Chapter Text
If Lavellan hadn't known any better, she would have said it was a dream. She crumpled her cries in her throat as her eyes began to water. The anchor was gone and so was Solas. Her injury was seared black, crumpled, marred, and given to her with intentions as sweet as a kiss.
But she knew better. It didn’t matter if she was dreaming or not. Her arm was gone and it hurt. Cassandra sat near her, tentative hands folded in her lap. Every touch from the medic left a sting.
“Inquisitor,” Cassandra called out to her. To Lavellan, the ceiling was a blur. “Inquisitor! ”
"It seems the removal of the anchor consumed most of your arm and left the rest scorched,” the medic told her, pressing their thumb against the jagged stump, examining it. It stung. “We cannot salvage anything below the elbow, your worship.”
"Then take the fucking thing off and be done with it!"
They cut away the charred bone like rotted wood. Lavellan stared to the ceiling with dilated pupils and a clenched jaw. Sparks of anger burned through her chest, coming up her throat and into her eyes to come out as tears. All at once, they sang out, leaving her head and heart muddled.
Lavellan could not be angry. That would hurt more.
An apology floated from her lips, light as a feather, apologizing to the world for failing in her duty and apologizing to Solas for allowing him to do this. Lavellan flinched at every sting in her arm. They came to her quicker every time, until it became a numb bundle of agony.
But it ended as quickly as it started.
It took too long for her to get used to that stump, she thinks. Even in her dreams, her arm was gone. But Lavellan found something else in her dreams that wasn’t there before: a wolf. He always watched from a distance. When she saw him, he vanished. Lavellan started to look for him, but was never successful.
Until now.
Lavellan saw him again looking at her with all six of his eyes from behind the trees in her dream Free Marches’ forests. She moved closer to him, and this time, he did not leave. She moved her hand towards him, hesitation prickling on the tips of her fingers. The wolf flinched.
“Don’t worry,” Lavellan said, quiet enough to be a whisper. She smiled to herself. “I’m unarmed .”
“Did it hurt?” The wolf asked her. Lavellan couldn’t get close enough to touch him before he moved back. She moved her hand to the end of her stump instead.
“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” she went on. “ Losing the mark had a more devastating effect; the whole of Ferelden was already through with the Inquisition after we defeated Corypheus. I'm no longer their ‘Herald of Andraste’. You can imagine the backlash on elves.”
“I am sorry. That I never intended.”
"They would have blamed elves sooner or later, but I suppose it won’t matter when you tear down the Veil and destroy the world,” Lavellan sighed. She rubbed the toes of her boots into the dirt. “I’m searching for you. In my dreams and in the waking world both.”
“The Inquisition will not find me. Even if they did, it is unlikely they would be able to stop me,” the wolf said. "Though I hope you succeed."
“It’s not the Inquisition as you remember. I’m afraid my days of venturing around Thedas are over,” Lavellan sighed. She moved her hand to brush over the fur on the wolf’s head. He didn’t move, this time, but stiffened. “Come home, Solas. Please.”
“I cannot do that, vhenan. ”
“I know,” she said. Lavellan pulled her hand back. “Why did you come?”
“I have information. It has to do with Arlathan.”
Right. He told her many stories from him of the Fade, but never of the civilization of elves. She would have figured him out if he did. Lavellan wondered what she would have done if she knew. If she hadn't have been so oblivious to… no. Now was now. Her face was bare and she longed for knowledge to replace the ink. When the wolf started walking, she followed with a bounce in her footsteps.
“I would like to hear a story of what my people thought were-- what I believed were-- the Elven gods. Perhaps a hunt of Andruil’s?” She jumped over the tree’s pronounced roots. “Or… of the adventures of Fen’Harel?”
The wolf laughed.
“Nothing of that sort right now, I’m afraid.”
“Why? Do you think it strange to think of a Dalish elf who would ask of the adventures of the Dread Wolf?”
“Not from you. You are unique. Curious. That is why I came here. I have a proposal for you; whether you accept or deny is entirely up to you.”
Lavellan felt a twinge of distress in her stomach; she was hoping to speak like they did before his departure, telling stories and painting and venturing across land for nothing more than simple pleasure. Lavellan let her feelings sink. For a few seconds they would be doing just that: just talking. Just for a little bit.
The wolf took a sharp turn left.
She almost felt like a hunter of her clan again. There were no daggers in Lavellan’s hands, but she could feel the breeze on her face as she chased after the wolf until they came to a halt before a glade in the woods.
“In Arlathan, we had no concept of time,” the wolf said. “Even if we did, it would not concern us much.”
“What is it you wanted to show me? There is nothing there.”
“The Fade is a curious thing,” the wolf said. “Many come here without fully understanding its capabilities. This place in particular was shaped by your memories, Inquisitor. You could take control of that. If you wished, you could live our your years with your clan.”
“Are you saying I could will myself back in time?” Lavellan furrowed her eyebrows. “From a memory?”
“If you so wished.”
“It would change nothing.” She sighed, pressing a hand to her temple. “The remnants of the Inquisition need me here.”
“You could be in both places at once,” the wolf suggested, his tone light.
“You’re joking.”
“If you would not mind splitting your being into two.”
“A hefty price to pay, I imagine?”
“And your choice to make,” the wolf said.
Lavellan stared into the glade. She saw swirls of blue and green lingering in the air as she took a step towards it curiously.
“Solas,” Lavellan said, “know that if I go back, my primary goal will be to stop you before you could ever give the orb to Corypheus.”
“I know.”
The wolf took a step forward, towards her and the glade. He didn’t come too close.
“The Fade and the Veil is the only thing this world and that world have in common. Unfortunately, that means…”
“You cannot fix any mistakes you’ve made before you created the Veil,” Lavellan said.
“That is correct.”
She crossed her half-arm over her chest as if to cross her arms. She felt stiff. She bit her lip and thought. Going back could save the world, but if she failed…
Someone else would be Inquisitor. Someone else would venture around Thedas in her place. And she, with her vallaslin etched on her face still, would just be a name on a gravestone, in time. Perhaps not even that. Perhaps nobody would thwart Corypheus’s plan and the world would end sooner than expected.
She looked to the glade. Then to the wolf. A smile pulled on the corners of Lavellan’s lips. One more adventure, she thought.
“Alright,” Lavellan finally said. “If I can change things, I will. It seems as if my life belongs to the world, doesn’t it?”
“I meant only to bring you peace, vhenan. If you feel obligated to change the world…”
“I do because it’s the only thing I can offer to it.” Lavellan looked down to the wolf. She knew it wasn’t Solas in the flesh, but she still wanted to touch him-- feel his warmth just one last time before she left. Talk for a little bit longer. She couldn't. “Then I suppose,” Lavellan said, “this is goodbye.”
And he was gone without another word.
Lavellan couldn’t see him, but she supposed that he was watching from a distance as he always did when she dreamed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she moved closer to the center of the glade, whispering prayers to gods who didn’t exist as the warmth of the wisps in the glade enveloped her.
###
Her hands are gripped tight around her daggers as she ripped across a bear’s chest. Lavellan lifted her hand to her mouth and wiped its blood off of her lip and cheeks. Something felt heavy on her face, she thought.
She had both of her arms. She could feel the weight of the vallaslin on her face. And this? This was an old memory. An ordinary memory, but a memory nonetheless. Lavellan touched her fingers to the side of her head. There was a stinging pain, though it was dull and nothing more than a discomfort. It still brought her worry.
Lavellan looked down at her clothing. A wolf jawbone was hanging from her neck. This is Solas’, she thought. There was no reason for her to have it; he had not given it to her. Lavellan brought her jacket closer around her to cover the necklace.
Today was half a year before she was sent before the conclave, if she remembered correctly. Less than half a year, Lavellan thought. She didn’t have much time before the Dread Wolf woke.
She reached the edge of the camp at nightfall, and stopped when she saw the statue of Fen’Harel facing her. The side of her head stung again and her shoulders were sore. There was a long road in front of her, and time was of the essence. Lavellan took in a deep breath, gave herself a reassuring nod, and went to her tent to pack her things.
Elfroot for small injuries. Bandages. Wrapped meat for food along the road. A whetstone for her daggers. Ties for her hair. Her canteen. Charcoal and her journal. Her knapsack to put everything in. Lavellan left most of her game meat behind, along with everything else. Her clan could make good use of it.
She thought she had prepared herself for leaving her clan behind. She had already done so in the past when she stayed with the Inquisition. Lavellan prepared herself too when she let Solas take her markings away; surely they wouldn’t have understood, even if she told them what they represented and why she wanted them gone.
Or perhaps they would. Her clan was more liberal than most.
Lavellan almost passed by the statue of Fen’Harel again until she was stopped by one of the younger hunters. She was hoping none of them would notice.
“Going somewhere?” The younger hunter asked Lavellan. His eyes were bright and wide, the markings on his face fresh.
“Hunting,” Lavellan replied.
“It doesn’t look as so. It looks as if you’re going somewhere for a long time.”
“This does not concern you, da’len. ”
“I’m not a child anymore,” the young hunter says. “And I am no longer your pupil.”
“That is true,” Lavellan scrunched her nose. “Though I do have business to attend to and I don’t expect to be back for a while, if at all. Please tell the Keeper I won’t be here when she wakes, Adlassan.”
The younger hunter looked to his feet. His shoulders relaxed, and he folded his hands together. Adlassan could not stop her even if she tried; Lavellan wouldn’t allow one to stand in her path while the world lay at her feet. And it was unlikely she would return.
“Ellana,” Adlassan said, taking in a breath and pausing. They were equals now: teacher and student, world savior and commoner in the clutches of its fate. “May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”
But that was exactly what she wanted. She needed to find Solas and Solas needed to find her. She passed the carefully carved statue of Fen’Harel and left the camp.
Gone.
All for him.
It is not all for him, Lavellan thought. She knew Solas had woken a year before finding the Inquisition, as he told her, and had woken vulnerable. She had a year to spare to find him. Regardless of if she succeeded or not, she would not become Inquisitor, or the "Herald of Andraste", or anything to note in the books of history. The idea of being forgotten left a twinge in her stomach.
But that was the cost of failure. Lavellan would suffer from memories of events that never occurred, even if she had the chance to change them.
It was only so long she could openly display her weapons. Lavellan had almost forgotten the negative discourse between the mages and the templars-- not that she was either-- and the fighting that occurred so often on the roads, even here. She made sure to cover her ears, and continued along the road under the guise of a simple traveler. She made accounts of the day she emerged into her memory, scratching words into the paper with haste.
Day one. It’s been a weird day. I’ve been sent back in time a few years back, a year before the Conclave. The markings are on my face again, and it’s strange having two arms. I need to find Solas before he wakes and his agents get the orb to Corypheus.
Day two. The path was cut off. I don’t know where I’m going, but right now, my only option is straight into the forest.
She supposed she’d have to leave a predetermined road eventually. She didn’t have the luxury of Leliana’s spies or time at all, for that matter.
Lavellan slept under the safety of the trees. Yet even in sleep, she was disturbed. She thought that without the anchor, her access to the dreaming Fade would be lost, but yet she found herself there again.
She stood on a thin pedestal enough for one of her feet. Lavellan spread her arms to balance, heart quickening at the thought of toppling over, as the darkness below her seemed endless. The place was not familiar. Though leaning out of the darkness, she saw the limbs of hundreds of arachnids reaching up for her. Her elbows pressed into her sides as she flinched before reaching for the daggers on her back.
No weapon came to her aid. A toothless wolf watched her fall as the arachnids tore away her arm and the markings on her face.
She awoke before she met the bottom of darkness. Lavellan made a fist of her sleeves, knuckles white and legs shaking. It was still dark out. She kept walking anyway.
Day seven. I am out of food and water. I have been so focused on finding Solas I had forgotten about my basic needs. Already I feel weak. I have to get past this quickly. I am a hunter! Failure is not an option.
Day twelve. It feels as if Solas’s necklace is guiding me, somehow. Each step I take feels increasingly hollow, but I’m getting close. I can feel it. I went north of the Minanter, and I’m nearing Tevinter and Antiva.
Lavellan rubbed dirt off of the bridge of her nose. The weather had been relatively kind to her: it was dry, and decently warm for the tail end of fall. She felt relaxed when travelling now, zephyr blowing across her face. Her hair tickled her cheeks. She had not had to fight anyone, and even humans and rogue mages had shown kindness to her. Lavellan felt like she had a sense of direction, too; it was as if the wolf jaw hanging from her neck was her guide, so she held on to it tightly. It was one piece of her home with the Inquisition.
Day fifteen. I found a path again. I watched the stars last night and ensured I was moving north. Solas is north. I know it.
She reached a crossroads just after the sun rose. The paths were rough and unmarked. Lavellan paused at the forked roads, Solas’s necklace tight in hand and feet planted firmly to the ground. She sensed movements in the woods. Her fingers brushed against her daggers’ handles, and she squinted as she brought herself closer to the ground to hear their footsteps against the earth.
There were three. Their footsteps were too precise to be animals. Perhaps they were Dalish hunters, like her, Lavellan thought. But Dalish hunters didn’t walk like that, not like her. They had to be humans, Lavellan concluded. The former Inquisitor unsheathed her weapons and hoped they were just bandits hoping to raid some merchant on their way to Antiva.
They came out of the woods. They were elves with armor and weapons she recognized: they were Dalish . But there were no markings on their faces.
“I do not wish to fight,” Lavellan told them. She kept her weapons pointed to the ground as they approached. “I have healing herbs if you have a need of them. That is all I can offer you; I don’t have much in the ways of currency.”
They said nothing. Lavellan’s gaze drifted to something one of them held loosely in his hand. It was the orb of Fen’Harel.
Of course, she thought. Dalish elves with no markings-- of course they would be agents of Fen’Harel. It meant that the Dread Wolf had awakened, and he was weak. Yet still scheming, that was. And yet they carry it so openly.
“You serve Fen’Harel,” Lavellan said. “I too seek him out. I wish to become free.”
“He is just north of here,” one of them told her, “friend.”
She still needed the orb. Lavellan shuffled her feet awkwardly. Time is of the essence, she repeated to herself for the past two weeks. Being the Inquisitor, they would expect no less than me. I would fell them before they drew their swords. “I wish for freedom from his burden,” Lavellan continued. Her voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear: “Vhenan. ”
She raised her blades and cut the agent of Fen’Harel down before he had time to draw his sword. There were two of them left: one with a bow, and the other with a sword. She dashed for the bowman first, jamming one of her blades in his neck and dropping him to the ground. The sword-wielding bandit swung at her, leaving a gash in her arm. With his side now open, she stuck her remaining dagger in his stomach. Lavellan clamped her hand over the wound-- most of it, anyways-- and moved to one of the corpses to retrieve the orb.
She took a leaf and squeezed its juices into the gash and wrapped her bandages around it. Lavellan kept walking north, in the middle of the crossroads and into the forest again. As the day went on, she felt herself becoming dizzy and pus was coming out of her wound.
Shit.
Darkness curled at the edges of the sky and turned blue into purple. Lavellan reached into her knapsack for a piece of meat and left it out while she slept curled around the orb. Day came quickly enough.
Day sixteen. I fought agents of Fen’Harel and I was hurt, badly. I left out a piece of meat for the flies. How could I be this careless?
Lavellan squinted at the slab of meat she’d left beside her. Flies and maggots had already swarmed it. She swatted away the flies, vigor in her disgust, and rolled the maggots into her hand. Lavellan scrunched her nose.
Anyways, she wrote into her journal with her other hand, this is going to be bad. And gross. At least it didn’t have to be spiders?
She held her arm up and dropped the baby maggots into the festering wound. It was worse than she thought, and she was no healer. Lavellan had seen healers from her clan use maggots before to help with a wound like this, when it was festered and red with pus coming out of it, and the maggots ate all of the dead tissue right up. She’d seen it done by the Inquisition’s healers too, but they had the luxury of better medicines. She would probably lose her arm again if she didn’t treat it properly, she thought.
Shit!
Lavellan re-bandaged the wound.
###
Her hand clenched around the wolf’s jawbone, now tied around her wrist. Solas was here, and Lavellan felt ecstatic; success was so close. She stumbled around the trees. Lavellan searched the dirt and the trees, and there was nothing. She searched the sides of the road, under the roots made by the elder trees, and a little along the mountain’s side. Nothing.
The sun was going to sleep.
Just as the sky began to shine deep orange, she found a crevice along the mountain’s side after probing the rock with her good hand. Lavellan’s heart skipped a beat as she climbed inside. In the corner, she observed, was a person was curled fetally, asleep. She would have been startled, but instead she only felt relief wash over her as she unwrapped the necklace from her wrist and laid it next to the Dread Wolf.