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Uthenera: the act of leaving one’s body behind to explore the Fade or recover from injury, represents a risk. Less so here in their sanctuary, where his body is protected behind wards meant to hold gods in place. It’s a state of existence Solas had not sought after earning his release from the barriers powered by his regrets, for he and Iris were free to wander the Fade freely.
Wander they have, for nearly 120 years now. They’ve watched the world from afar - at advancements in printing technology, ship design, and the constant shifting of borders in response to conflict. Mostly, they explore the past, seeking ancient memories hidden deep in the Fade. Of wars won and lost but also more banal things - the first kiss of young lovers after the Fall, who have yet to realize their love will no longer be eternal. Memories of spirits who have lost all that they once were to Elgar’nan’s vicious temper. A few times, Iris has shown him her own memories from their time together during the Inquisition, if only to show him how deep her love and affection ran; a love that seems a mere puddle compared to the ocean of adoration they now share.
It had started with a drought in Thedas. Crops failed. Forests became veritable tinder boxes and it took but one careless camper to set the continent ablaze. Recognizing the ugliness that was to come, Iris had suggested they flee for their sanctuary, offering him protection when the spirits pressing on the veil to watch Thedas burn weaken the veil, straining him while he maintains the construct he created.
Mana fatigue is not a new condition to him, but chronic mana fatigue came with the weight of the veil pulling at his life force. Unpleasant when it flares but rarely has it caused him serious issues.
Months went by and Thedas starved. Then Thedas burned. Now the survivors starve once more.
The last he recalls, Iris had been holding him, and he promised her he wouldn’t die; that he’d been through worse. He’d been dizzy, with a splitting headache and there had been a crushing pain in his chest and a growing sense of wrongness.
She’d been weeping. Not for the realms but for him. Had he meant to slip into uthenera or had it been instinctual? A broken body recognizing that to carry on he needed a sort of rest he could not receive in his flesh cage?
Iris will be frightened - even more now that he’s merely unresponsive flesh and he sighs, considering his options. In parts of the continent the flames still eat away at the forests; something he could theoretically help control with a powerful rainstorm were he to return to Waking.
…Or perhaps not, given his current state of exhaustion.
He could stop repairing the veil, but to do so leaves both Thedas and spirits vulnerable. Part of his work to atone for his crimes was to create consistency in the veil - where it’s harmed, he repairs it, yet it’s thin enough that spirits with a strong enough will can slip through without difficulty. He’d sooner not stop his work but his hand may soon be forced.
Non-intervention is their rule, save for a very small handful of exceptions generally relegated to their few surviving loved ones and seeing that the Elven homeland of Arlathan remains safe and unconquered.
Right now the world around him is nothing but white - no spirits, no colour and no landscape; as if his exhausted spirit could not be bothered to fill in the missing blanks of this section of the Fade. He’s experienced this rarely and believes he may prefer the nothingness of thousands of years of slumber after erecting the veil nearly killed him.
There’s a pull from his body that confuses him, as if he’d suddenly received an infusion of magical energy far beyond what Iris has been sharing from her own reserves for months now. He’d promised the titans he would cause them no harm, which meant swearing off lyrium - not that he had ever intended to consume it again, regardless. Iris, who maintains his vow in solidarity, would not infuse his body with stolen blood.
Even if it meant preserving the veil.
Panicked, he slips back into his body, abandoning the empty, white expanse he’d been standing in. His body aches, but he’s buzzing with an energy he’d lacked. He remains in Iris’ arms, his head upon her chest and her hand brushes up and down his torso, a gesture more self-soothing for her than comfort for him. His eyelids feel as if there are weights attached to them but he manages to open them, finding a room full of the combined magical energies of a dozen spirits.
Valour stands, sword and shield at the ready, at the end of their bed. Joy, though their body is a more muted yellow at present; sand instead of sunshine, hovers next to the window, speaking with Docile, who takes the form of a monarch butterfly.
Helping - their first friend who chose to make this sanctuary home, is standing at their open bedroom door, ushering spirits in and out of the room.
Finally, sitting on his chest, taking the form of a purple sparrow, is Hope. “Oh! You’re awake! I knew you would wake up!” Hope says, their voice squeaky but with a mighty volume.
“Solas?” Iris’ nails dig into his pectoral and, with effort, he reaches up to grasp her hand with his own. “Solas!”
“What happened?” he mumbles.
“Hope, that’s enough. Go and get some rest,” Iris murmurs, her tone gentle. “Thank you for helping him.”
Hope takes off into the air, joining Docile and Joy by the window and Valour wraps their gloved hand around his calf, mimicking the sound of plate armour with the gesture, and he feels a surge of power within his body.
“I pleaded for help and our friends came in droves,” Iris says softly, tilting her head down to kiss his forehead. “Helping vocalized our call for aid and estimates there to be nearly a thousand spirits waiting outside and ready to share their power with you. They saved you in a way I couldn’t. You came back to me.”
“I will always come back to you,” he says, as exhaustion threatens to tug him under once more. Iris’ breath hitches.
“Exploration is watching and swore to give me updates on the state of Thedas. Things remain nasty in the waking world, but you have help now, beyond what I could do for you. We can stay here, and rest. Make music, paint and garden. This is all I need. Right here. Right in this room.” A tear falls onto his face - not his own, but that of his heart. “You need to let our friends share their power with you. Can you do that, vhenan? Can you let them help you?”
How pained and desperate she sounds as she pleads her case to him, as if he could ever refuse such a reasonable ask.
But… once he would have refused her. Once, when he was corrupted and broken, he would not have seen the wisdom in accepting that which is freely gifted by those who see him as the Fade’s protector.
“Yes. I will be grateful for the care offered by our companions.”
“Good.” Iris kisses his forehead, then his temple and finally just above one of his ears; a gesture he might have teased her for had he the energy to come up with something clever. “You need to stay with me. What would I do without my husband?” Her voice cracks and two more tears dampen his head.
“Iris, I have known worse agonies.”
“What would I do without my husband?” she asks again, the question fuelled by a desperation he’s not heard in her in decades.
It would be difficult. Painful. But she would endure.
That is not the answer she wishes for and so it is not what he offers her in an attempt to dry her tears. Repeating his vow of moments ago, he says, “you need not find out because I will always come back to you.”
Valour leaves his side and is replaced by Learning - the same spirit who taught Iris how to speak Elven fluently during their years apart. “I come in aid of the wolf and flower,” they say, bowing their head low, their round spectacles slipping off their approximation of a nose, “for they gift this realm with Hope and Wisdom as well as their protection.”
“Thank you,” Iris croaks.
“We love our protectors!” cries a voice from a spirit hidden away in the crowd - perhaps a spirit of Love or Devotion.
“Long may the wolf and flower guide us,” another spirit says and, behind him, Iris seems to have given up on controlling her sobs so, with effort, he rolls his body, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her.
They’re guides. Protectors. Not leaders.
In Elvhenan the cost of such care from his community would have left him unwilling to accept help unless his state were dire. Here, the care of their community was earned through centuries of service and cooperation and he worries not for the cost.
“I feel the warmth of the affection in this room,” he murmurs to Iris. “Do you feel it as well?” All she can manage is a nod.
Terror scars Iris anew but, in his exhausted state, he vows to give her a year - ten years, even, of rest and respite here in their sanctuary. Leisure once unthinkable for them both, but a necessity now, if only to show her that, thanks to the spirits who’ve accepted them as their own, she will not ever need to know a life without him.