both. Yet... even if they were somehow as special as Lavellan, would that make her any less unique?

 

He was fooling himself, and he knew it. He was both trying to distance himself from her and become closer to her at the same time. Still, he would feel better knowing who they are, where they were, and whether they had some of that same spark to them that she did. He'd feel better knowing he could keep them safe—especially if they were as special as the Inquisitor. The Lavellan clan meant everything to the Inquisitor; she had spoken to him about them from time to time with great fondness. Seeing to it that they weren't destroyed in whatever trouble might come about from his actions was the least he could do.

 

In the meantime, there were more eluvians along the path in various ruins. He would not rush; some of the surviving eluvians could lead westward, and perhaps he could regain the ground he had lost from this detour. He only needed to unlock them.

[Obvious_Shining]

This is really touching, very nice.

sorry for the like wave lol

[Brass_Buckles]

This is really touching, very nice.
*ran out of likes*

 

Thanks, glad you are enjoying it.

[Brass_Buckles]

Part 22:  In Which There Was Once A Wall

 

Spoiler

Uth'shiral had not slept properly in days, and she didn't want to. The Storm Coast's windy, stormy dampness was welcome, as far as she was concerned. The chill in her bones from the salty raindrops would help her stay awake, even when they stayed in one of the Inquisition's camps.

 

The soldiers at Crestwood had seen them off with a horse for Abelas and a spare one for their supplies and gear, once she had finally awakened from the dreamless sleep that Abelas had put her into. Cole was delighted with the pack animal he had claimed for his mount, a friendly grey mare that had once been a soldier's mount. He rode beside her along the trail even now, Abelas trailing behind on a palomino gelding.

 

“You need to sleep, though,” Cole interrupted her thoughts. “You're getting weak, wilting, wasting away. You shouldn't be afraid of him. You'll die if you don't get him to help. Sorrow is worried, but he won't make you sleep again.”

 

“Good,” Uth'shiral said firmly. “He shouldn't have in the first place.” She nudged her hart into a faster walk. “In a few hours, we'll be at the docks. We'll leave the animals with the Inquisition soldiers, pay our fare, and then pray to the Creators we make it safely to Wycome.”

 

“Sorrow was only trying to help you,” Cole said. “If we're leaving the animals, that means I won't have Pacer with me,” he added, sadly.

 

“Yes, but she'll be waiting here when we return,” Lavellan reminded him. “Besides, it'll be harder for our pursuers to find us once we're heading toward the Amaranthine Ocean.”

 

“But you showed me the map—don't we keep going north?” Cole asked, confused.

 

“We will be able to travel faster by sea,” Abelas interposed. “Wycome appears to be along the coast.”

 

“Ah, he speaks,” Uth'shiral quipped, looking over her shoulder at the Sentinel. “You've been very quiet. You're right, Wycome is located near the coast, along a branch of the Minanter River where it meets the ocean. If we have to ride, it won't be a long ride. We won't be going into the city proper, though. I only want to find the camp.”

 

“I have been quiet,” Abelas agreed.

 

“He's worried,” Cole said. “He wants you to rest, and he wants you to live. Searching, seeking, stopping, finding friends, facing fears. Every day is an arrow piercing him, every night he hurts, alone. Out of place, like a piece from the wrong puzzle, trapped in a time that isn't his, with people who look like his but aren't.”

 

“Enough, spirit,” Abelas warned sharply. “You do not fully understand.”

 

“What if it helped her, too?” Cole asked.

 

“What are the two of you hiding from me, exactly?” the Inquisitor asked, reining in her hart and turning him so that he blocked Abelas's mount. Cole stopped his horse and turned her so that he faced Abelas, too.

 

Abelas halted his golden steed and turned his face to stare across the Waking Sea. “There is a wall between us. We have both worked to build it, knowing I would one day leave to join other Elvhen, or enter uthenera, never to wake again. We built it so that we would not need to see one another on our opposite sides, so that we could become friends in word without being friends in truth. We built it because there is a gap of time between us, and because thanks to that gap, we are not of the same people. We built it because neither of us could trust or understand the other. If I stay, the wall shall be torn down, and we shall see one another at last. I hope what we will see will breathe life into a deeper friendship.”

 

Lavellan's left hand ached as she considered Abelas's words. She understood. “You're right. We've avoided telling each other much. Most of it was through or to Cole, and even that has been limited. I've tried to avoid relying on you, and you've tried to avoid letting me rely on you, even though you did so much to help. You're afraid to get too close. After all that's happened... so am I. Abelas, if we're going to go to Wycome together, the wall has to come down, whatever else happens.”

 

“I agree, but I fear what it may bring.” The Sentinel looked back toward Uth'shiral, the sea no longer holding his attention. “You must rest, once we board the ship. Seek out the Dread Wolf when you do, and ask his help with the mark, even if you ask nothing else.

 

“I fear what that may bring,” Uth'shiral retorted. “I told him I wouldn't return, and if he's the Dread Wolf...”

 

“You loved him before,” Cole said. “Does who he is change who he is?”

 

“Only if he were lying. The Dalish say the Dread Wolf always lies,” Lavellan answered.

 

“The Dalish are wrong,” Abelas said firmly; Uth'shiral glanced sharply at him. “Let us be on our way. There is a good chance we are still being pursued—you should have let me kill them then.”

 

“The Dalish aren't always wrong,” the Inquisitor said, turning her hart back down the trail to the docks. “But you might be right about the Warden and whoever he or she is working with.”

 

With that, the trio continued riding toward the docks in silence, the wind and rain making whispers of their mounts' hoofbeats, and erasing the signs of their passage as if they had never been there at all.

 

Writer's note on this one:  It was originally longer, but I felt I needed to cut some of the content.  Perhaps as a bonus when I finish the fic, I will post the original version of Part 22 (I call them parts rather than chapters, because they are, to me, too short for chapters).  I liked what I'd written, but it didn't work for the story I wanted to tell.  Especially since I have in mind where certain things are going and, well, I have no idea how those will end, only that the story is going there.

[Brass_Buckles]

Part 23:  In Which--Scotch Bonnet Candy!

 

Spoiler

The cabin in Haven where Lavellan had first awakened was cozy, even if it wasn't anything like a Dalish aravel or the feel of the wind over her cheek as she slept beneath the stars. She lay stretched out on the bed with her ankles crossed, an odd tinge of persistent nausea discouraging her from rising.

 

Abelas was singing somewhere; she heard his somber voice drifting through her window. She remembered he'd said something about being hunted down, but here in Haven, there were soldiers and guards everywhere; ballistas stood at the ready on the hill not far from the Chantry. She'd be safe here.

 

The nausea, on the other hand, wasn't going away, and it was becoming an annoyance. Perhaps something she ate? The only thing to do about it, then, was to go see the alchemist; he might have a remedy. She wasn't looking forward to passing by Solas's empty cabin, though. She pushed to her feet, feeling unsteady, as if the world were rocking and swaying beneath her feet to some unknown rhythm, and stepped out the door.

 

Haven was not a beautiful place to eyes accustomed to the Green Dales; it was far too brown for her liking. However, it was familiar and fondly remembered. It was also empty of all people.

 

Alarm began to grow within her, tying her already unsettled belly into knots. She stumbled forward, finding herself uncharacteristically clumsy. A near-fall caused her to pause and lean on her staff for balance. Where was everyone? The Breach was gone, the sky repaired, and yet Haven stood empty and silent.

 

Uth'shiral looked around, hoping to find life. A raven launched itself into the sky from one of the buildings down the hill; nothing else stirred, although Abelas's haunting melody still reached her ears from some unseen locale. She considered trying to follow it, but the more she tried to decide where it came from, the more his voice seemed to come from both everywhere and nowhere.

 

The Chantry's doors stood open as she passed, but a glance within revealed it to be empty. She wandered on, following the path toward the alchemist's hut in the vain hopes that he or his assistant would be present. Haven had never been a bustling town before the disaster; perhaps everyone had reconvened to the Conclave, or else had moved on.

 

As she rounded the curve toward the alchemist's cabin, she noticed that all of the doors were open, and though smoke curled from the chimneys of the buildings, not a voice or a footstep was to be heard, nor a soul to be seen. It was lonely here; they were all gone. It echoed a deep hurt that she felt, but for the moment that hurt didn't have to be real, not here in this Haven that was just the same as before. If only the people were still here! She settled on the ledge outside of the alchemist's cabin, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin atop them. Without the people, Haven didn't seem anywhere near as peaceful as it should. The silence and stillness were ominous, oppressive. Where were the sisters and brothers of the Chantry? Where were the elves dashing to and fro about their business? The requisition officer, the alchemist, Flissa the bartender... no one was there, and it felt wrong, and her belly was roiling, and the world seemed to tremble and shudder every now and then.

 

A door nearby swung open, and she leapt to her feet, readying her staff. Electricity flowed through it, through her hands, through her, as she prepared for an unknown threat. This, at least, was behavior she had not learned in Haven.

 

Solas stood in the doorway, staring at her for a long moment. She stared back, relaxing her posture and dispersing the magic she had pulled into her weapon. Finally, he beckoned her over. “It would be better to come inside out of the cold, if you would speak.”

 

“What do you need to say that's so private it must be done indoors? We always spoke outside before.”

 

“Perhaps you should be more concerned with what I mean to do,” Solas replied, a sly one-sided smile appearing on his face before he turned his back and paused in the doorway. “Whatever you choose, you have found me here again, and I would like to know why.”

 

Uth'shiral's cheeks burned at his suggestive tone, but something felt different than it had before, as if his flirtation was out of place now—as if she shouldn't want it. Still, he had the feel of himself; she could feel it thrumming through the mark on her palm. Strange that this was the first time she'd noticed that. It had always resonated with Solas, somehow. This wasn't a desire demon come to tempt her—which was the first thought she'd had. It was truly him. She should remember why the flirting was wrong, but the memory flickered at the edges of her thought, just out of reach. She hesitated, but followed him through the doorway when he vanished into the cabin, climbing up the stairs to her quarters behind him.

 

A frigid wind was blowing through the open stained-glass windows that overlooked the mountains. Most of her visitors told her she should close them, but she felt more at home with the breeze blowing than she did in an enclosed space. Abelas must be singing somewhere in the courtyard; his voice whispered up in a sad song from far away. Solas took her hand and led her through the open windows to the balcony. He pulled her against his side, and she leaned against his shoulder, accepting his display of affection. It was rare that he didn't withdraw; she wanted to enjoy the moment and whatever small affection he offered for as long as she could. Perhaps this time, he would stay, and he wouldn't leave her without an explanation.

 

Her left hand ached, and she wrapped her right arm tighter around Solas. “I wish we could have stayed like this forever,” he murmured next to her ear. Before she could answer, his lips met hers in a sudden and bittersweet kiss that she didn't return, because he had left and told her it was over. He had told her so three times; could he really change his mind when he was so resolute before?

 

Their eyes met, and she could see the depth of his sorrow and regret. They were not the eyes of a man who wanted to hurt and deceive her. She suspected that their sorrow mirrored hers, especially now that she knew the truth. “Fen'harel,” she said softly, hoping that her voice didn't quake with the fear that caught in her belly, “I need your help.”

[Tielis]

Gah, you're as bad at cliffhangers as BioWare!  

 

It's so melancholy, but I understand why.  Thank you, it's very well done, and I do hope you continue it.

[Brass_Buckles]

Gah, you're as bad at cliffhangers as BioWare!  

 

It's so melancholy, but I understand why.  Thank you, it's very well done, and I do hope you continue it.

 

If you can believe it, a large part of adding in the mini-cliffhangers is to keep myself interested, so I'll keep coming back and posting 1-2 parts per day (I've missed a few days, but mostly I've posted at least one snippet per day).  So far it seems to be working, but my intention was to write something much more cheerful...

 

Anyway...

 

Part 24:  In Which The Flavor Is Bittersweet

 

Spoiler

The Dread Wolf extracted himself from Lavellan's embrace with obvious regret. She struggled with her own emotions; part of her wanted to wrap her arm back around him and draw him close as he pulled away, and part of her wanted to flee back down the stairs and out the door.

 

“You never cease to surprise me,” he told her, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “You ask me for help—ma nuvenin. What would you ask of me?” He spread his hands at his sides for a moment, as if in offering. The smile had faded back into an expression of profound sadness that Uth'shiral could not interpret.

 

“The Anchor is killing me,” the Inquisitor responded. “I'm told it's your magic, your relic. I hoped you would know what to do. It's why I was looking for you before.” She desperately wanted to reach out to him in comfort, to seek comfort for herself, but instead she kept her hands at her sides.

 

If Fen'harel were a liar, a deceiver, a trickster, Uth'shiral thought, he was a poor one. He flinched at her words, and his frown deepened. “I believed you searched for me because we—It matters not. The Anchor connects you to me; I worried once that it would change you, make you more like myself. From the Fade, I can do little to help. Are you able to withstand this until I can reach Skyhold? There is a matter I must attend, but I will come to you as quickly as I can.”

 

The Inquisitor thought of Cole, determined to help, and Abelas, who was not so much determined as desperate not to lose his tenuous connection to the modern world. Abelas's mournful voice even now whispered into the room through the windows. She wondered if Solas heard it, too, as she leaned on the balcony railing and looked toward the mountains. “I will if I must,” she said at last. Cole, Abelas, the Inquisition—the thoughts of them would keep her alive even if their efforts didn't.

 

Solas—Fen'harel?--walked back to her side, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating through the heavy fabric of his clothing, but no longer reaching to touch her. “Your people hate me, fear me, tell false tales about who I am and what I have done. What they fail to remember is that what I did was done for their sake, even if it turned out poorly in the end. Whether you believe me, or whether you believe what you have been taught your entire life, is your decision alone, but someday soon, the truth will be apparent to the rest of the Dalish, as well. They would blindly hate you if you stood by my side, and there are places I must go that you cannot follow me. You have approached me with great courage. Keep that in your heart, and know that even if I have lied about everything else, what we shared was real.”

 

She could feel his eyes on her, but she continued to gaze at the mountains, as if they would somehow change while she watched. “The way you greeted me... You thought that I kept coming to convince you that it didn't have to end, didn't you? I pushed you too far, and you couldn't refuse.” She sighed. Part of her, and not a small part, wanted to sidle against him, invite him to wrap his arm back around her, to tilt her head up for a kiss. Part of her wanted to be seduced by him, and make love to him in this Fade version of her quarters at Skyhold. The silence spoke volumes; she strongly suspected she had guessed correctly. And yet... “It was difficult for me to forgive Blackwall. You... I don't know if 'Solas' is who you are, or if he was just a lie you made up, trying to get that artifact, that orb. That was your goal, wasn't it?”

 

“The lies I told were necessary,” Fen'harel said softly. “I do not imagine that I would have been believed, if I had introduced myself as Fen'harel, the Dread Wolf. Perhaps it would not have mattered, if Cassandra or Varric had believed—but you? You would have refused to trust me, if you even believed. Then, I would have remained in my cell, unable to help you. You would likely be dead from the Anchor's power, since I am the one who stabilized it. The Breach would still be open, the rifts appearing across Thedas. Perhaps the world would as we know it would have already been destroyed by now, torn apart by the rifts and the demons. I did not only help to get the orb, Vhenan. The threat that the Breach and Corypheus posed was real and could not be ignored.” His hands rested on the railing, close to hers, and she imagined he had the same craving to place one of those hands on top of hers that she did.

 

Keeper Deshanna had always told her that the Dread Wolf was a liar, a trickster, a traitor. He could weave very convincing stories. Uth'shiral had traveled with the Dread Wolf, and he had lied to her remarkably little. Perhaps that was why he was such a convincing liar when he did so—it was easier when the lies were small and blended with the truth. More importantly, she knew he wasn't lying now. Fen'harel was not a liar by nature; perhaps he was not even a trickster. Maybe it was even false that he was a traitor. She had seen how he had looked upon the suffering, and how he had looked at her when she helped those in need. The Dalish were wrong about Fen'harel; it was not that he cared little for the People, but that he cared tremendously, and that still wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for the Inquisitor, either.

 

If he weren't lying, though, that meant... “You'll come to Skyhold to help me, and then you'll leave again. You'll ask me not to find you in the Fade, even though you don't seem to be able to keep me out while I have your magic stuck to my hand. You'll tell me that you love me, that it isn't my fault, but no matter what I say or do, you'll leave and I won't be able to follow you. Over and over again, you'll leave. Dreams in the Fade may be enough for you, Fen'harel, but I have to continue on in the realm of flesh and blood. The Inquisition needs me. I would rather the swords be put away, repurposed into tools for building and farming, but...”

 

“If you stop, everything you worked so hard to achieve will be ruined. I know. There are so many reasons, Vhenan...” His hand rested on top of hers. “If you stand beside me, the Dalish you are proud to be part of will hate you.” He stroked the back of her hand absently, and she turned her face at last to look into his eyes. “I won't ask you to continue a love affair between us that is literally only a dream.”

 

Fen'harel's hand slid to her wrist and gently tugged her toward him. She accepted the gesture, allowing herself to be pulled close against him. “We will discuss this more at Skyhold when I arrive, but for just tonight,” he said, “I wish to enjoy the warmth of your affection once more, even if it becomes our love's farewell.”

 

Abelas's mournful song whispered through the windows and the world rolled unsteadily beneath her feet. This time, when Fen'harel's lips met hers, she returned his kiss. She couldn't help but feel dread at the thought that they might never share another.

[Brass_Buckles]

Part 25:  In Which She Wakes

 

Spoiler

Uth'shiral was awakened by the dual discomforts of gnawing hunger and nausea. The cabin was dark, only a single candle lamp lighting it. Cole, she suspected, was on the forward deck, making himself helpful to the crew. Abelas was probably--

 

Abelas was sitting in the plain wooden chair on the other side of the cabin, singing a somber song in elvish. The few words she understood suggested he was singing about lost love. It wasn't something she wanted to hear, not now, not after her conversation with Fen'harel in the Fade. It might not have been a farewell, but it had felt like one.

 

She groaned as she pushed herself off the bed. The Anchor sent a scorching pain up her arm, and she winced—then stumbled urgently to her feet to scramble out the door to the deck as the nausea began to get the better of her again. She had never imagined she would have such a difficult time with seasickness.

 

Abelas stopped singing and stood to follow. She wondered if he'd been watching over her in shifts with Cole. Since when had she become Abelas's responsibility, anyway? She tried to ignore her very noticeable shadow and rushed to the starboard railing, leaning on it and fighting back her nausea. A few of the sailors laughed at their latest seasick passenger.

 

Cole appeared next to her, hands on the railing beside her on her left. “Look,” he said, pointing into the distance.

 

“There's nothing there,” Uth'shiral replied, squinting against the sunlight on the choppy waves.

 

“Yes. Where the sky and the sea meet,” Cole answered. “Look. It will help.”

 

The ship lurched, and Lavellan fought with her rebellious stomach until she could speak again. “What do you mean?”

 

“The horizon,” Abelas said as he approached and stood to her right. “The spirit is right. If you watch the horizon, you may become adjusted to the movement of the ship.” He rolled his shoulders into a shrug, then peeled the hood back from his head. “Or, you may not,” he added, as if it didn't concern him in the least.

 

“And what will you do if it doesn't?” Uth'shiral asked, a smile tugging at her lips despite everything. She had no good reason to smile, not after everything that had happened. And perhaps that was why she needed to smile. She watched Abelas from the corner of her eye.

 

“This will help,” replied the Sentinel, freeing a small pouch from his belt and holding it out to her. “Take a pinch with water, if you feel no better soon.”

 

“That's a lot of trouble to go to for a shemlen who is dragging you halfway across Thedas,” the Inquisitor mused, her smile growing. Smiling was so much better than crying. Maybe if she smiled enough the tears would never come again.

 

“It is not for your sake that I have these herbs.” Abelas placed his hands back on the railing, staring toward the horizon.

 

“I'm surprised you would admit that to me,” the Inquisitor observed, still staring out to sea. It did seem to be helping with the seasickness.

 

“Did you find the Dread Wolf?” the Sentinel changed the topic abruptly. “Will he help?”

 

“Smiling so softly, heart shattering into slivers that slice and scrape. He seeks something, so, sojourns to Skyhold, soon. He will help but... His hand on hers, warm, 'Just tonight.' He kisses you but... nothing more. You wanted more. It isn't goodbye if he's going to see you again at Skyhold. You'll make it until then,” Cole said, even as Lavellan's face and ears began to redden at what he'd shared.

 

Abelas gave her a long, measured look, and Uth'shiral found herself unable to interpret it. “It was enough to know she would be helped, spirit,” he told Cole. “Inquisitor,” he began, but paused as if what he had to say were a difficult subject. “When we reach Skyhold, if he is there...” He didn't finish the sentence.

 

“You'll ask him where to go, and you'll leave,” Uth'shiral finished for him. “I know. This was always going to be the outcome.” She smiled, still wanting to cry. They would soon be along the coast, and sailing up the Minanter River. Soon, they would be able to locate the camp where her clan had been. If she'd had privacy, she would curl up and she would shed her tears until her face was swollen and red and perhaps her heart ached less. “It's been good to travel with you, all the same.”

 

“Have you decided what you will do in Wycome?” Abelas asked, releasing his grip on the railing and pushing back as if he meant to walk away soon. The Inquisitor silently blessed him for his understanding.

 

“I mean to put my clan to rest properly, as well as I can. That's all.” She turned to face Abelas at last, leaning one elbow on the railing to help stay balanced as the ship rolled over each wave. “Justice isn't possible, in this case, and vengeance... I don't have the stomach. I'll never feel better about sending the soldiers, but they deserve a proper funeral and I will give it to them.”

 

“I shall help,” Abelas replied, then walked away across the deck as nimbly as if he were an old deckhand, offering to help some of the ship's crew with their various tasks. She had first thought he meant to give her time alone; now she wondered if there were other reasons. It was difficult to tell with Abelas, she had discovered.

 

Cole alone remained by her side. “You smile to cover the pain, but the closer you get, the more real it gets, and the more pain there is to add to the bigger pain. He's not the big pain, but he hurts too. Why can't you be together, if you love him? Does it matter what they think?”

 

“Yes,” Uth'shiral answered. Solas—Fen'harel—would not have wanted her to lie. “I could endure.”

 

“Yes. But it would hurt, and the Inquisition needs you.” Cole stared sadly at her. “And he says he goes places you can't follow.” He paused, considering. “I hope he's wrong.”

[Vhenan In Fen'Harel]

May I link this on my Fanfix site?

https://fanfixblog.wordpress.com/

I absolutely love this story and perspective

[Vhenan In Fen'Harel]

I was wrong.  Things aren't cheering up yet.  I think I may have a vendetta against myself.

 

Also, I want to hug you, now. This entire post.

sucker punch to the #feels.

Blatantly exposing the consequences of what this game writing would have done to crush our poor, already broken, solas romancing Dalish hearts in the aftermath.

Just... all those feels. 

[Brass_Buckles]

May I link this on my Fanfix site?

https://fanfixblog.wordpress.com/

I absolutely love this story and perspective

 

You may if you want to.  I really ought to go get on one of those fanfic sites and post it, to be honest.  It's getting way longer than it was meant to be...

 

Also, I want to hug you, now. This entire post.

sucker punch to the #feels.

Blatantly exposing the consequences of what this game writing would have done to crush our poor, already broken, solas romancing Dalish hearts in the aftermath.

Just... all those feels. 

 

Aww, thanks.  I'm sorry if I've made you more sad though!

 

Part 26:  In Which Someone Could Really Use A Hug

 

Spoiler

The sailors had probably never, in their short shemlen lives, seen an elf like Abelas. It was more than likely they never would again, he mused. Still, they had mostly turned away his offers to assist them, until at last he had retreated to the top of the ship's cabin, the highest point he could reach as long as the crow's nest was manned.

 

The spirit of compassion that had insisted on embarrassing the Inquisitor with its inability to comprehend the polite moral restraints of flesh-and-blood creatures had detached itself from her and now sat next to him. He didn't mind; he remained curious about such a unique entity, and its presence made him feel less isolated.

 

“You can't bring her back,” Cole said, breaking their extended silence.

 

“No, I cannot,” Abelas agreed. “It has been too long, yet I endure.”

 

“You've seen what it's like. Will hiding away help anything?” the spirit asked. “Will it really make you feel better?”

 

“You ask difficult questions.” Abelas untied a small pouch from his belt and took a pinch of herbs from it—the same concoction he'd given to the Inquisitor earlier. Staring at the horizon had seemed to help her, but it didn't help him. He had admitted to her that it was a problem, but she hadn't openly told him what was bothering her. The wall remained, and it wasn't his doing.

 

Everything now seemed unnatural, and it didn't feel particularly safe to be riding on a collection of nailed-together boards on the choppy Waking Sea. The Elvhen would have done it better—but, he reminded himself, these shemlen, the humans, the shadowy fragments of the Elvhen, the durgenlen, and even the dragon-like qunari, were doing the best they could. That they did as well as they were while living such short lives was remarkable, and perhaps even admirable. Cole stood in silence as the Sentinel mulled over these thoughts. “No; hiding away will not help the people here and now,” Abelas admitted. “It may be a comfort to be among others who know what they have lost, but it will not make me feel 'better.'”

 

“Then why go?” Cole sat down on top of the cabin, swinging his feet idly in a mimicry of a human gesture. “Do you even know if they'll welcome you? You're welcome here. The Inquisitor is your friend. That won't change.”

 

Abelas looked down at Cole as he swallowed down the bitter herbs. “I am unwelcome here, as well. They call me 'knife-ear,' and 'rabbit' and expect me to follow orders, even as they shrink from me in fear of what they see as my unusual height. One day, the Inquisitor will be dead—perhaps soon—and you will return to the Fade as spirits must do. I know where the other Sentinels are, but I am their leader. They look to me for comfort and guidance now that our duty is done; I have none left to give. Who am I to ask for the same?”

 

“Ask the Inquisitor. If she survives the Anchor, she might not die,” Cole pointed out. “She's different. Like you, like Solas, but not. He'll help her. He said so in the dream.” He continued to swing his feet, watching the gulls, Abelas suspected, as they wheeled around the ship hoping for scraps or a dry perch. “Why can't they be together if they love each other? It hurts her, and it probably hurts him, but I can't reach him.”

 

“You are a spirit of compassion. You understand better than I do how the Dalish feel about him. Perhaps that is why. Otherwise...” Abelas relented and sat next to Cole. “It is their personal business, and not something I wish to discuss.”

 

“But you do,” Cole countered. “She's your friend. If she loses everything, too, then--”

 

“She won't.” Abelas sighed in resignation and began to explain. “Whether or not he leaves, she will have the Inquisition. You mentioned she has friends there, or at least followers who are close to her. Leadership is lonely by nature, and takes strength of will and character. If she were weak, then she would already have given up. She will endure.”

 

“That isn't what I meant,” Cole disagreed. “If she loses everything but that, it hurts you. It's like looking into a mirror as it shatters into your face, shards cutting your flesh and blinding you. You should have stepped away, looked somewhere else, but you can't because you see you. She's giving up what you did before you made your oath, but you think it doesn't have to be that way now, for her, and it shouldn't have had to be that way for you. You worry about her because she's you.” The spirit's feet kicked against the side of the cabin rhythmically, harder than before perhaps because he was upset.

 

Abelas smiled in understanding beneath his hood—Cole was an innocent spirit of compassion, pure goodness—and very perceptive. “I cannot change it, Cole.” Yet knowing that someone, even a spirit of compassion, cared, made that knowledge slightly less terrible.

 

“You could stay.” Cole's feet stopped swinging, and he stood up. “Maybe someday the story could be true.” Cole vanished, reappearing on the deck to speak encouraging words to the sailors.

 

Abelas was left alone again, to his thoughts and his sorrows.

[mythlover20]

I love this story. It is so beautiful and bittersweet.

[Vhenan In Fen'Harel]

I just absolutely love it. My Dalish people died, too. And all I could think as I ran around is 'WHY IS NO ONE TALKING TO ME ABOUT THIS?'

This just pulls my heart strings. Every one.

[Obvious_Shining]

[Shari'El]

WHY DON'T I HAVE 26 LIKES TO LIKE EVERY PART?

 

Yes, it's sad, but it's a very interesting read, and well written as well.

 

I want moarrr!

[Brass_Buckles]

WHY DON'T I HAVE 26 LIKES TO LIKE EVERY PART?

 

Yes, it's sad, but it's a very interesting read, and well written as well.

 

I want moarrr!

 

I'm working on it!

 

I was going to work on it last night but the hilarious people of the Solas Thread distracted me... so now I have to write before I play!

[Brass_Buckles]

Part 27:  In Which Ugly Truths Are Revealed

 

Spoiler

Fen'harel worked at making a small camp by a half-collapsed pillar. Once, this had been a small temple dedicated to him; more importantly, there were faint traces that a sizeable group of people had camped here for a good length of time. He wasn't able to tell how long ago, though it seemed likely to have been a few months, or for how long they stayed, though it must have been quite a while to have left such lasting traces. Perhaps it had been the Dalish; he had seen a small herd of wild halla earlier, but they had scattered at his approach. He paced the perimeter first, setting wards to fend off any people or animals who might chance upon him and disturb him. A good distance outside of his wards, he placed a few dead rabbits and a fennec he had hunted for this purpose.

 

When he finished his magical preparations, Fen'harel set down his sleeping fur by the collapsed pillar and set up a bit of canvas over it to shelter him from the rain that the overcast sky threatened to bring. He didn't bother with a fire; it would have attracted too much attention from people in and around nearby Wycome. He had no wish to be disturbed while he searched for clues about the Lavellan clan's whereabouts.

 

It was easier to work than to think, now. Uth'shiral was dying, from his power, his mistake. He should have gone straight to Skyhold, but he no longer deluded himself that seeing to her clan was something he was doing for himself. He wanted to make sure they were safe, for her sake. She had seemed so terribly sad; he could at least do one small thing to make her happier. Then, at least if he couldn't help her, she could die reassured that he cared and that her family was well. She had not seemed to feel much urgency, or she would have said so. He was also already nearly to Wycome when she had asked for help.

 

He felt guilty.

 

Finally, he stretched out in his bedroll and set forth into the Fade.

 

The camp came alive with brilliant colors—the red of aravels, the white of Dalish banners, the painted and carved gods. A wolf statue was placed outside of the camp, staring away from it. Dalish of all ages went about their daily business. In the Fade, the Keeper told all of her stories at once, though she had undoubtedly told only one or two per night by the fire at the center of camp.

 

Life in the camp was quick, fleeting, here for a moment in time and then gone. The Dalish were not like his people had been, so very long ago. They were in many ways even more fleeting than the humans, always on the move even as they clung to a past that they lost more of with every generation. They twisted knowledge, rather than keeping it properly, and he was disappointed in them for that. He forced himself to quell his disappointment and simply watch. Hunters left the camp daily, sometimes staying away for a week at a time, and when they returned it was often laden with more gathered herbs and vegetables than with meat. Sometimes, they didn't return.

 

Solas wandered the camp, surrounded by memories of the Dalish going about their lives, searching for one familiar figure among them, or someone he could follow to their next camp, and their next, until he knew where to find them. At last he spotted the memory of Uth'shiral: One day joining the hunters to explore ruins; another day, slipping away alone to the nearest village to trade and buy books, never speaking a word of it to the rest of her clan; many more days asking questions and learning their ancient tongue from the Keeper or memorizing the tales that she was told.

 

He could have watched her forever, as the memories played over and over and overlapped, but it wasn't the same as being by her side. It was also invasive, finding out things that she might not have wanted to share. He tore himself away from the memories of her presence and followed the Keeper instead, trying not to pay much attention to the conversations with the Inquisitor-to-be that didn't involve lore or linguistics. Then one scene between the Keeper and Uth'shiral overcame the others, and was too crisp and clear to simply push away. This was, he thought, important.

 

“And so you just—what? Send me away until I stop being a problem for you, hahren?” Uth'shiral demanded of the Keeper.

 

“No, da'len. I am disappointed that you refused to consider Ardan'nen, but this is not about that,” the Keeper replied patiently. “Do you think I am unaware of your lonely wanderings? That I somehow failed to notice your silence on the matter, or that you chose Dirthamen as your most honored Creator? I value your discretion.” She smiled at her student warmly as Fen'harel looked on, but then her expression became more severe. “Having said that, Ardan'nen is Keeper of his clan, and after his First and Second were taken by templars... He may be older than you prefer, but he is kind, patient, and his clan is more akin to Lavellan than Clan Inarel. Besides, you are in your third decade. Will you let your blood die out?”

 

Uth'shiral's shoulders slumped. “So it is about Ardan'nen.”

 

The Keeper rubbed at her temples as if battling a headache. “This is not about Ardan'nen or your friend Morisel. I am sending you out into the world to learn more about it, and bring that knowledge back to Clan Lavellan. I am sending you because you are the one I trust the most. I am sending you because you have dealt with the shemlen in the villages here, and can deal with them when you are at the Conclave, and on your way home. I wish for you to tell me the state of the other Dalish clans, and the state of the world at large as you travel. I wish to know how the elves fare in the cities to the south in Ferelden and Orlais. Not only do I wish to know, but I wish for you and our clan to know.”

 

“But I don't want to leave the clan!” Uth'shiral protested. “You're my family and—and I love you all!”

 

“Be that as it may, da'len, you are the best qualified to go,” the Keeper said gently. “As for your personal situation... Just because you were too shy to befriend anyone else on your own, just because Morisel quickly befriended you, does not mean you should forever hope to marry him. Even you have told me you don't love him. He simply sought you out, when quieter souls failed to. You might find that some quieter soul sings in tune with your heart in a way that Morisel cannot. Still... if you insist, I can send word again to Clan Inarel to see if he remains free, while you are away. My Second could become Ardan'nen's First, if it came to that. Though I do worry that Morisel may cause trouble, given his reputation with women.”

 

“You may be right, hahren. I know that it is my duty to keep the bloodline strong, but...” Uth'shiral trailed off. “Ardan'nen would take me too far away from Clan Lavellan. At least, if Morisel could come here, no matter how unfaithful he may be, even if I never truly loved him, I'd have the rest of you for support. Clan Lavellan matters more to me than the love of a man or the lack of it. I will do my duty and have little mage children, but only if my place in this clan remains assured.”

 

“I will at least send word to them,” the Keeper replied. “Perhaps I will also send word to other clans while you are away, or...” She smiled. “Perhaps you will find other things as important to you as our clan while you are away, and will share your tales with us upon your return. Dareth shiral, da'len. Dirthamen enansal.”

 

Fen'harel walked away, not wanting to hear more of that conversation; he hadn't wanted to hear any of it. Would she really have married someone she didn't love, only to be with her clan? It seemed tragic to him that she felt she had to, nevermind the idea that she would have spent the rest of her life with someone she didn't love, never even knowing what it was to love and be loved. Never meeting Fen'harel. Perhaps he was wrong, and it would have been kinder for her to live such a life, or the Keeper would have had her meet someone more deserving than he was. He followed another memory, the landships rolling across the land behind teams of halla as they wandered to one camp, and another, Uth'shiral no longer with them. Time seemed to speed by, as though these memories were—No, that wasn't right.

 

The memories of travel stopped and exploded into fire and blood and swords. Human soldiers invaded the new camp outside of Wycome, and it was dizzying. The soldiers believed they were routing out savages who would have done them harm. The Dalish were simply terrified and confused. The Inquisition was supposed to have been protecting them. Where were the Inquisition soldiers?

 

And then it fell silent, except for the baying of hounds hunting for any Dalish stragglers who may yet survive. The camp was razed, smoke curling off of the sooty black ground. Hallas were slain and left lying to rot and feed the carrion birds and predators, along with the corpses of every Dalish in the camp. They had not even spared the children.

 

It was then that he understood what the familiar feeling was that he'd gotten from the Fade memories. These were memories of people dead and soon to be forgotten entirely.

 

Fen'harel fell to his knees. “Vhenan! No! No, not this... Not this...” She hadn't told him. She must have known, and she hadn't said a word to him in the Fade. Her clan had been more important to her than her own happiness, and they were gone.

 

He could not remain in the Fade within these terrible dreams any longer. He burst into awareness and sat up, sweating and uncomfortable. “Vhenan,” he murmured, his hands covering his face in grief. He should go straight to Skyhold, should rush to comfort her, but... no. There might yet be survivors. He would have to travel the nightmarish memories again to seek them out, to see if any hunters or children or anyone could have escaped what seemed to be certain doom. If he didn't, he would be failing Uth'shiral yet again.

 

Writer's note:  This one was more difficult to write (by far) than I expected, and I am not entirely happy with it.  Still... I finally got it written because I need to move on to the next part.

[Brass_Buckles]

Part 28:  In Which--Awww, He Cares!

 

Spoiler

With every passing day of their journey on the Waking Sea, it had become harder for Uth'shiral to sleep. What little sleep she had was plagued by dreams of the horror her clan must have gone through, or of finding the bodies of people she knew and loved. Then she also began to dream of the Dalish Grey Warden and whatever friends he had rounded up coming upon her in her grief, and killing her and her friends in brutal and torturous ways.

 

The Inquisitor and her two companions had made landfall in a small village three days' walk from Wycome. She was satisfied with the distance, leading them into the wilderness where they could both stay hidden from the nobles of the city and search for signs of the Dalish. She didn't know how long that would take. Perhaps by now there were no traces of Clan Lavellan, but she might still be able to find another clan who could tell her where to go.

 

That night, they made camp quickly and quietly, not daring to start a fire despite the chill in the air and the knowledge that there were predators lurking in the woods. Instead, she and Abelas set wards, and Cole offered to stand watch and wake them if any danger came near.

 

As she gnawed on hard-crusted bread and equally hard cheese, Uth'shiral noticed Abelas staring at her with his most somber expression.

 

Cole appeared at her side, mumbling to her. “Sadness sinks into Sorrow, seeping through the silence... He wants to help, but he can't. The wall can't come down if you keep building it.”

 

“If he wants to talk to me, he can,” Uth'shiral replied. “Are you worried about him?” She scooted over so that Cole could sit beside her on her bedroll, if he chose. It was at least a little softer than the ground, despite the wear and tear.

 

“We're worried about you.” Cole looked at her steadily from beneath the brim of his hat. “You need rest. This place is so familiar to you, but fleeting, without family and friends to find, forever faded from here. You feel so alone, so lonely... It hurts, and you want to cry but you don't. You can't. They are all dead. You blame yourself, but it wasn't your fault. It was a mistake. We're here with you; you aren't alone at all.”

 

“Cole, it was my fault. I lead the Inquisition. I sent the soldiers. I should have listened to Leliana, and had my clan infiltrate. They'd still be alive, and those lyrium-crazed nobles wouldn't be hurting people in Wycome now. And there's nothing, nothing I can do to change that.” She broke off another piece of bread and worked at gnawing on it, not caring about the taste; she just wanted something to do other than think about her guilt. She swallowed the mouthful of bread before she spoke again. “The best I can do is--”

 

“Let me help you,” Cole interrupted. “You're my friend. It hurts me when you hurt. I can't bring them back, but it wasn't your fault, or Cullen's. You did what you thought was best. You tried, and they wouldn't blame you for it. The water in the well sang wrong. It was the lyrium. And now... they aren't here, but I am, and Sorrow is, and Cassandra and Sera and Josephine and Cullen are all waiting at Skyhold.”

 

She'd been keeping the tears in, smiling instead of crying the entire time they'd been on the ship, and she didn't let them fall now, either. She had lost her clan, she had lost Solas, she had lost Morisel, and she had perhaps even lost the Dalish. “I'll feel better once I put them to rest,” she said finally. “Then I—”

 

“Grieve,” Abelas said from beside her. Despite his size, he moved in silence; she hadn't noticed his approach. He settled in the spot she had made for Cole next to her as she turned to face him in surprise. “Blaming yourself does nothing. I once blamed myself for Mythal's murder. Perhaps if I had been more vigilant--if only I had done something different! But it was useless to blame myself. It happened, and I endured. I continued my duty, even as everything fell to ruin around me. You have no concept of what the People have lost, but the biggest loss of all was the People themselves. People I knew. You are going through the same thing. What you knew is gone. The people you knew are also mostly gone. Grieve, abelas'lin, and endure. The dead suffer no more. We are kindred in our sorrow. Grieve, lethallan, for tomorrow we set the dead to rest, and the days that come after are for the living.”

 

“It will help,” Cole encouraged, before reappearing at the other side of camp, watching for trouble.

 

“How do you even grieve when you've lost so much?” the Inquisitor asked, shaking her head. “I--”

 

The Sentinel slid a hesitant arm around her shoulders, murmuring something in elvish that she didn't understand. “If the tears come,” he translated, “let them.”

 

Writer's Note:  This one's pretty short, but I felt that it needed to happen.

[Brass_Buckles]

Part 29:  In Which They All Enjoy A Lovely Walk Through The Forest

 

Spoiler

Early the next morning, the Inquisitor, Abelas, and Cole were awakened by a downpour of rain. The Inquisitor vaguely remembered crying on Abelas's shoulder as he murmured comforting words in ancient elven, and she suspected her dreamless sleep had been a gift from Abelas. At some point, she had been tucked her into her bedroll while Abelas slipped away to his own.

 

As soon as their gear was stowed away and strapped to their backs, they began their search in earnest. Uth'shiral didn't expect either Abelas or Cole to be of much help in searching for signs of the Dalish, who were experts at concealing their passage. It might be especially difficult after such a long time had passed, but she suspected the scars of battle would persist on the land, even if the humans had bothered to burn the corpses of Clan Lavellan.

 

They kept to the forests, using hand signals in lieu of speech, in case an enemy were to spot them. Lavellan and Abelas were careful where they placed their feet, watching the ground for roots that might trip them or spiders and serpents that might attack with deadly venom. The rain made the footing slick in some places; in others, the mud sucked at their feet, slowing their passage. Uth'shiral found herself missing her sure-footed hart, but he would not have fit on the small ship that took them across the Waking Sea.

 

The day had nearly ended when they approached a partially collapsed pillar that loomed out of the forest. Several other, similar pillars had already toppled, preventing trees from growing where they lay. Abelas signaled to Uth'shiral to stop, then knelt to the ground, gazing into the mud. “Someone has been this way,” he said, surprising her—not only by breaking the silence, but by having noticed signs she had nearly overlooked. He responded to her unspoken question with a somber tone. “The Sentinels worked hard to keep the Dalish from trespassing upon our most sacred site.”

 

He had slain her people before. He would have killed her, too, or tried, if she hadn't completed Mythal's rituals along the way. She knelt beside him to conceal her emotions as well as to examine the trail. It was better to forgive him; he had done his duty. In his place, would she have done any less? Had she not killed his Sentinels when they had attacked her companions and herself? Harm had been done on both sides.

 

Rather than linger on her companion's confession, she pointed to a deep hole in the earth beside the faint bare-toed tracks. “A lone traveler,” she pointed out, “probably a man, and using a staff or a walking stick. He passed this way perhaps a day or two ago, and,” she admitted with some embarrassment, “was not good at concealing his tracks.” She should have noticed before Abelas. “If we'd chanced this way any later, all traces would have been washed away. We should follow his trail, but be cautious. My people rarely travel alone, and Dalish only leave such obvious traces when there is trouble.”

 

Abelas nodded, and silence fell as the pair stood up again, gesturing Cole to follow closely as they approached the crumbled elven ruin ahead.

 

This time, Uth'shiral stopped the other two first. “Do you feel that?” she asked, as a brush of magic as fragile as a tiny spider's web brushed over her skin.

 

Abelas walked forward a few steps, stopped, then nodded. “Wards.” He began loosening his sword from its scabbard even as Uth'shiral readied her staff.

 

Ahead, someone abruptly stood up beside of the half-collapsed column, magical energy pouring into his staff and lighting the area immediately around him.

 

Uth'shiral would have recognized his stance anywhere, even if she hadn't recognized the armor she had commissioned for his sake. Her left palm flared, sending scorching pain up her arm; the Anchor had behaved so well lately that she had almost forgotten that it was a problem, but now it threatened to become all-consuming. “Solas!” she called out, before he could cast one of his deadly ice spells. Here in the waking world, she did not yet dare use his other, truer, name.

[stonerbishop]

Omg cliffhanger

[Shazzie]

I've just read through the story so far, and....

wow. Just... wow.

 

I lack the words to truly express my appreciation, but I shall try. To start off: Thank you. This story is as poignant as it is beautiful, and it tugs at the heart in a truly bittersweet myriad of ways. It hurts and it helps and it heals a hole BioWare left (and look at me unintentionally channeling Cole!). It makes me feel like crying and yet it makes me happy. It has a very potent touch of... saudade (which is a word I truly wish the English language would appropriate). 

 

Again: Thank you. I'm so very glad I randomly clicked a link to this post. 

[AWTEW]

Good stuff brass

[Brass_Buckles]

I've just read through the story so far, and....

wow. Just... wow.

 

I lack the words to truly express my appreciation, but I shall try. To start off: Thank you. This story is as poignant as it is beautiful, and it tugs at the heart in a truly bittersweet myriad of ways. It hurts and it helps and it heals a hole BioWare left (and look at me unintentionally channeling Cole!). It makes me feel like crying and yet it makes me happy. It has a very potent touch of... saudade (which is a word I truly with the English language would appropriate). 

 

Again: Thank you. I'm so very glad I randomly clicked a link to this post. 

 

Thank you for reading, and for the lavish praise.  It's kind of embarrassing!  I just started writing and, um... haven't stopped yet.  This monster has made me cry a couple of times, but things are about to get brighter as the plot resolves itself.  Whether they go the way I planned or prefer is up for debate.

 

Part 30:  In Which the Inquisitor Must Choose Her Fate

Spoiler

Solas paused mid-flourish and stared at the Inquisitor. She could tell that he was taking in her other two companions, as well. “Inquisitor? Cole? Abelas?” She wondered if he'd ever call her “Vhenan” again. “You continue to surprise me,” he told her after a moment's pause. “I believed you had returned to Skyhold.”

 

Uth'shiral sighed with relief and lowered her own staff. “Solas, why are you here? You went west,” she said, as she walked toward him. Behind him, she could see a tattered fur he was using as a bedroll, a weathered waxed canvas canopy propped over it with some sticks. It wasn't much of a shelter, but still better than what she'd thought to set up the night before. Green flames flickered up her left arm, threatening to destroy her.

 

“I did,” he answered in the gentlest tone she had ever heard him use. “But letting go wasn't easy. I came here to learn of your clan, to find out what about them might--I wanted to understand the people who made you. Ir abelas, Inquisitor. I should not have pried, and I learned other things from the Fade. I am so sorry...” He looked toward the ground, anywhere but at her face, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Lavellan stopped only when she was within touching distance, and she could hear Abelas and Cole walking closer to stand behind her. “So now you know,” she said, her voice breaking. “I failed them. If I couldn't ever go back, I at least wanted them to be safe. I made a mistake, and now they're gone. The Anchor is killing me, Solas. I want to set them to rest properly, in the way of my people, before it does. Abelas and Cole chose to join me here, but Abelas wanted to find you, so you could tell him where to find others like himself: ancients, isolated from the rest of the world, clinging to what remains.”

 

“Perhaps no longer,” Abelas replied from over her shoulder. “The world as it is now is not without value, as long as there are those willing to learn. Mythal would frown upon me if I turned my back on those in need. I endure. Still... my people would be a comfort to me.” Uth'shiral suspected that admission was a difficult one to make, nevermind how hard it would be for him to find a place for himself in the world he had avoided for so long.

 

“If you like,” Solas spoke softly, reaching for her marked hand, “I can look at the Anchor now. I know where they fell, and it isn't something I wish for you to see. Allow me to help you, and then... then I will attend to their rites myself. I believe there were some survivors, though I am uncertain how many. I have sensed tendrils of their fear within the Fade.” Still he avoided looking at her, whether out of grief, or guilt, or some other emotion, she was uncertain.

 

Uth'shiral allowed Solas's warm fingers to wrap around hers as the rain beat down on all of them, a tangible sense of guidance in the grey gloom. It was difficult to be grateful for her hood when it, and the rest of her armor, had long since been soaked through to her skin. Still the mark burned, despite the chill of the rain. She ignored the pain and stared at Solas until he met her gaze. “I have to see the bodies, but the elvhen and the halla, and I have to be there for the rites. I was the Keeper's First; with Keeper Deshanna gone, I am the Keeper of Clan Lavellan.”

 

“He remembers me,” Cole said, “but I don't remember him.” He appeared beside of Solas. “There was an amulet. You gave it power so that I could stay here and still stay me. Thank you. Why did I forget?” asked the spirit with genuine curiosity. Then he looked sharply at the Inquisitor. “Let him help you. Burning, blinding, brilliant... It hurts so badly. Sorrow's herbs helped before, but now it's too much. If you don't let him help you, it will consume you and you won't make it that far. Then we'll miss you like you miss them. Sorrow will sing for you, too, like he sings for her and for him and for the others, songs about sorrow and silence, not like when he sings sad songs while you sleep.”

 

“The spirit is right,” Abelas said firmly, striding toward the column to set his pack down. Water rolled off of his armor; he and Cole were surely the only ones comfortable in the rainy weather. “I will work on a better shelter while he tends to you. We must not linger here for longer than necessary, but there is no need to be uncomfortable while we do.”

 

Uth'shiral's mark flared violently again. Her knees began to give way, and she caught her balance on her staff. Solas wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the broken column. “Vhenan,” he murmured into her ear, using the endearment only in a moment when no one but she could hear it. “Please, let me help. I beg you.” He helped her settle into the tiny, somewhat leaky shelter that Abelas was working to expand and improve. “You won't be able to set the dead to rest if you are also dead.”

 

Uth'shiral offered her marked left hand to Solas without a word of protest. If she died, she could help no one. No matter how much she hurt, or how guilty she felt, she still wanted to live. That much, at least, she had never questioned.

 

Solas knelt beside her, cradling her hand with one of his, the fingers of the other one tracing the Anchor on her palm. She could sense the touch of his magic, matching that of the Anchor as he probed it thoughtfully. The green veilfire along her arm extinguished, the power returning to its focal point on her palm. The burning pain followed the veilfire, leaving only a single scorching point where before it had threatened to consume all of her.

 

“You took the remainder of the orb's power,” Fen'harel said, “and another might have died from it in that instant.” She found it harder to focus on his words than on the relief from pain that he had given her. “Surviving that much was impressive, but not enough. You must be able to master the power you took, or it will master you.” Raindrops rolled off of Solas's head, down his chin and onto their hands.

 

“How? If I haven't already mastered it, if My Trainer's teaching hasn't helped... how?” Solas's prodding had gradually turned into caresses along her palm, and she left her hand in his as she spoke. His touch was soothing, and it kept the pain away.

 

Solas looked back at her with eyes as sad as the night he had walked away from her and she had thought it would be forever. “You have to make a choice now, Vhenan. Whichever path you take, the consequences will follow you.” He glanced toward Abelas, giving a quick gesture. The Sentinel and Cole both walked away, giving Solas and Uth'shiral enough space to speak without being overheard.

 

“Tell me,” Uth'shiral said, knowing that her options could not be good if they caused Solas so much sadness.

 

He did not divert his gaze as he spoke. “The Anchor can be taken from you, if you allow it. I can take its power into myself, and it would be as if you had never received the Anchor at all. However, it is how the people identify their Inquisitor. Without it, people may lose their faith in you. Perhaps they will believe that their prophet has turned away from you whom they were certain she once favored. You will not be as connected to the Fade as you were; your magic and your dreams will be as they were before.

 

“The Anchor could stay as it is. Perhaps you will be able to master its power, with assistance. If you were to stay close to me, I could attempt to aid you in this, but I cannot be by your side at all times. If you are unable to master it, eventually there would come a time when we were too far apart for me to help. You would have to leave the Inquisition, you would still suffer from the Anchor, and you would be dependent upon me for your very survival. This may be true even if you were able to master the power. The situation would not be to my liking. I have no wish to chain you to me, nor to force you to rely on me.”

 

Solas hesitated before continuing; at first, Uth'shiral thought those were her only options, and she must choose. When he started to speak again, she realized that it must be because the final option was one he disliked as much as feeling he had somehow chained her. “The magic of the Anchor is mine, and that may provide a third option. I believe I could tie it to myself through the Fade, and that link may stabilize the Anchor, allow us to share the control. I know you value your secrets. If I do this, there shall be no more secrets between us. There are things I would rather you did not see in my dreams; I am certain there are things about which you feel the same. If I do this...” He shook his head slowly, drops of rainwater splashing down the cleft of his chin. “You are able to locate me in the Fade now, however far away I am. If I strengthen the bond the Anchor forges, we may be unable to escape one another in the Fade. This is another kind of chain. Do not imagine I mean this in any romantic way. Every dark desire, every nightmare we dream will be shared, and pleasant dreams for one may be painful to the other. As curious as you are, it would be more than you wished to know. Yet, it would allow you to remain with the Inquisition, without changing how your people see you.”

 

“You leave me again, whichever option I take, even if I stay with you,” Uth'shiral observed. “I need to be able to stand on my own. I've been relying too much on Abelas and Cole as it is. I want to be well again. I want to be able to do the funeral rites for my clan, to find any survivors and take them back to Skyhold with me. I will lead the Inquisition.” She stared back at Solas as he stared at her. “I can't leave them. The Anchor's power doesn't mean anything to me, but it does to them, and if there are more rifts...” She shook her head, then placed her free hand over Solas's. “No. I have to keep it. I already know who you are, Fen'harel. At least if I live out your nightmares every night of my life for the years I have left, you can't forget me. If I can endure what I already have, Dread Wolf, I can face your nightmares. Better yet, I can face them with you.”

 

“Vhenan,” Fen'harel said softly, “please think this through. This will be permanent. If you have hopes of one day finding another love, sharing the Anchor with me is not something you should do. How would you feel, knowing that the one you love is dreaming of someone else every night? Someone who loves your beloved? I owe you the truth, yet I would rather answer endless questions than have you see the worst of me in my dreams. And if this is what you choose... someday, I may have to tear you away from the Inquisition anyway.”

 

Lavellan sat up straighter. “You needed the Orb... because you needed its power. But I have its power.It's the key... You need the Anchor. What is there that is so terrible I can't face it with you? Did you believe the Inquisition wouldn't help you?”

 

“Vhenan, your Inquisition will not be pleased with my actions. The Inquisition will need to be ready to deal with problems that may arise, either with or without you.” His fingers tightened around hers. “Understand me when I say I do not want to involve you in this. If someone is hated as a result, let it be me who takes the blame and not you by association. Let them say I tricked you. Let yourself believe I tricked you. Ar lath ma, Vhenan. That is still the truth, more than you can guess.”

 

“Solas...” Uth'shiral wasn't sure how to take what he was telling her. “Are you saying you're going to do something dangerous? Something that will hurt people? I can't—I can't let you do something like that. Just because the people today aren't your Elvhen doesn't mean they aren't still people. Whatever you're planning, if you cause people to suffer... I would never, ever forgive you. No matter how I feel about you now, I couldn't love a man who would--”

 

“Vhenan, I do not know what will come of my actions, aside from the results that I seek. The less you know, the better off you shall be. If you fear me now, knowing who I am, then let go of your love for me and be free.” Solas released her hand, and pulled his own free of her, resting them on his knees. “If you trust me, I shall try to live up to that trust as well as I can, and return to you as soon as I am able, whatever else happens."

 

Uth'shiral mulled over what he said in silence, and the chill she felt was not entirely from the rain that soaked through her armor. If she gave him her Anchor, she was enabling him to do whatever he was going to do. If she went with him, he had made it clear he would leave her behind at times to continue doing what he was going to do. If she shared the Anchor, he was going to leave her to do what he planned to do. Whatever she did, his plan was going to happen. He might love her, but his plan was more important to him, even now.

 

If the Dread Wolf didn't want to tell her his plan, it probably wasn't a good plan, or at least it was one he knew would produce collateral damage—damage that the Inquisition would need to deal with.

 

Yet, he did love her. He didn't want to use her. He was giving her every option to remain uninvolved. She suspected he wanted her to keep the power of the Anchor, even as he detested the idea that it might mean he had to use her, or that she might somehow uncover his plans, or share the blame for any consequences. If he didn't love her, or if he had only been using her, he would not warn her, would have tried to get her involved.

 

He would try to hurt as few people as possible, but whatever he was planning was going to hurt people. Maybe it would be indirect, but if he could do that... if compassionate, thoughtful Fen'harel, who had probably cried over the fate of the world while the Dalish believed he laughed, could make such a sacrifice, what could be worth it to him? She was afraid to find out, but she had to.

 

She knew what choice she had to make about the Anchor. What she wasn't sure of was whether she could love a man who might sacrifice willingly what she would only ever sacrifice by mistake.

[Obvious_Shining]

[TanithAeyrs]

WOW.  Glad I remembered to check on this (forgot to follow it before).  Ugh, the FEELS.  Well written and you keep everyone in character perfectly.   It is so much the kind of thing I imagine my Lavellan going through if she ever catches up to Solas, bittersweet with doubt, fear and hope in equal measure.  You make me want to hug all of them; Solas, Lavellan, Abelas, Cole.   But at the same time you give me hope for them, even Abelas is looking for some kind of future. 

 

I do have to compliment your writing style as well, you show the reader what you want them to see, not tell them what they should feel.  Makes a much more immediate and poignant reading experience.  Kudos.