Chapter Text
Exhausted, Solas collapsed to his knees on the hard ground as he fell through the Eluvian. The air surrounding him glowed with the acidic green of the Fade and the crackling energy of his magic shimmered all along his armour and robes.
He sucked in a deep breath and blearily looked around, taking in where he had landed. The soil beneath him shifted as he sluggishly sat up and he realised that he was atop some fallen twigs.
All around him ancient, enormous trees branched out and reached up to the night sky with bare limbs. The faint, fading light of his spells cast a dull shine on the large, black barks and the empty spaces between the trees. Distantly, he heard the sound of rushing water slapping against stone. Somewhere beyond the copse was a river.
For a moment he thought he was in the Frostback Basin - the sheer size of the trees suggested so - but the presence of the forest itself was not what he remembered. Nor was this the Brecilian. It felt as if it was looming over him, the gaps between the trees disorientating whorls and the shadows expanding in the corner of his vision.
He frowned, then reached out for his forgotten staff. Thankfully, it had not rolled away when he'd stumbled. He stabbed the silver base into the ground, propping his weight against it before he dragged himself to his feet. His armour clanked noiselly as he leaned on the scepter, but it concealed his tremble. If anything in the darkness around him was watching, it wouldn't see his bone weary.
Cautions, he turned his gaze to the sky, barely able to make out the stars through the thick clouds and winding branches.
For a long time, he roved over and over the constellations above, staring, confused. He could not place what he could see, the distant lights not matching any charts he knew of for Thedas, or otherwise.
Perhaps the Eluvian had took him further than he'd intended. With most of the doors to the Crossroads now open, access to the Fade and even beyond was simple again.
He tore his eyes from the sky to look at the portal behind him. It had grown dark after he had passed through and now appeared as though it was just a mirror. He waved a hand before it, but it didn't activate at the gesture. His frown deepened as he finally noticed the state of the Eluvian he'd come through; large scratches covered it's surface and fracture lines trailed in the corners to the frame. The entire thing was overgrown with ivy and bare shrubbery that looked like thorns.
After he had chosen to save the Inquisitor, to still their immediate doom and turn their 'Mark' to stone, he had been drained. He had tumbled and dragged himself away once in the Crossroads, not caring where he went so long as it was away from their hurt face. Now, he wished he had picked his escape more carefully.
There was nothing he could do to fix it in his current state. He needed to gather his strength again, to rest somewhere through the night before he attempted to gather the materials needed to heal the broken surface and carve the powerful runes to activate and pass through once more.
Solas sighed quietly as he turned away from the portal, yearning now more than ever for Cole's company and soft advise. The quiet spirit always knew what to say, how to soothe his frayed nerves and irritation. He imagined he could hear him whispering about the soul of every tree in the clearing, about the thick aura encasing them and the eerie silence of the strangely still forest. He'd say it wasn't dark, just holding its breath for the new dawn.
He wondered if he'd ever see Cole again. The spirit of compassion had been as close to the Inquisitor as he had and no doubt felt their pain like his own at Solas' betrayal. Would he try to solve their anger and sorrow as he always did, with mischief and misplaced items, smells of home? Would he stay by their side and soothe their wounds, laugh with them when it was all over?
The loud echo of a snapping branch drew his thoughts short and the nostalgia passed. He stood tense, staff outstretched in poise for casting and his attention now on the encompassing darkness of the night all around him. He was tired, but he would not show weakness. He should not have let himself become so distracted.
Closer, leaves rustled overhead and a tree groaned. Faintly, he could make out something chattering and hissing.
The ground beneath him shimmered blue and his skin glowed with the quickly-cast protection as he swiveled his staff outwards. He snatched a mana potion from his fur robe, his last, and gulped it quickly to prepare another spell. He threw the glass bottle aimlessly in front of himself, awaiting the source of the noise to approach.
The woodland was still and his world felt like it was shrinking around him as he waited. Another hiss sounded just before him and then the crunch of leaves and the scurry of too many legs charged forward.
The mage cast a large shield of ice and watched the shards as they rose tall and scraped against one another. They formed sharp, solid spikes that pointed like spears in a circle around him and the broken Eluvian.
Some beast screeched as it was impaled on the spell wall and attempted to break free. The cold light of the ice illuminated the struggle of hairy, scrambling legs and eight large eyes focused on him. Solas watched as the spiders ichor splattered to the ground below whilst the long limbs slowed, then stopped.
He had no chance for respite however, as more spiders crashed into his ice wall and others attempted to leap over and drop from silk webs. His spells followed each of them and shattered on impact with their exoskeleton.
While there were many of the primal creatures, they weren't worth the effort of a grand spell. He had no more potions left and limited energy. He could feel the strain in his arms with each swing of his metal staff and the ache it caused after, but with each blast the beasts were kept back and that was enough.
He watched an ice shard splinter in a spider's fangs and saw the reflective glow of the magic as it shattered in its face, sending it tumbling into the ground. A spray of blood from the back of it's head surprised him though.
He watched the fallen beast shriek then crumple just beyond his barrier as it died, then caught sight of an embedded arrow shaft sticking out the back of its neck.
He looked beyond the dangling spiders and saw another arrow fly, one after the other from some distant vantage point, to land in the eyes, joints and hearts of the beasts. Many dropped dead instantly from their web anchors and others hissed and clicked their fangs, to turn on the new assault barrage. They raised their legs in intimidation and charged forward in a macabre scuttle.
As more arrows hit their marks and felled the spiders, Solas lunged at the distraction and froze their limbs in place. He instantly dropped his half-caved barrier and sprinted forward, hurling and battering his staff on the ice-encased beasts. Some shattered into pieces and others bodies crumbled to the ground with a creak and a shrill scream as their limbs were torn.
Finally, when no more beasts attacked and the only sound in the forest was the gurgle of blood and the static of his magic, he looked around the small clearing to the spiders bodies strewn about.
He quickly studied the arrows embedded in their carcasses, looking for an insignia or a mark to identify the archer that had assisted him, but saw nothing he recognised. The feathers were a dark and plain green, likely to blend in with the surrounding forest. Perhaps a hunter, or a Dalish who lived in these woods?
He felt tentative and hopeful in one. If the archer was in fact Dalish, perhaps they would tell him where he was, allow him to rest and recover at their camp. Then again, it was just as likely they'd snear and turn him away, disgusted at his unmarked face and curse him as a shem-lover.
Ah, how it will feel to liberate his people: to return the long, lost knowledge and power when he finally tears down the Veil.
His thoughts grind to a halt when a sharp point dig sinto the base of his skull, steady in its place. After a long moment, it presses harder against his head and he understands the silent demand. Solas raised his hands up, then away from himself. He extended his left to drop his staff just out of reach.
The arrowhead was removed from the base of his skull, but he knew it was still drawn and aimed at him. The appearance of the archer didn’t startle him, nor did their approach with a weapon in hand, but he was surprised at how they had managed to get in between him and the Eluvian without him noticing.
With his hands still raised in placation, Solas turned slowly to face the other.
He followed the arrow along its shaft to leather-garbed hands that held it and a longbow securely. For a terrible moment, he'd thought that Sera had found him, but the scale armour covered torso was the wrong shape for her.
Besides which, he doubted that she would have risked helping him with the spiders. Knowing the Red Jenny, she likely would have left him to his fate or shot him on sight, and not necessarily in that order.
He looked away from the drawn longbow to the one who held it. The faint starlight revealed his vigilant ward to indeed be elvhen, but he couldn't discern if they were Dalish or an armed city dweller.
The elf before him had long hair that shone like silver in the pale light and features that were clear cut and strong. His unmarked and soft skin suggested that he was young, but he knew the elf before him was well trained and old enough to have passed his hunting trials. It was unusual, however, for a Dalish to be full-grown without the symbols they mistook for a proud heritage marked on their face. And yet, there wasn't a single blemish on his pale skin, nor piercing of clan sigil.
Solas met their eyes and watched the icy blue pools regard him in turn, narrowed and taking in his measure. The arrow pointed at him didn't waver as the piercing blue roamed over his form. His gaze was weighted and suspicious, typical of the Dalish regarding an outsider, but Solas bore it with long, suffering practice and found himself quite curious to see the suspicion turn to confusion.
When the other spoke, it was in a clear, silvery voice, but in a language he didn't know. From the tone, it sounded more like a question than a command and Solas racked his brain for a word he recognised, but drew blank. Whatever the other was saying it was no garbled, broken Elvhenan or common in the new Thedas he had awoken in.
After a moment, he spoke again. The words weren't repeated - it sounded like he had asked something else - but when he received no answer for the second time, the drawstring was pulled even more taut on his bow.
When the archers stance became rigid, Solas summoned his magic and let it charge and swirl around his upturned fingers. He didn't cast anything, just let it linger in the air between them. He hoped that he conveyed clearly, without words, that even with his staff out of reach he could still protect himself.
The archer watched the frost mist around his hands with a glare, then met his gaze sharply and said quite clearly, “What are you?”
The question startled him into an incredulous frown and he glanced between the arrow notched at him and the archers face, unsure of the questions meaning and if the elf before him was serious or not.
“My name is Solas,” he said, grateful at least that they now had a way to communicate, though it didn't appear to relax either of them. “I’m an apostate, from the mountains far to the north. It has been abandoned for a long time now.”
He realised after a moment, that this was exactly what he had told the Inquisitor when they first met, all those years ago. The story came to him so easily. Even though it wasn't the whole truth, he wasn't about to tell this stranger who he really was until he knew what kind of elf and mindset he was dealing with.
“That wasn’t what I asked you,” the elf stated in the Common Tongue.
Solas paused then, unsure how to continue, but he felt irked nonetheless. This elf, that didn't appear to be Dalish, a city dweller, a shem-lover or a slave, asked him what he was? How was he suppose to answer that honestly without causing offense and letting the other fire the arrow between his eyes?
He let the cold on his fingers fizzle out, before he dropped his hands to his sides. He even relaxed his posture to look as calm and nonthreating as he could. He would give the archer no reason to feel provoked.
“I am a mage. I have never been to the Circle of Magi and I have no intention of going there. I also have no intention of becoming a Hahren for any Dalish clan. I am an expert on the Fade and I excel at Rift magic. I prefer the company of the spirits I encounter on my travels to most others I come across. I am an explorer and have found myself lost here. Does that answer your question?” he asked, perhaps a little too snappish but with a blank expression.
The set line of the others lips was expected, but the way he tightened his grip on the longbow and tilted it higher was not. The arrow strung so tightly for so long was finally let loose. Solas didn't have time to duck let alone cast a barrier. The twang of the string and the sharp whistle as the shaft screamed just above his head reverberated in his ears.
A bark and a yelp sounded behind him, followed by a splat.
He whirled around to see a large, wolf-like creature slumped over itself, writhing on the ground and whining. The muzzle was full of huge fangs and open as it cried, small eyes set on the sides of its head rolling and reflecting the dim light around them. Solas realized that the arrow that had been pointed at him was jutting from the beasts throat.
After a moment, another arrow was shot through the swirling black between the trees and a ripping sound and crash suggested it had hit its target, though he could not see.
The archer stalked past him then and withdrew a short sword from the scabbard on his back. He plunged it through the creatures chest in a quick strike, ending its whimpering with a bloody gargle. Solas watched its face go slack, then the elf that stood above it as he withdrew the blade. It glistened red until he flicked it outward, then wiped the remaining blood off on the wolf-like creatures pelt.
He looked at whatever he had shot futher in the forest before he turned back to Solas. After a long moment, he secured his sword back in his scabbard and looped his longbow around his chest. He walked around the scattered corpses and retrieved some arrows to deposit them back in his quiver, then did a final survey of the area before he walked to stand in front of Solas without a weapon drawn.
"Pick that up," he said, nodding at the staff still on the ground. "The smell of blood and death will draw out worse than the spiders and wargs of the woods and we need to leave. Now. There is a flet out of their reach where we may stay until sunrise."
Solas watched the archer cautiously, then bent to gather his staff. When he stood tall again, he felt the haze of battle had passed entirely and he was weary once more. He looked up to the stars with resignation, then back to the Eluvian, which would still needed repairs.
"What happens at sunrise?" He asked.
"We will travel to the heart of Mirkwood to meet with my father and Mithrandir. They are the only others I know of who can... cast as you do, and in these dark times…" he cut himself off after that, appearing unwilling to reveal to much. He looked at the dead creatures at their feet, then to a tree in the distance that clung to the last of its leaves.
Solas frowned, still looking at the enormous portal. Mirkwood was not a place or clan he had heard of before, but the title seemed deserved so far. How far off the map was he that another elf had no idea what he was? That there were only two other mages? That they spoke a language that he had never encountered in all his travels in the Fade?
"I need to return to Thedas. This... Mirror is my way home. I cannot leave it here, especially unguarded," he stated. He turned back to see the other elf and was surprised when he realised he stood much closer. He jutted his staff into the ground to balance himself and leaned subtly against it, suddenly so tired at the thought.
The other tilted their head ever so slightly. He looked at him, then the Eluvian overgrown with ivy with a small downturn of his lips. "This has been here for over two thousand years. I doubt another night on its own will affect it. Besides which, staying here much longer in your state will get you killed. You cannot fight what will come."
He turned to face the direction of the wilted tree again, but at the last second turned back, his eyes on Solas. "You are lost and exhausted. Take shelter where you can. Mirkwood is no place for an outsider to stay alone. After you have met with my father and Mithrandir, you may carry on with your travels and do as you wish."
A cold breeze trudged up the leaves on the forest floor and stirred the hair on the spiders legs and the wolf-creatures fur. A distant howl was carried on the wind and Solas sighed, looking at the dragons heads on his staff. He wouldn't be able to cast any more protective of damaging spells with it this night without a restorative or sleep. He would have to seek his own shelter, or accept the others terms.
"I will meet with them, but I will not stay," he said, trudging up his staff and walking towards the other.
As he came to stand beside the other elf, a few long strands of his hair streamed behind him and caught in the wind. He tidied the loose strands behind a pointed ear quickly, before tugging on his longbow and striding away into the black of the forest, trusting that Solas would follow.
"My name is Legolas," he said, after a beat. At the sound of another howl, this time much closer, he pulled his bow free and snatched an arrow from his quiver. "We need to leave now, Solas."