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Weaving stories always came naturally to him. When he woke up, millenia late and weakened by time, it was easy enough to stumble into a village and fold himself temporarily into the community to regain his physical strength. Eventually moving to a small shelter in the surrounding forest and then drifting out of memory as quickly as he had come.
His magic was severely drained and catching up on the state of the world was more difficult than he had anticipated. Though the spirits could tell him much and the villagers unknowingly informed him of more, there was a good year of exploration that needed to be done before he was ready to do much of anything. The foci especially was proving to be difficult to open–and so many plans hinged on the opening of that orb. He could not accomplish unlocking the power on his own, too weak after awakening from his long slumber. Each day grew more frustrating but he had waited for thousands of years and he could wait a little longer, what was a handful of days when you lived for what amounted to eternity?
When war seemed to loom ever closer on the horizon with the threat to cause even more suffering, he knew he had to act. He did not know just how much he would regret this vital decision until sometime over a year later.
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His time with the Inquisition might not have appeared overly busy but he was working more often than not on connecting to networks of those who were sympathetic to his plans. Subtly the Dread Wolf was using Inquisition information to lay the groundwork for what was to come.
However, unexpectedly, he had begun to cultivate affection for those around him. At his fundamental core, Solas believes in cause and effect, wisdom as its own reward and the inherent right of all free willed people to exist. So, it’s no wonder that the longer he stayed and made friends, worked alongside his fellow Inquisition agents, and wove himself into the fold the more his understanding and tenderness grew for those around him.
Lavellan in particular had begun to unravel the facade of calculated observations. Solas hadn’t been interested in romance for a long time but there was something about their conversations that made Solas rethink some of his plans.
While he painted she would journal, both of them processing through creation. Her companionship was always comforting, a delight to days when he thought the world even crueler. On these days he would sometimes find her with his paint on her hands, or even a good course of adrenaline through a spar. On other days, once she found out about his sweet tooth, she'd leave him little honey cakes from the kitchens or leave a little flower on his desk. These reminders of care warmed his heart.
Occasionally she reminds him of his lover before the Fall of Arlathan. Another white haired elvhen from a long time ago–but he was never ready to pursue those thoughts–utterly refusing to access those memories. Eventually the memories would fade into the dull ache of what had been before the world went to shit. Before he brought it to shit. He never meant to care so deeply for Lavellan, for any of them really; but then again, he had always been a fool.
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Soon this tenderness began to expand into the wider world–Solas truly believed that he would be able to encompass the Inquisition more solidly into his plans and that perhaps they would be able to work together. He had come to conclude that the many current conflicts in Thedas—mages against Templars, elves against humans, spirits against demons—were little more than the black-and-white reductionist dichotomies which have led to the many tragedies of history.
But only so much could be done with an organization so large and he began to see the cracks forming, the inevitable corruption that subverted some of the most well intended planning. As the end neared, as the Inquisition geared up to face Corypheus, Solas could not deny that the operation had gotten too big and outwardly involved with the workings of Thedas. It wasn’t going to be sustainable enough to effectively work within his plans and he knew that those involved would never condone the necessary burning of the world.
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Standing over the body of his beloved friend, a renewed hardened determination settled into his bones, walls rising around the heart he had only just begun to thaw.
His regret jolted like an acidic bubble, tearing through his heart to leave an aching burn in its wake. Regret for doing what he punished those fucking fools for doing so long ago, for murdering Mythal.
He had allowed the orb to fall into the hands of the Venatori in order for Corypheus to unlock its true power—triggering the events of the breach and Inquisition. Effects rippling out and crashing against every entity in Thedas. And it was his job to mitigate what came next, for the People–promising to do as much penance for the retribution he knew that he would eventually face.
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In the two years following Corypheus' defeat, Solas amassed a large network of spies and agents, some of which he placed within the Inquisition. Eventually his agents stumbled upon a Qunari plot, known as “Dragon’s Breath”, to invade southern Thedas. He helped disrupt this plot by discreetly pointing the Inquisitor in the right direction.
In turn The Qunari pursued him, believing him to be an agent of Fen'Harel. The Qunari had been aware of some of Fen’Harels movements in the intermediate time. As Solas gained control of the Eluvians, his power substantially growing, he remained elusive to the powers of Thedas. As his network grew so did the need for resources–pulling from a life so long ago and what he had learned from the fledgling Inquisition, he began to create safe havens for communities of the People. Using the Eluvians to transport his agents and spies but also to ensure safe travel for all of the people joining under the banner of Fen’Harel that were considered civilians, or those unable to fight.
Once the Inquisitor, removes the threat of the Qunari invasion, Solas lures her to the Crossroads to explain himself and save her life, threatened by the Anchor from the orb he failed to manage properly.
Solas confesses to being Fen'Harel himself to the inquisitor. He reveals that he fought back against the Evanuris after they betrayed and murdered Mythal. He explains that Mythal was the one elven god who served as a voice of reason, who cared for and loved her subjects. As punishment for her murder, and to protect the world from the Evanuris' excesses, he erected the Veil and banished them to the Beyond while he fell into a long slumber. This caused irrevocable damage across Elvhenan: the elves lost their immortality and some of their magic, countless marvels reliant on the Fade crumbled. Expanding to explain that he has since vowed to walk the solitary path of the Din'Anshiral in order to restore the elvhen people, regardless of the cost to Thedas or himself.
He also reveals to the inquisitor that he was the one who gave Corypheus the Orb of Destruction, or rather that his agents left the foci where the Venatori would find it and return it. His plan was for Corypheus to unlock the orb and die in the resulting explosion. He did not foresee Corypheus uncovering the secret of effective immortality. If it had all gone according to his plan, he would have reclaimed the orb and used its power to tear down the Veil with the Anchor. After the world would burn from the ensuing chaos, he would have then restored the world of his time—the world of the elves.
As expected this doesn’t go over well with the inquisitor. Solas does express that he looks forward to potentially being wrong again, and asks her to grab his hand so he may remove the mark. Before he leaves through the Evanuris, he remarks that the Inquisitor has always shown a thoughtfulness he appreciated, and that it would be much too easy to tell her too much of his plans.
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Processing Regret. Or, a Dance with Regret.
He’s just finishing up for the day, as much as one can when leading an ongoing rebellion, when he receives a missive from his agent stationed at Skyhold. The soft-spoken spy that delivers it, Tamlen, merely glances up with a nod before continuing on their way to deliver other messages to his commanders. Solas remembers fleetingly that Tamlen has a family in a camp near Kassel in the Anderfels, stuck in a village in an unending struggle with Qunari forces. It had been months and they could not yet be evacuated.
He opens the scroll long enough to read the note scribbled above the report before freezing and curtly rolling it back up.
It's about his paintings.
He gathers up a few notes and items before tucking the missive under his arm and tilting his head to the two elvhen stationed at his door, indicating that he was retiring to his room for the evening.
It’s not until he’s alone in his quarters that he opens the scroll fully, a pensive brow working hard as he begins to read the feathery script filled with details.
“My Lord, I have received word of an event that you may find relevant. Please find the details below, I will continue to gather information on this and any other happenings here. Until the Beginning Again.”
A simple signature composed of a swirl couched between two tick marks divides the note and the full report.
“After Skyhold's caretakers of the fortress attempted to restore the fresco in the rotunda, a demon of Regret manifested. According to conversations with Sutherland and Company, the demon’s body formed out of the plaster of the murals you created for the Inquisitor. It was three-armed and multi-eyed, looking like a wolf that had absorbed a dragon.”
Solas pauses here to acknowledge the growing pressure in his throat. He knows–perhaps better than most–the emotional and energetic shifts that cause the creation and evolution of a Spirit. He knew and yet it did not make the feelings roaring behind his eyes any easier to contain.
Regret was right. How could he deny that?
If only to stave off the cacophony of guilt, he continues reading:
“It claimed to be an echo that had breached the Fade, the regret of a god, drawn by the very ancient regret that had taken root. It asked Sutherland, who came from afar to investigate Skyhold, if he knew the dread that's coming.
It is here that Solas must sit. He drops the papers he brought in with him on the table next to a tall backed armchair that he finds himself sinking into. Regret from deep within himself, manifesting through his art as a demon. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this one. He had long processed, or it seemed in this case only partially processed, through painting. The patience of the planning and the drying layers was always meditative for him. Painting layer after layer, processing each tangled emotion as it rose from deep within his heart. He was so sure that they would recover the Orb intact that he had not fully closed out the space he was inhabiting in Skyhold. And now apparently there had been an ailing Spirit that had fed on the energy of his regret.
“Sutherland eventually lured the demon to him, yelling that he regretted acting alone, and using his friends, just like the demon does.”
Solas physically jerks away from the paper at this–an agonized cry ripping from his lips as he paces the length of the room. The Dread Wolf understood this in the abstract, thinking that these powerful emotions had been handled already. But as Solas bares his teeth–magic flowing out in waves from him–he allows the arduous energy for the relationships formed during the Inquisition to wrack his frame. Tears begin streaming down his cheeks as he crumples to the cold stone floor.
The visceral reactions pass in what feels like another eternity and he is left to steady his breath. The sun setting on the horizon tells him he’s only been in his room for an hour. When he reaches a shaking hand to the missive, knowing he needs to finish this before another wave of guilt comes, he is aware of a tap tap on his door. Without moving, he shifts his voice to one of strength, “I am busy, if it is dire you may enter in a moment but if it is an update on an ongoing situation leave it at my desk.” Footsteps retreat from his door and he hears the door down the hall open in response. It’s only then that he drags himself to sit back in the chair and finish the missive.
“As Sutherland and Company destroyed it, Regret showed a glimpse that it might have become Contemplation or Introspection instead. If it had been allowed a particular thought: "There might have been a better choice."
But what did that mean now? So far removed from the responsibility of the Rebellion he had built. And his gained understanding of caring for a significant amount of people, The People. He had a duty to continue–to set things right.
Maybe one day he would be remembered for his original designation. A God of Justice.
No.
No, it wasn’t that.
Even he fell into doubt from time to time, even he came to believe a few too many of his own stories.
Not Justice but Balance. Born with An Inherent Understanding of Cycles and Transformation.