Chapter Text
She had turned for only a moment- to reassure her friends down the steps that she was fine, they had won. She would be down in a few minutes.
When she turned back to Solas, only to find him gone- far enough that she could not even detect his magical presence- she sunk to her knees, head in her hands, broken orb at her feet.
Silent tears came without prompting. They spilled into the dust, and streaked dirt and blood down her face. Was now the time? Now is when he decided to leave?
A dry sob racked her small frame- she felt so small, insignificant. The moment of triumph turned to ash at the loss of her hahren. She scratched at the cracked pieces of the orb in front of her- Solas had been so upset at its loss. More so than he would be if it was simply an elven artifact.
She brushed her tears away, sniffling, numb- and grabbed the other orb pieces to hold them all in her hands, turning them over.
Her anchor brushed along one piece, its magic swirling towards the orb. Green lit up the cracked edges for but a moment- hope flared in her chest- but the wisps of magic quickly dispersed like a sigh, fluttering against her skin as it dissipated.
Her eyes widened.
The magic from the orb had been familiar. Similar to the anchor, and to the veil. That much was to be expected. But the signature was well-known. Solas.
A little different, perhaps- it felt more potent, concentrated- but the goosebumps that ran up her arms and the warmth she felt in her stomach was the same as each time he cast a barrier around her to cushion her from danger. It was the same.
It was too much. Tears continued, falling into the orb, onto her hands. Confusion made her heart beat faster as she clamped her eyes shut, trying to make sense of it.
After Solas was explicit about the elven origins of the sphere, logic followed that it was an artifact of one of the gods. It was the source of the anchor, and contained magic that warped the veil.
Fen’Harel. The thought had crossed her mind with each stone wolf they had discovered. The Dread Wolf had created the veil, they were now repairing it with magic stemming from an ancient elven orb. The orb must be Fen’Harel’s.
She had long come to peace with the origin of her anchor- the green light against her tent at night, a constant peripheral reminder of her purpose. She had never been Andraste’s chosen, but had considered another conclusion.
That she was Fen’Harel’s chosen.
It had been a late night fancy. She no more believed in Andraste as a goddess then she did in Mythal- a sentiment she had shared with Solas. He had seemed amused, extrapolating that historical legends often make gods out of powerful people.
She couldn’t stand. She was frozen, clutching the orb even as it cut into her hand. The magic from the orb was the same flavor that had become so familiar in her interactions with Solas. The orb was his.
His heated words in the rotunda after Halamshiral echoed back to her.
“Our people?” He had scoffed. “Who are—? Oh, you mean elves! I’m sorry, I was confused. I do not consider myself to have much in common with the elves.”
He considered himself so different, so high above them, his magic and the fabric of the fade and her anchor were all one in the same. Solas. Pride. It was a moniker.
He was Fen’Harel.
Her vhenan, her hahren. She could barely breathe, dropping the pieces in front of her and landing on all fours as she sucked in air. Trickster, traitor, betrayer?
Her Dalish upbringing and phrases she had tossed around since she was toddling on her little legs came back to her in a flash.
‘The dread wolf take you’
‘May the dread wolf not catch your scent’.
The superstition she had brushed aside as a figure of speech. Surely her Solas was not. Could not be. He was so genuine, intelligent. Had treated her gently, firmly, guided her along as her hahren. Had... put up with her attempts to be something more.
Lord of Tricksters. But no- she had found some truth since the inquisition was founded. She had been gratified to learn that the contradictory origin stories she used to scoff at (much to the chagrin of her keeper), were just that. Erroneous stories.
They clashed with the fragments she had since learned of the Dalish gods. Bits of history found on preserved scrolls in elven ruins, or on the plaques of Dread Wolf statues. History was not kind to Fen’Harel, certainly.
The creator of the veil... He had sealed one pantheon below, and locked the other in the fade. His motivations for doing so were not known- some believing he wished to rule alone, others saying he wished to avoid catastrophe. None could deny that the veil had caused many catastrophes since.
The Dread Wolf had allowed her to drag him all over Fereldan and Orlais? He painted a mural of her triumphs in the walls of the rotunda? He had... kissed her in the fade? Removed her vallaslin? Exchanged nudges of magic with hers in a way that brought heat to her ears?
His power was great- but not to the extent that he could be called a god. He would not have held back if the orb had been important to him. What had happened to Fen’Harel?
Her head spun, but she had managed to catch her breath. Her tears were not coming so quickly now. Her heart beat painfully in her chest as she re-gathered all of the pieces of the orb, gently placing them in her pack.
Why had he not told her?
She turned toward the stairway, not yet ready to face the others, but pressing herself on anyway.
Why would he leave?
She rubbed the last of her tears away, attempting to smile and put a brave face on for her companions.
Where was he going?
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She turned to acknowledge the others- their Inquisitor was alive, they had prevailed. Solas had not. His purpose as broken and crumbled as the orb that lay in the dust of their battle.
This was the moment he would have to leave. He knew, and he remembered her crestfallen face when he had once said, “I can hardly leave you now.” She knew what he had not promised. She knew he would eventually leave. His vhenan.
Her back was turned from him, and the noise of his fade step would be covered by the cheering of her many friends. She- she would be fine. They all cared so much for her, for how could they not? A pretty, young elf, eyes sparking with intelligence and wit- so full of questions and ready to explore the answers. An incredible mage. He could only imagine what she might have been before the veil- or perhaps what she would one day become, if he found success.
He took a slow step backward, eyes still trailing her figure. She would be distraught, but she had a community of support. With the orb gone, he needed to start on a new plan immediately.
He turned, silent, and fade stepped away.