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Denerim: capital of Ferelden, largest city in the country. So-called birthplace of Andraste, seat of the royal family and heart of the south; nothing compared to the magnificent Minrathous where magic flows in every street.
None could compare to what used to be before the Fall.
Yet, it was in Denerim that our party wandered. Dorian, a cultivated mage and Solas, an expert on ancient elvhen magic. Then, there was Sera, a thief.
Through the giggles, the shouting, the barking—such a lively place—they were sent by their Inquisitor to… obtain some valuable items.
“Wonders of Thedas,” Dorian read from the sign above the shop. “They haven’t seen what the Arcanist’s Hall has to offer.”
A sigh. Rolling eyes. The mention of the Imperium was not well received by his companions.
“Let’s get this over with already,” Sera said, opening the door.
It was rather unfortunate that Dorian was right. As famous as it was, Wonders of Thedas was a modest store. But if their lead was correct, they would find what they were looking for right there.
“What are we supposed to find?” Sera asked.
“Too many things I’m afraid…” Dorian mumbled, pulling folded notes out of his pocket. “Some components and accessories… but he mostly seeks a mysterious gem… is it a gem?”
A beautiful drawing of what seemed to be a gem was handed to them by the Inquisitor. They had no idea what this item was, nor even what it was called.
Why would the Inquisitor seek such an item? Only he knew. Or maybe he had confided in someone.
“You do the buying,” Sera spat, grabbing the drawing. “I’ll look for whatever that is.”
And in a blink, she disappeared. How? Where? None could tell. She sure was a gem. At least, she would get the job done. Unlike the other two, who were ready to waste their time getting at each other’s throats.
Dorian and Solas headed to the shopkeeper, showing him their list—rare components as well as some artefacts. Horrified looks passed over their faces as they noticed the sun tattoo on his forehead.
“I’ll check the storage room. Please, wait here,” he said without emotion.
He was a Tranquil mage. Severed from his dreams, stripped of his emotions. A cruel fate. How could one live like this? He was not so different from an empty shell.
“That is such a barbaric practice,” Dorian weakly whispered to Solas.
“We can agree on something at least,” Solas vaguely replied, his gaze drifting away over the shelves.
Places like this one held so many tales, so many secrets. Each book, each artefact was a reminiscence. Dorian looked over a bookshelf while Solas idly examined some accessories.
A sylvanwood ring caught his eye. Dalish craftsmanship, obviously. It bore the story of the Betrayal. A truth lost through time, twisted and deformed by each tale.
Next to the ring was a book about the Dalish. Dorian turned some pages mindlessly. Myths, tales, spells… A regular book at first sight. Some would say it had everything wrong.
Dorian’s attention was caught by some drawings. Markings adorning elven faces. No doubt: vallaslin. Brushing the paper, Dorian recalled a past conversation.
“Dalish wear them with so much pride… Fascinating how a symbol can outlive its meaning,” Dorian said, glancing at Solas.
Dorian was waiting for his reaction; it seemed he did his best showing none.
“He told you,” Solas whispered, taking the ring between his fingers.
He understood instantly what Dorian was alluding to; his gaze lingered. Something passed on his face. Guilt? Shame? Who could tell?
“A truth too harsh to handle alone,” Dorian mumbled.
“No one should,” Solas whispered.
Yet, he was the one who lived far too long with this secret—that truth, long forgotten but to him.
What could be more painful than learning your symbol of pride was in fact a symbol of your slavery?
“Why bring this up?” Solas asked, his fingers tightening around the ring.
“You knew how it would end, yet you went through it all the same. I’d like to understand why?”
It was not about the vallaslin. It was about Lavellan. It was always about him, somehow.
“What is there to understand?” Solas chuckled. “You too have succumbed to him.”
Dorian was caught off guard. Undeniably, Solas was not wrong. Could Dorian explain his attraction to the Inquisitor? Could he justify courting a man whose heart already belonged to another? No. It defied reason. In this world, love had always defied reason.
“Then why leave him now?” Dorian asked, letting the question hang between them.
“Waiting would’ve made his pain greater.”
Dorian frowned in frustration. It sounded reasonable yet so manipulative.
“His? Or yours?”
Solas bitterly chuckled. They both knew this game well by now. Pushing each other on the edge, arguing over any details.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asked, putting the ring back to where it belonged.
Cutting short their argument, the shopkeeper came back with a bunch of articles.
“Would there be anything else, gentlemen?”
“We’ll have a look around,” Dorian replied.
They would, in fact, not have a look around. But the Tranquil shopkeeper did not mind.
He could not mind anything.
Sera was still nowhere to be found. Hopefully, she would soon come back with the gem to stop their argument.
Silence settled between them.
Dorian found his thoughts drifting back over the weeks leading up their breakup.
Solas and these unusual questions.
The distance he had so deliberately put between himself and Lavellan…
As Dorian had drawn ever closer.
Then the breakup.
The timing…
What curious timing. Ah, Solas… With him, everything always seemed to be a matter of timing.
“You knew I’d be there when you left,” Dorian accused Solas.
“Some would say the world is made of fortunate coincidences.”
Dorian smirked.
“Looks like a decision to me,” he murmured.
Solas held his gaze.
“You may think I enjoy it, having him fall into my arms… Truth is, I would rather have seen him happy in yours,” Dorian confessed.
Solas breathed, closing his eyes.
For a fleeting instant, it seemed he allowed himself to remember.
Was he reminiscing about the Inquisitor? Was he imagining what could have been? He surely wished to have him happy in his arms. But here they were…
“It was inevitable,” Solas defended himself. “Had I waited, he would have built hope upon a lie.”
“It is only inevitable when you decide nothing else is possible,” Dorian replied.
“Don’t you mistake acceptance for resignation.”
“Don’t you mistake cowardice for wisdom,” Dorian argued back.
Solas’ fists tightened. He wished he could deny it; Dorian was unfortunately right.
Although aware how wrong it was, he gave in these forbidden feelings. Then, when reality caught up with him, he fled, cowardly.
In his youth, hot-blooded and cocky, Solas had faced beasts and armies. None of them had ever frightened him as much as the simple act of loving someone.
“I have made a mistake,” Solas whispered.
That was all he could admit.
“You have been selfish,” Dorian corrected him.
And to that truth, he could not lie. Selfish. Weak. Despite his wisdom, despite his power, Solas was but a man. He was more than aware of that.
“He has you now,” Solas mumbled. “That’s more than I could ever offer to him.”
Cutting off their argument, a voice rose from behind. Finally.
“You talk like hurting him was just an unfortunate accident. It’s been your choice since the beginning.”
A blunt truth. The kind only Sera could speak. It appeared she came back. When? From where? Who could tell? Certainly not them. Too absorbed in their little argument.
“A choice I deeply regret,” Solas replied.
He seemed unaffected by Sera’s comment. As if he knew better. Ah… he always acted like he knew better.
“Whatever,” Sera sighed. “We’re done here.”
Her lack of argument almost felt cruel. She gave nothing but a simple answer, a cold truth left standing.
Dorian paid the shopkeeper as Solas gathered their belongings.
It was time to leave. Both men turned back to the Tranquil carefully wrapping their purchases inside a wooden box. Dorian approached to give him money.
“Thank you for your patronage.”
No warmth. No annoyance. Nothing. Only empty words spoken because they were expected.
Solas lingered for a brief instant. Severed from his dreams… Then, he turned away and stepped back into the lively streets of Denerim.
“Did you find what we were looking for?” Dorian asked as they left the shop.
“Of course I’ve got it,” Sera replied.
Surprisingly, Sera refused to show the gem.
Dorian teased her she simply could not obtain it. Solas, on the other hand, felt that something was off.
Sera kept glancing around, picking at her nails, keeping a hand buried in her pocket… A rare display of anxiety from someone who usually carried herself with confidence.
The walk back to the inn passed in silence.
In a cold and heavy silence.
Once inside, they secured several rooms. The Inquisition could easily afford such comforts.
While Dorian lingered downstairs, chatting with the innkeeper in the hope of gathering a few useful rumours, Sera and Solas carried their belongings upstairs.
The corridor was deserted. There were only them. Solas seized the opportunity.
“May I see the gem?”
“Piss off,” Sera snapped at him, opening her door.
In silence, Solas barely lifted his fingers. The gem slipped out of Sera's pocket and fell into his waiting hand.
“Hey!” Sera yelled as he observed the item.
It was a crimson red spinel.
But it was not only a gem—it was a necklace, a golden heirloom, a piece of an unknown past.
Its origin was impossible to discern. Yet, Solas could feel the weight of the power it held. Ancient. Steeped in pain and regret. Solas grimaced as he felt echoes within it, emotions far too familiar to him. Whoever possessed this necklace was incredibly powerful, and incredibly desolate.
“What is this necklace?” Solas asked.
“How could I know?”
“Then why would he want you to obtain this?”
“Maybe because he trusts me,” she replied, aggressively taking the necklace back.
Despite yearning for more answers, Solas remained silent. Sera had proven herself difficult to truly understand, and even more difficult to draw answers from.
Sera entered her room, slamming the door behind her.
Solas stepped into his own. Modest and rustic—a typical Fereldan inn. They needed nothing more for a night. At dawn, they would rejoin the Inquisitor and set out once more for Skyhold.
What a curious assignment.
Any agent of the Inquisition could have purchased the supplies they had been sent to retrieve. More curious still, Sera had managed to obtain the gem on her own. So, why send the three of them? Why Dorian? Why him? What had the Inquisitor hoped to accomplish?
Too many questions, and not even the faintest glimpse of an answer.
Tense. Solas forced the thoughts aside. Some rest would serve him better.
After putting his belongings aside, he settled onto the narrow bed and closed his eyes. This modest room in this disreputable inn was hardly the place Solas would have chosen to meditate. But in this case, it would do.
He had barely reached toward the familiar presence of friends in the Fade when a violent crash shattered the silence.
Solas' eyes flew open.
Another blow echoed from outside. Shouting. A woman's voice.
Solas rushed out into the corridor to notice Sera's room stood wide open. And inside…
Venatori.
Whatever power the necklace carried… the Inquisition were not the only ones looking for it.
One cultist already lay across the floor, blood pooling beneath the crimson robes. Four yet remained surrounding Sera.
With a flick of his hand, Solas hurled one of them through the window.
“Not bad!” Sera shouted, driving a dagger into another.
Although they rarely agreed on anything, on the battlefield they fought with remarkable harmony.
Steel and magic echoed in the room. Then, came the silence. A few Venatori hardly challenged these two elvhen.
Sera tried to catch her breath, resting both hands on her knees. She then let out a dry laugh.
“You wanted to know why you were sent with me,” she said, glancing toward the bodies. “Here’s your answer.”
A few seconds passed until footsteps echoed through the corridor. Dorian appeared in the doorway. Breathing heavily, crimson stains on his coat, a cut across the cheek; he had seen his share of combat.
“I very much doubt these few bastards came alone,” he joked. “We'd better move on.”
The party wasted no time.
Within minutes, they packed their supplies and left the inn by the back door.
As expected, they met a few Venatori agents on the streets. Nothing they could not handle.
Outside Denerim, a detachment of Inquisition scouts was waiting for them.
The journey back to Skyhold seemed far longer than the one that had brought them to Denerim.
Unspoken words and lingering tension stretched the road far beyond its true length.
News of the attack reached Skyhold before they did. As they stepped inside the fortress, the Inquisitor himself awaited them in the courtyard.
Composed. Smiling. He did not seem worried in the slightest.
He knew this necklace was being sought and he sent people he trusted to overcome this obstacle.
“Glad to see you alive,” Lavellan joked.
His gaze turned to Sera.
“May I see it?”
There lay his priority. What could that necklace be? That question haunted Solas.
Sera reached into her pocket and handed the jewelry to her friend. With the item in hand, Lavellan froze. Something flickered across his face.
His fingers tightened around the pendant. Unconsciously. Almost imperceptibly.
He did not know. Yet… somehow…
Just as quickly, it vanished. A quiet smile returned to his lips.
“Thank you,” he simply said.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Necklace in hand, he disappeared in the Throne Room. The three of them watched him leave.
“That's it?” Sera finally muttered.
Dorian frowned.
“That was strange.”
“Weird,” she corrected him.
“Weird indeed.”
Sera sighed. Without another word, she headed to the Herald's Rest. Leaving Dorian and Solas alone.
Once more.
“Well…” Dorian laughed. “That certainly was a mission.”
Solas cast him a long glance.
What a curious mission indeed.
The Inquisitor used them to get what he wanted. He did not lie, merely hid the truth. Perhaps he had spent too much time around Solas.
“What do you intend to do?” Solas asked.
“Drink myself into a stupor. Or sleep until tomorrow. I have yet to decide,” he replied with a playful smile.
“What do you intend to do about Minrathous?” Solas insisted.
Dorian grimaced.
“What is there to do?”
He was buying himself time. Unfortunately for him, Solas had always possessed a talent for prying the truth from others.
“You intend to leave, do you not? Or am I mistaken? You, too, intend to abandon him.”
Why speak in riddles when he could simply confront Dorian about his own hypocrisy.
Dorian rubbed the back of his neck. It was difficult to answer such a simple question.
“Will you remain long enough for it to have meaning or leave sooner to soften the pain?”
Solas would not stop questioning him.
“I’m not pretending I’ll do better than you,” Dorian defended himself. “I’ll do differently.”
Solas respected that. Such unwavering conviction that he would give his all for the one he loved. But would passion be enough when duty came calling? Would he not be faced with the same dilemma Solas had faced? Oh, he would. He already was.
“He will understand,” Solas said.
“But he won’t accept it.”
Dorian would hide nothing from the Inquisitor. So, Lavellan would understand his need to leave. But he could never accept it. Not when another man had already broken his heart the very same way.
“And even if he does accept it, it will make him suffer.”
“I know,” Dorian mumbled, grinding his teeth.
Dorian knew exactly what awaited him, and that was the cruelest part. His heart was torn; his hope to make his homeland a better place, his desire to remain by his lover’s side.
A choice. One too harsh to decide.
It could wait. It had to wait.
Thinking of his sweet smile and his loving eyes… how could he leave for Minrathous? How could he abandon him for duty and pretend he was any different from Solas? Yet, staying solely because of love meant betraying everything he had fought for and becoming no different from those he despised. And that, Lavellan would never allow.
Solas bitterly chuckled, as if he heard Dorian’s thoughts.
“We will see what remains when the time comes.”
His words faded into the wind as he left Dorian alone with his ruminations.