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An air of melancholy hung over the keep. The victory over Corypheus had left a bitter, ashen taste in everyone’s mouth. Solas suppressed those feelings as he continued to gather and organized the tomes on his desk for return. Slowly and surely he made his preparations for departure. Battle won and orb shattered, he would have to devise another plan; but, such thoughts could wait a while more as he grieved. He had planned for millennia. What were a few moments more for himself?
Josephine found him sighing over a pile of Tevinter books regarding the Veil. The ambassador approached cautiously, assuming what tumultuous feelings were swirling in Solas’s head. He did not hear her approach, and Josephine did not wish to startle the elf.
“Messere Solas,” she spoke softly. “A moment of your time, if you are able.”
“Ambassador Montilyet,” replied Solas, straightening himself. “How may I be of assistance?”
“I wanted to inform you that a service will be held in a week’s time,” Josephine said solemnly. “For the Inquisitor. I know that despite whatever circumstances ended your relationship with them, you two were close. I thought you might like to attend.”
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Solas had been planning to leave in a few days, to disappear quietly without anyone’s notice. To stay would make that prospect harder, but to leave early would arouse more suspicion, especially among the Inquisitor’s advisors and inner circle.
“I would,” replied Solas after a time. “Thank you, Ambassador.”
“We’ve decided to hold it in the courtyard after the morning meal. Mother Giselle will lead the funeral, as Leliana thinks that she would not be able to maintain composure as the Divine throughout-”
“This will be Andrastian?” interrupted Solas.
He did not intend to sound as upset as he did, and neither did Josephine by the look on her face.
“As much as we would like to honor the Inquisitor’s Dalish heritage,” she explained, “it would have been more inappropriate to have a Dalish funeral without any Dalish elf to conduct the ceremony.”
It took an immense effort for Solas to hold his tongue. As much as he wanted the funeral to have no religious attachments at all, he knew the service was more for the benefit of the rest of the Inquisition, the Inquisitor’s faith be damned. It was the fate of all great heroes, to be buried underneath their titles without regard for the actual person.
“Clan Lavellan elected to stay in the Free Marches to have their own funeral in Wycome,” continued Josephine. “I can send word to Keeper Deshanna if you would rather join them.”
“No,” replied Solas. “The Inquisitor may have written to her clan about me, but I am still no better than any other stranger. I will remain here for the service.”
“As you wish. I will leave you to your business. Should you require anything…”
“I will be sure to inform you, Ambassador. Thank you.”
When Josephine had left the rotunda, Solas sank into his seat at the desk, contemplating the situation. Funerals were a rarity in Elvhenan - uthenera was merely seen as another state of being - and the rebellion left no time for mourning. Andrastian funeral rites required ashes from the cremation of a body, and Solas wondered how the Inquisition would do without.
He had spoken a bit with the Inquisitor regarding Dalish funerals. Specific details of the services varied from clan to clan, but Clan Lavellan followed the typical tradition of burying their dead with a tree upon the grave. That conversation was a bitter-sweet memory. It was an insightful look into the life of the Inquisitor before the formation of the Breach, but the circumstances that brought up the subject weighed heavy on their heart during the discussion.
No doubt Clan Lavellan would plant a tree for their lost clanmate. Solas would have to find his own way to mourn.
The week passed quickly without incident, and Skyhold had become more crowded as dignitaries had arrived from all over Thedas to join the funeral service. He recognized the banners of various teyrns and arls of Ferelden scattered among the various entourages alongside the colors of Orelisan dukes and a few noble houses of the Free Marches.
Solas made his way to the courtyard to find a spot where he could be seen attending but then be able to slip away unnoticed as the funeral wound to a close. With the number of guests to entertain, it would be simple enough to escape the notice of Leliana and her spies.
While searching for the best position, Solas heard his name being called from near the entrance to the Herald’s Rest. The Iron Bull and the Chargers were gathering their possessions, looking as if they were prepared to leave any moment.
“Solas,” greeted Bull.
“Iron Bull,” replied Solas.
“Qunari don’t really have stuff like this. Funerals, I mean. A body is just a vessel for the soul, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. It means nothing to me, but Krem and the others could really use it. The Chargers and I were going to head out once this is all over.”
“I wish you safe travels then,” Solas said with a bow and tried to continue his search for an appropriate spot.
However, with a small gesture from his hand, the Iron Bull stopped Solas. Typically not one to mince words, Solas could see Bull struggle to continue their conversation.
“Solas,” said Bull. “I wanted to apologize. You can hate me for what I did. I won’t blame you. The boss made a call, and I agreed and followed orders.”
“There is no need for apologies, Iron Bull. It was the correct decision.”
Bull seemed taken back by Solas’s monotone reply, but ultimately understood the emotional suppression.
“Take care of yourself, Solas,” sighed Bull, unable to comment further. “It’s what the boss would have wanted.”
Solas found a spot near the rear of the crowd, visible enough to the Inquisition’s advisors who stood upon the wall but among the elven servants of the Inquisition that would allow him to disappear unnoticed. There was ample spacing in the audience for him to slip back into the rotunda to gather the last of his possessions and leave through one of the many secret exits he had built into Tarasyl’an Te’las.
Although the Chant of Light held no significance for Solas, he could still appreciate the sentiment behind the scripture delivered by Mother Giselle. If he were Andrastian, Solas could see how the passages could offer some succor for his grief; but it remained with him still, imperceivable until the pain of loss flared within him again.
Just as he thought the service was winding to a close, Leliana stepped forth from the line of the inner circle behind Mother Giselle.
“I want to thank everyone for taking the time to attend this service,” spoke Leliana as she addressed the crowd, “and I would like to acknowledge that although this was an Andrastian service, I would be remiss if the Dalish heritage of the Inquisitor was not addressed. When I was young, a wise elven woman comforted me with a song when my mother died. We need not fear death, as it is only a transition for our spirits to roam free.”
Even with the rough pronunciation, Solas immediately recognized the lyrics and melody of Leliana’s song. Sung in the time of Arlathan when one of the Elvhen made the decision to enter uthenera, it was a wonder that it survived to the modern era even in this inaccurate form.
If Lavellan could have heard it, no doubt they would have committed it to memory after pressing Solas for answers regarding its use.
As Leliana’s song ended, Cassandra stepped up to address the crowd, drawing their attention towards a pair of Inquisition soldiers in the middle of the courtyard. Drawing back a cloth, they revealed a carved statue of the Inquisitor in a pose reminiscent of the day they took on the mantle of Inquisitor. The statue itself bore little resemblance to the Inquisitor, only vaguely elven in shape wearing the same outfit they had during their time at Halamshiral.
They had hated that uniform. After their dance, Solas was the only one privy to the meltdown that Lavellan suffered through with the pressure of the title of Inquisitor laying upon them.
One step forward and two steps back, surmised Solas. If left to its own devices, history would smooth over Lavellan in the same way it had Inquisitor Ameridan. He would not allow that to happen. Instead of gathering his things and leaving Skyhold, Solas faced the blank section of wall in the rotunda.
He had originally planned the section of his mural to depict Corypheus’s dragon slain with the Inquisition sword, but now he had to ensure a history unaltered by bias. Like a man possessed, Solas continued his work far into the night to complete the mural. When the task was finished, there would be no doubt of the identity of the Inquisitor that saved the world from the Breach. A Dalish First had made the ultimate sacrifice to prevent their deaths.
Each brushstroke had to be perfect, even more so now that Solas was committed that his artwork remain a lasting depiction of the true story of Lavellan. With his magic, Solas willed the paints to adhere to the plaster to create a timeless fresco. With the fresco finished and splattered paint drying on his tunic, Solas stepped back into the center of the rotunda to take in the whole story.
Seeing it all together, Solas swallowed his feelings and settled on the couch tucked against one wall. Exhaustion washed over Solas as soon as he relaxed onto the sofa, and the last memory of Lavellan found him in the Fade.
Solas could sense that the battle was coming to a head as Corypheus became more desperate with this spellcraft. The magister was close to falling as the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull overwhelmed Corypheus with their attacks, and Solas struggled to maintain the barriers upon them as the magister retaliated. A flanking strike by Cole sent the magister reeling, and the Inquisitor followed up with another slash of their spirit blade. They used every technique of the dirth’ena enasalin to press the advantage. Corypheus responded with another large magical attack, pushing them away.
In the chaos, Solas lost sight of the Inquisitor and Corypheus. As he helped the Iron Bull up to his feet, Solas sensed a tear in the Veil. The foci must have been used by either Corypheus or the Inquisitor. Cole sensed his alarm, and the three of them clambered over the rubble of the temple to find the Inquisitor alone, huddled over themselves and kneeling on the stone floor.
“Inquisitor!” shouted Solas as he rushed to their side. “Where is Corypheus?”
Solas reeled back as the Inquisitor lifted their head to reveal eyes full of fear and pain.
“I sent him into the Fade,” they whimpered, “but now the orb is…”
A scream from the Inquisitor sent Cole and the Iron Bull to join him beside their leader. Solas looked down to see the foci cradled in the Inquisitor’s lap, whole but crackling with unstable energy. The Anchor on the Inquisitor’s palm pulsed with similar magic; and with every pulse, Solas could see it spread further up their arm.
“The Anchor…” choked the Inquisitor. “It’s reacting with the orb. If I let go… It will… I can’t let go.”
“Vhenan,” pleaded Solas, “let me help. I can try…”
But Solas already knew that he could do nothing. He was helpless with his magic diminished to the extent that it was. Unable to access the magic of the foci upon waking from uthenera, there was no hope to control it now, especially with the magic becoming more volatile as time passed. He could feel Lavellan’s magic envelop the foci in a vain attempt to control it. Despite the short time they had to erect the barrier, it was surprisingly secure; but Solas could sense the concentration it required to maintain the magic.
“I can feel the orb’s magic,” said Lavellan with tears streaming down their face. “It’s going to be another explosion like before. I need you to inform everyone and evacuate the area immediately. I’m suppressing it now, but I don’t know how long I can hold out.”
“I will not leave you, vhenan.”
He cradled their face between his hands. The crackling magic of the Anchor had already spread to cover the majority of their neck. It was his mistake, his folly. It should not have come to this, for his vhenan to suffer in this way for what he did. There had to be a way, if only he had more time to think, to plan.
“Ir abelas, but you cannot stay,” said Lavellan, softly, sweetly. “You have to go, ma’lath.”
“I cannot. I will not. I can fix this. I can-”
Solas barely caught the shift in Lavellan’s eyes as they made a glance behind him towards the Iron Bull, but Solas could not react in time. Bull deftly pulled him back by the shoulder and struck a heavy blow into his gut, causing his vision to narrow.
“Got it, boss,” were the last words Solas heard before unconsciousness took him.
Solas awoke with Cole squatting beside him. Their bodies swayed with the cadence of footfalls, and Solas noticed that he was laying in a cart. A long caravan was traveling with haste as Solas could see the floating ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes shrank in the distance. Voices carried along the line, ordering everyone to keep pace.
“Cole, where is the Inquisitor?” asked Solas.
Cole’s silence was the only answer he needed. The temple was so far into the distance, and Solas wondered if Lavellan would even be able to hold out long enough for him to run all the way back to them.
“I’m so stupid,” mumbled Cole, drawing Solas out of his line of thought.
“Cole, what are you…?”
“I’m so stupid,” continued Cole, and Solas realized that he was parroting the thoughts of Lavellan. “Why do I always play the hero? So stupid. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”
Each repetition gained more strain and desperation in Cole’s voice. Solas could only listen helplessly.
“I don’t want to die,” cried Cole. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die. Solas, I-”
Solas saw the bright flash of light before the booming sound of the explosion rattled his ears. Then a powerful rush of wind sent a cloud of dust blowing into his face before an even greater force crashed into the caravan, sending everyone flying.
Once the dust settled, Solas found himself protected by Cole, who had shielded him from flying debris. Quickly checking the youth for serious injury, Solas found none. Done with the inspection, Solas ignored all others and sprinted back towards the temple.
Vaulting over the fallen debris of the temple walls, Solas shouted for Lavellan. The remnants of the foci’s magic swirled in the air, and he could not sense any trace of Lavellan’s magic. Solas spotted the mosaic of Mythal on the temple floor and remembered the same artwork beneath Lavellan before the explosion.
Time had no meaning as Solas cleared away stone after stone searching for any trace of Lavellan. Eventually other members of the Inquisition joined him amidst the ruins in the search. The sun rose after hours of moving the stonework, and most had left Solas to sift through the rubble alone.
Thom and Dorian tried to pry him away from the stones to no avail, and Solas continued to search without rest until his fingertips bled. There had to be some trace, anything, a tear in the Fade, something.
Then it caught his eye, the familiar shard of stone that made up his foci. As he cleared more debris, Solas gathered more of the pieces of the shattered orb. If the foci was there, Lavellan could be nearby, and Solas redoubled his efforts. Solas was so engrossed in his search he did not notice the Iron Bull, who approached quietly and knelt beside him.
“Solas,” said Bull. “You can rest. There’s nothing here.”
As much as wanted to continue, the Iron Bull’s words echoed in his head. Solas could only curl in on himself, grief overwhelming.
No matter how many times Lavellan had shown him how to brew his tea, he could not replicate their technique and his drink remained bitter each time. This time he welcomed the acrid taste on his tongue to take his mind off the memory of his dream. Solas downed the rest of the tea and sighed.
“The hurt holds a heavy heft upon the heart,” mumbled Cole, appearing from nowhere, “but you fear its meaning will be lost, amounting to another ancient ache amidst all the others. Abelas, vhenan. It has to be real to have meaning; but you can’t let it be real or else that means that they were real too.”
“Cole,” sighed Solas. “Please. I will be alright.”
After a moment of silence, Cole only replied with “They would not want to see you like this.”
“I know.”
“Bringing it back will not bring them back.”
“I know.”
Solas raised his head and met Cole’s eyes. Compassion would try to steer him from his path, influenced by the memory of Lavellan. With nothing else left for him in the waking world Solas resigned himself to the din’anshiral, to accept his mistakes and rectify them. Without the Anchor or the foci, he would have to use more direct means.
“I’m sorry, Cole,” said Solas. “I cannot allow you to see the path that I must walk, and I insist that you forget .”
“I’m-I…,” stuttered Cole. “Why was I here?”
The rotunda was vacant and the rafters above him were empty. Cole just stared at the fresco of a mourning wolf as he felt a lingering pang of grief with an origin he could not place.