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A single wave of the hand, and Skyhold’s eluvian opened. It shimmered in swirls of blue and lilac, the opulent surface beckoning him forth. He paused just before crossing the threshold, one hand rested on the gilded edge. This was a poor idea. Foolhardy and selfish. Yet, the need to know, to see… It dug its claws in, unwilling to relent. The mere thought formed an incessant pressure that forced his steps forward, if only to allow it to receed.
Solas slipped through the mirror, hood drawn as the magic washed over his skin. He took a breath, entering the storage room, quiet as a whisper. The small space was bathed in naught but moonlight and dust, the silence hanging heavy. Another gesture, and he bid the eluvian to close, temporarily sealing off the Crossroads.
Solas turned, and a pair of glinting eyes greeted him, reflecting in the darkness. A familiar wiry frame leaned against the doorway, arms crossed lazily across his chest.
“Fadewalker,” Nehnis pushed himself up and off the door frame, his steps hushed as he crossed the short expanse, “Long time no see.”
“Lethallin,” he said, giving him a small incline of his head.
The other man grinned, the corners of his mouth crinkling the black bow that was his vallaslin. His eyes narrowed, a single sharp canine visible beneath his upper lip, hands folded behind his back. Nehnis looked like a predator, at ease in his den. Had he lived in ages past, Andruil would have favored him, he thinks. An unfortunate fate. Despite it all, Solas was… glad, that he had been born in this world. His own would have abused him until he shattered.
Nehnis’ chuckle was low and clipped, his upper half leaning slightly towards him, causing his hair—long and inky—to spill over one shoulder. “I believe you mean isa’ma’lin, now.”
Solas simply scoffed in response, too on edge to find much humor in the title. Nehnis’ jaw dropped, his hand splaying over his heart in mock offense. “You’re cruel.”
“So I have heard.”
The other man huffed, shifting his hair back into place. He settled his hands behind his back once more, limbs loose and untroubled. He had always had that way about him, moving through the world as if his ligaments were merely a suggestion—rather than a point of fact. Blue eyes assessed him, the pair silent for a moment. It was striking how similar those eyes were to hers. The palest blue, flecks of purple around the outermost edges. How many nights had he spent looking at Isolda’s eyes and seeing her spirit reflected in their depths? It had been months now, and though they were not the same, they still reminded him of… home. Solas subtly shook his head, chasing the thought away. It was simply another reminder, another thing to miss. One more stone upon the mountain.
The weight was heavy.
Both men took a breath, mouths open, primed to speak. Each chuckled, their words dying in the stale air. Solas nodded to him, an invitation to go first.
Nehn responded in kind, one hand reaching up to rake through the tresses of his hair. “I… had thought of what to say, what questions I wished to ask, yet I find that none of them come to mind.”
A rueful smile crossed his face, his arms folding behind his back in a mirror of Nehnis’ own stance. Though for Solas, such a thing was decidedly less relaxed, his spine ever straight. “Regrettably, I do not have a solution for such things.”
“Neither do I,” Nehnis grinned, though it did not quite reach his eyes. He scanned Solas once more before taking another breath, “Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected, all things considered,” he said, glancing briefly to the door beyond, mind whirring around what awaited him. Perhaps some level of apprehension was… appropriate.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Nehnis’ voice gentled, though his gaze remained watchful.
Solas swallowed hard, his mouth feeling quite suddenly like it was full of sand, a dry blanket settling over his tongue. His lungs drug in an uneven breath, the exhale punctuated by a sigh.
“Yes.”
Nehnis simply inclined his head, his posture straightening as he turned to business. That blade’s edge returned to his voice, his lips forming a straight line. Solas felt the anxiety settle into his blood, pumping through his veins like a poisonous, wretched thing. Thankfully, Nehnis’ words required focus, and it quelled the sting that wished to settle in his chest.
“We were able to shift the guard rotation. Everyone from here through to the main hall is ours,” Nehnis said, shifting his weight to one leg, “You won’t be seen by anyone who could recognize you, but you won’t have long. Perhaps thirty minutes, at most, before Iz realizes that the ‘emissary’ has nothing but bullshit for her.”
“That will be more than enough time,” he said, fingers flexing behind him. For a moment, he wished he had brought his staff, if only to have something to hold.
“Well…” Nehn clicked his tongue, “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
The other man turned on his heel to walk towards the door, and he followed quickly behind, his footfalls muffled by the carpet. Nehnis flung the door open, the night air rushing to greet them both. Solas cast his gaze upward, the summer sky perfectly clear. A light breeze brushed against his skin, the warm current dancing in his green robes. His color, she’d called it. The grass was soft beneath his leather-wrapped feet, and he watched as fireflies brought pops of light amongst the roses.
Solas’ mind turned to all the time spent in this place, a thousand little moments etched into his memory. Stolen kisses beneath the pavilion, her hands over his as he helped with her herb garden. He’d never been fond of how the soil felt, how the dusty flakes clung to his skin, stubbornly refusing to come away. Finally getting to wash them off was always a relief, a point she had teased him about rather frequently.
“You can’t stand soil on your hands, but paint and plaster are more than welcome to stick to you for hours?”
He had argued that they were most decidedly different. She found it to be contradictory.
Solas could see her smile in his mind’s eye, could hear the sound of her laugh and the way it crinkled her nose. He took a breath, trying to shake the memories off, willing the warm air to calm him. Though he managed to wrest them from his mind, thoughts of her flooded him still. There were things he wondered about, many that worried him. Selfish as he was—he could not resist asking after them.
“How is she?” The question was spoken on a half-whispered breath, quiet enough that most would not hear.
He watched as Nehn’s ears twitched against his skull, unbidden, his next words following a sigh. “Would you prefer honesty or comfort?”
“Do you truly have to ask?”
“No, I suppose not,” he huffed, his hand reaching for the door that would lead them to the main hall, “She’s exhausted, stressed. There’s still much work to be done for the Inquisition, and while she has much support, the lack of sleep has been taking its toll.”
Solas hummed, the sound low in his throat as he followed him through. The hall was near silent this time of night. Most had left after Corypheus’ defeat, though many still lingered. Whether it was to serve what remained of the Inquisition or as the eyes of another was the question. Only a few people were moving about, either standing watch or performing one of many menial tasks. All were elves. They glanced in his direction, many lowering their eyes as he passed. Though his face was hidden, they knew. It had been millennia since he had seen such expressions. Eyes darting away, both reverent and fearful, as if he were more than he truly was. A god, rather than a man. It felt like centipedes crawling across his skin.
“Don’t get yourself too worried about her, though,” Nehnis continued, his tone low enough so that only he could hear, “This is new. She’ll adjust.”
He did not respond, choosing instead to follow Nehnis in silence. It settled over them both, a comfort rather than something unnerving. Nehn pushed against the door that led to her chambers, holding it open for him. Solas glanced up the stairwell to the last barrier separating them. His treacherous heart beat a thunderous rhythm against his ribcage, his mind screaming at him to leave.
This was… wrong, a violation of her trust, another among many. He could still turn back, could call this off, and return to the embrace of the Lighthouse. He could simply take his agents at their word, take Nehnis at his. Yet, a single piece kept him from turning tail. He had to see, to truly know. Though, loathe as he was to admit, it was not simply the knowledge that he craved. This was another of his sins. One more thing to eat away at him, the regret becoming his very blood, his very marrow. Burden upon burden. Another stone, poised to topple the rest into oblivion.
Nehnis was already striding forward, a ghost in the hall, and Solas walked after him, his heart now sounding in his ears. He paused at the threshold, turning to face him. His blue eyes glanced at the wood and back to Solas, giving him a short nod.
“Like I said, you won’t have long.” He leaned against the stone railing, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll be outside when you’re done. Anyone asks? I’m just her overprotective big brother, keeping an eye.”
“As you say,” Solas released a short exhale, his eyes flicking briefly to the door before him, “Ma serannas, lethallin.”
“Lasa halani.”
He raised a hand, tugging at the veil to weave wards around his feet, cloaking them so that his steps were perfectly soundless. Nehnis arched a brow, though said nothing.
Solas turned, his hand brushing against the wood grain. He paused for half a second, his stomach lurching. He should not be here. This was selfish, perhaps even cruel. There were a thousand reasons to turn back, and still, he ignored them all.
He slipped through, the door closing behind him with a subtle click. The silence wrapped around him, soft and familiar. All that could be heard was the crackle of a fire in the hearth and the wind against the window panes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
With a slow breath, he began to ascend, the wards he’d set allowing him to pass unheard. He paused at the top of the stairs, one hand rested upon the railing. The room was bathed in the dim glow of the firelight, as warm as it was gentle. Her bed lay empty, the furs haphazardly strewn across the mattress, as if she’d thrown them in haste. How many times had he joined her there?
Once, he would have gone to her, would have pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before crawling in beside her sleeping form. He would have allowed his arms to encircle her smaller frame, to rest his head against the crook of her neck as he held her close. Their hands entwined, bodies warming the mattress long after the fire had died. A tender thing, beautiful in its simplicity. At one time, it was all he had looked forward to at the end of the day. A right he had forfeited, one among many.
Including your right to be–.
A small sound wrenched him from his own mind, bringing his focus upon the room’s newest structure. A wooden crib, built to stand at waist height, stationed between her bed and the hearth. An ornate thing, the four posters that held it aloft were crowned with golden lions. The entire length was adorned with carved filigree, gleaming faintly in the firelight. It even appeared to have a mechanism to allow the cradle to swing back and forth. How… terribly Orlesian.
Solas had to stifle a chuckle. He could not imagine her choosing such a thing for herself. A woman who’s silk sheets had made her uncomfortable, who was doggedly insistent upon repairing every scrap of damaged clothing, would not have desired such a thing. He imagined she found it far too much, and would have wanted something simpler. Though he could also imagine Josephine insisting on it, that her babe should be comfortable. Or perhaps it had been Vivienne. In his mind’s eye he could hear the Enchanter declaring that they deserved nothing less than the best, voice firm as ever. Perhaps she had even commissioned the piece, no doubt striking fear in the poor artisan had it been anything less than perfect.
The same sound—louder, this time—emanated from the device. It was still soft, somewhere between a hum and a coo. His heart constricted painfully in his chest, an ache that seeped into his limbs. Easy as it was to reminisce and wonder, he had come here for a purpose, and time was limited.
His legs felt as if they had been tied to stone as he drifted forward. A subtle lift of his hand bid the wards to expand, the magic weaving outwards to enclose him in a small radius of silence. Solas felt his breath shudder in his lungs as he peered into the crib, and all at once, the entire world narrowed down to a single point.
The babe yawned, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as the backs of his tiny fists rubbed against his face. The movement was stilted, the young one too small to have any real control over his limbs. All Solas could do was stare, the one palm that gripped the nearest banister the only thing keeping him upright.
He had always thought most infants looked the same. That any perceived similarities to their parents was merely wishful conjecture or well-meaning platitudes. He was wrong. The child already looked like him. Perhaps it was his own imagination, but Solas swore that he inherited the shape of his face. Though it was rounded and yet undefined, the shape of the chin and slope of his cheekbones reminded him much of himself.
He had hoped the child would have taken after his mother.
He had never been fond of this form. It was foisted upon him, more shackle than strength. A vile thing, forged in violence, corrupted and twisted. Perhaps it was little wonder that he became this.
Down to the depths he had gone at her behest. Tendrils caressed the bright stone, its intent clear, and then… Wisdom had been—he had been—pulled, ripped asunder. The glowing threads of his being were fused and snapped, reshaped into long limbs that he did not know how to wield. Joints popped and cracked into place, weaving webs of bone and sinew to support his flesh. Screams echoed off the walls, cracking as his vocal cords snapped into being. Agony rend into forming flesh, wetness trailing down cheeks as skin closed over muscle. The stone itself seemed to weep with him, the cavern trembling as if it were on the verge of collapse. Did it…? Was he hurting it? It felt?
He stumbled forward, breath burning in his lungs as the earth shook. Something spurred him upward, a shot of energy that made him move. Every new muscle came to life, a pulsing in his limbs akin to shifts in the Fade. Though… not identical. His home thrummed with life, rippled like the surface of a lake, a peaceful semi existence. This was closer to the war drums of Elger’nan’s soliders, fraught, perhaps… danger? The cavern quaked and he staggered forward, almost collapsing to the ground. He felt tingles across his arms, a rush of feeling down his spine that made every muscle tremble in time with the stone around him. Wisdom’s—Wisdom? Is that even what I am now?—skin raised into bumps. Another brush flew down his newly formed spine, his fleshy form shaking. Was this what it meant to be cold?
Wisdom—not Wisdom?— rose, his knees barely holding his weight. His limbs felt fragile, his steps unsure. He stumbled, again and again, tripping over himself as he battled to reach the surface. By the time he’d returned to the entrance, his hands were scraped, red and raw. She met him just as he fell to his knees, the light of the sun blinding in its intensity. Had it always been thus? Would it always be? The burning orb was swiftly hidden behind her dark hair, a fur-lined cloak wrapped tenderly around his half crumpled form. He buried his head in his hands, long fingers a pale imitation of what he had just lost. More tears slid down his face, chest wracked by a sound he did not yet recognize.
A gentle touch removed his palms, one of her own cupping the side of his face as she lifted it upwards, his vision now centered upon her. She smiled, eyes soft, her thumb softer still as it stroked across his cheekbone.
“You are so beautiful. Do not despair, my love.”
She was wrong, this was not beauty. This was wretched. This body was a mistake. It was not him, not right, and it never could be. Even after nine millennia had passed he still carried that thought with him. This broken form was his burden, caring for it a task he sustained only because it had become rote. Yet, as he gazed at the creature before him—their son—he saw nothing less than perfection. Two pointed ears, dark russet hair that was already beginning to curl, redded cheeks that may one day be home to freckles like theirs.
He was flawless, bundled in his simple onesie that had clearly been embroidered by his mother. The chest was decorated with a pair of golden halla, elfroot dancing down the sleeves. If this body could help make something so utterly beautiful, so radiant, perhaps it was not as vile as he believed.
The babe opened his eyes then, a dark blue, colored somewhere between both their shades. He squinted up at him, gaze watchful but unfocused. Solas reached down to brush the hair that curled against his forehead, only to see the little one’s face contort. On impulse, he reached for him, bringing him to his chest—and behind the wards—just before he began to cry.
It was softer than he expected, closer to hiccups than the wailing he was accustomed to. He shushed him, rocking him in his arms as his thumb swept across the hair on the side of his head. It was downy against his skin, and Solas briefly wondered if she had been relieved to see him crowned by so much of it. The babe looked up at him with scrunched brows as his little lungs drug in more air, only to expel it in tiny mewls.
“I am sorry,” he murmured, rocking his son in a gentle rhythm, the movement more natural than breathing. “I did not intend to frighten you.”
The little one released another short cry, though his distress had lessened, it seemed. He rubbed once more at his face, his head turning to press against the fabric on his chest. Solas continued to stroke at his hair, the weight of him in his arms beginning to feel like an anchor. How could he possibly ever let him go?
“Ir abelas,” he repeated, in Elvhen this time. Once, he had told Sera that their people could sometimes feel the rhythm of the language, even if they did not understand the meaning. He hoped the fluidity of his native tongue would help, even if it was negligible. “Ar tel’suleva tua ma gela. Telahna, da’len. Ma ama min, Ar dir’vhenan.”
He hiccuped, and finally stilled. Solas released a shaky exhale, his arms still bouncing the babe back and forth. The corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile as he watched him settle.
“You were simply startled, it seems,” he said, “It is an honor to meet you, da’len. My name is Solas. I am—“
His throat constricted, cutting his sentence off. Father. Could he even call himself such a thing? He had certainly sired him, that was not in doubt, but there was far more to the title past mere creation. Such a thing was not something he knew how to be.
“I am honored to meet you,” he finished, barely choking out the words.
Solas clutched their son to his chest, rocking him in silence. He was so terribly small, more fragile than most things his hands have held. Precious, beyond measure. He leaned down to press a kiss against his hairline, allowing his lips to linger, if only to savor the moment that little bit longer. The little one stretched his arms, one tiny fist knocking the edge of Solas’ jaw. He chuckled, taking his fist in hand.
“Careful now,” he grinned, his thumb brushing the back of his hand as the babe’s chubby fingers wrapped around one of his own.
Such a simple thing, and yet his breath nearly halted entirely. He left another kiss against his head, his eyes burning hot. You could stay.
He had never wanted anything so terribly. Nothing he had ever desired in his near ten thousand years had even come close. For a single, brilliant moment, he considered throwing it all away. He could put his mission aside, could feign returning to Skyhold and beg her forgiveness. He could simply be Solas, and nothing else. Vhenan, Dadae… those were the only mantles he wished to hold.
But in the halls of his mind he could hear all those whom he had failed. Each voice melded in an endless, wretched cacophony. They called to him, begging for aid, his own people cursing him as they died. Spirits clamoured against the Veil, trapped in a prison built by his own hand. Something fundamental had been ripped from the fabric of existence, and strife had filled the void. All of it was his doing, and the Veil… It would not hold. Once the last Archdemon was slain, it would crash with a fervor that would level the world, the entirety of the Blight rushing to course through anything that held even a semblance of life. No. They deserved better than that, he deserved better. He must fix this, fix his mistake.
He must.
Solas’ vision began to blur, his eyes stinging. He squeezed them shut, his head bowed as he held the child close. Lips lingered against the soft wisps against his hairline, a knot lodging into his throat. He had to leave, he knew. There was much he must accomplish, and he was running out of time, but for now…
“Forgive me for what I must do,” he released a shaky breath, his voice tight, “Ar lath ma… Ar lath ma, da’len.”
He held him a few moments longer, rocking him, murmuring affection in both common and Elvhen. The babe remained curled against his chest, his little eyelids blinking slower and slower as sleep tugged at his fragile consciousness.
With great reticence, Solas lowered their son back into his bed, his palm lingering against his cheek. He stretched, his short limbs reaching as far as they could go before curling back against his body. A gentle smile crossed Solas’ face, his thumb swiping across his cheek as he tugged at the Veil. A simple spell, bidding their boy to sleep, deep and dreamless. Though… perhaps at this age it was always dreamless? One day, would he walk the Fade as he did?
“Let us allow your Mamae rest, hm?” he said, though he could no longer hear him.
Stormy blue eyes fluttered closed, his breath evening into a delicate rhythm. For a time, Solas simply watched. It took deliberate effort to pull away, turning his back even harder. He felt his hands curl at his sides, his nails digging gouges into his palm. With an excruciating breath, he wrenched himself away, his feet practically flying down the steps.
He barely felt the door against his hand, could hardly hear it close over the din of the blood rushing through his ears. Solas half collapsed against the stone railing, fingertips clinging for purchase as the air scrabbled against his lungs. Eyes squeezed shut, tears prickling at the edges. His palm slapped against his mouth to stifle a sob. No. No no no, he could not do this here. He did not have time, he must–
“Hands tender against my skin, soft and warm. His voice flows, a slow stream that cradles me, just like she does. This stranger is kind.”
Solas did not open his eyes. He couldn’t look at him, could not see those hazy blue eyes regard him with such sympathy. His presence alone was already overwhelming. Though… was he truly surprised? Even the old hurts had called to him. So fresh, it must have been a bonfire in the night.
“His thoughts are hard, more like… feelings. He doesn’t know much, but he does know that.”
He flicked a finger, and the wards dropped. Solas drew in a ragged breath, both hands braced against the stone, his body frozen in place. “Cole…”
“You could stay, she would let you.”
“I know.”
“She loves you, he will love you too!”
“I know that as well.”
The silence stretched between them, a yawning void that could swallow him whole. Such a thing would have been better than the hollow pit in his chest, at the sorrow that balled into a knot. Solas finally looked up to find his friend sitting cross-legged on the banister. Cole peered at him underneath the wide brim of his hat, through the blond curtain that dusted across his face, the tips just kissing the bridge of his nose. He rocked himself back and forth, hardly blinking as he watched him.
“You want to stay, but you tell yourself you don’t deserve it,” he said, “Her hand clutches mine, walking with me to all the shining places. She smiles, radiant, brighter than the sun. ‘Ar lath ma, vhenan.’ She means it, and you love her too, so–”
“Cole, please,” he cut him off, his tongue laden in his mouth, “It is precisely because I love them that I must go. You cannot help this.”
“Only because you won’t let me! I can help! You just have to–”
“Cole,” he snapped, harsher than he intended. The spirit was drawn to a standstill, his back straightening. He caught the shimmer in his eyes, the way he sucked in a sharp breath. Solas opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but Cole had already begun to retreat into himself.
“I will go.”
“No, that is not–” the words were too late. His friend had already disappeared, the air of the hallway rushing to suffocate him.
Solas bowed his head, the fabric of his hood falling lower across his face. Fingertips curled against the cool stone, drawing once more into fists. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, a thousand thoughts clouding his mind. He needed a moment. To gather himself, to center his spirit. But the hour was late, and he had precious few minutes left.
He straightened, fists clenching at his sides as he rushed down the stairs. Palms slammed against the door, his body nearly colliding with Nehnis. He’d stood on the other side, just as promised, shoulders visibly relaxing as Solas emerged. “There you are. I was getting—hey!”
His voice barely reached his ears in his haste. Only a few heartbeats and Solas was back in the garden, fingers pressing against the wood, the eluvian on the other side offering a safe haven. Nehn trailed not far behind, his specter-like presence felt at his back. For a time, Solas simply froze, caught between the need to flee and the desire to stay. Practicality pushed him forward, stale air enveloping him once more. A snap of his fingers and the eluvian opened, the room bathed in its shimmering blue light.
“Solas.”
He paused, hands folded tightly behind his back. The sound caught up in his throat, unable to produce a response. Nehnis continued anyway.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, if you ever need to talk…” he leveled a sigh, “I’m just trying to say… I’ve been where you are. In a manner of speaking. I was a wreck the first time I held my son. If you ever want updates, to know how he is, the information is yours. All you have to do is ask.”
“Thank you.”
Nothing. Solas stepped forward, one of his hands gripping the gilded frame of the mirror. He released a slow breath, eyes closed for only a second as he bid his emotions to settle. Thousands of years, horrors beyond comprehension, and yet this is what brought him to a standstill?
“What has she called him?” he managed to choke out, throat still feeling tight.
“Salim.”
“Salim,” he repeated, his voice near a whisper as he tested the weight on his tongue. Solas sighed, back straightening, unable to turn around. “I will contact you when I have need of you.”
“I will await your call,” he replied, “Be careful, lethallin.”
He simply nodded, and stepped forward through the mirror.
The walk back to the Lighthouse felt like walking through mist. Clouded and half-remembered, the steps were familiar enough that he did not lose his way. The Vi’revas welcomed him home, the old base blanketing him in deathly quiet. His sanctum had turned desolate, the return to its fold leaving him with hollow nothingness. Reprieve, safety, the echoes of a world long forgotten, none of it counted for much of anything at the moment. Need did not come to greet him, though at present he did not care to wonder why. Every joint felt heavy, laden with a weight that dragged him down. Slowly, he allowed his body to slide down the length of the eluvian, his robes pooling around him. His head lowered to rest against his knees, his arms folding around himself in a loose embrace.
And there, alone, he wept.