Chapter Text
I'm bigger than my body.
Teirin knew this the moment he was named Inquisitor. The mark on his hand. He lived day by day after Corypheus was defeated, knowing that one day the world would call on him again to stop it from ripping itself apart. With Dorian in Tevinter, he felt all alone. Sure, they wrote, but it would never be the same. He rarely slept, nightmares of the end of the world keeping him from falling into unconsciousness.
I sat alone, in bed till the morning I'm crying "they're coming for me."
I tried to hold these secrets inside me, my minds like a deadly disease.
When he would sleep, nothing but demons and tears in the fade would fill his mind. His hand ripping itself apart, his body splitting at the seams. No one there to save him, not his clan, not his friends. The faces of all the people he tried to save would haunt him, his mother and father showing frequently, spitting curses at him and unsheathing claws to destroy him piece by piece.
I paced around for hours, I'm empty.
I jumped at the slightest of sounds.
I couldn't stand the person inside me, I turned all the mirrors around.
When he woke, it was swathed in blankets and sweat. He barely ate, choosing only to focus on all the things he still needed to fix. Focusing on now, rather than later. It didn't help his state, but he was to concerned with trying to keep the world in one piece. The few of his companions who had stayed worried about him incessantly, causing him to snap. After being snapped at one too many times they stopped coming by to check on him, one by one.
And all the kids cried out "Please stop, you're scaring me!"
I can't help this awful energy.
God damn right you should be scared of me.
He couldn't help but think he had finally done it, he had finally become everything the head seeker had warned him of. He had pushed away everyone he loved, people cowered in his presence. He cared of nothing other than trying to fix everything. So he finally took their advice, and took a break. He let underlings handle his work, and he left Skyhold. He wrote Dorian, telling him he was coming to Tevinter.
Of course, the minute he leaves to begin traveling, a scout runs up to him, bloodshot eyes and a look that made him seem like he'd seen the end, just as Teirin had.
"Inquisitor." He bowed, and Teirin couldn't help but feel awkward. He wished he'd never taken on that title. He wished he could give it away, or just destroy it. "Ser, the elvhen apostate, he... he's back."
"Solas?"
"I believe that was his name, yes." the scout looked down. "But he's going by something different."
"What is it?!" Teirin had no patience for this. "Spit it out!"
"He's going by Fen'harel ser."
Teirin's ears twitched. Fen'harel? The Fen'harel? It couldn't be. He kicked his mount into high gear as he ran back to Skyhold, leaving only a bark to the scout to send a letter to Dorian telling him there was an emergency.
I'm meaner than my demons.
I'm bigger than these bones.
"I suppose you have questions.." Solas spoke softly. "I know we did not interact much during my time with your institution, but we had a common ground."
Teirin couldn't speak. His lungs stopped short, his breath lodging in his throat, tears verging on spilling at the corners of his eyes.
"I understand you have been through difficult times, yes?" He turned around, finally fully facing Teirin. He was really Fen'harel. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before, the wolf's jaw bone nestled into his chest. He didn't look like Solas anymore, he was more.. god-like. There were no words. His eyes glowed and smoke trailed all around him, there was an aura about him that spoke to his higher level of authority, sheathed in his armor; Solas had become someone else.
"I saw your struggle, dear inquisitor." His hand rested on his staff, which looked equally as threatening as he did, and Teirin knew he didn't need it; he kept it to intimidate. "I saw your restless nights, all of your nightmares." Solas walked towards him, and Teirin felt himself shiver. "Do not be afraid, dear inquisitor. I am here to warn you. Your nightmares are very... telling."
Teirin gasped shortly, the intake of breath dreadfully needed. "What the fuck is going on?" he finally managed to speak, dislodging the maul from off of his back and resting his weary body on it.
"Everything." Solas looked at him with those peircing, deadly, cold eyes. "Everything is going to happen at once, and you will not be prepared."
"What the FUCK do you MEAN everything?!"
"You will die. This will be your last battle. You cannot succeed in changing this fate." Solas began stalking towards him now, backing Teirin up against a wall in the clearing they had met in. "You have to succeed in changing the world, or it will die with you. I cannot help you with this, dear inquisitor."