It seemed Skyhold never slept. While some enjoyed well-earned rest, others, at that very same hour, were making grand plans and not closing their eyes. So many people, elves, surface dwarves.
With each passing day, more and more refugees arrived at Skyhold. Did this mean that the cause Cassandra had begun was moving in the right direction, and could one already conclude that the Inquisitor's victory, and the simultaneous defeat at Haven, was no coincidence? Doubts, only doubts.
One thing alone was certain: someday, all of this would end for him. Someday he would have to leave everyone he had come to know, everyone he fought shoulder to shoulder with, everyone he had shielded in battle. After several months within the Inquisition, Solas doubted he had become the life of the group or made any friends. Then again, he had never sought to. There was no sense in growing close to anyone, knowing the inevitable end in advance. For the right moment, the one advantageous to him, might arise at any time. So he could not afford to let his guard down. Whether it would come sooner or later, Solas did not know, but his constant tension in anticipation of that fateful moment sometimes overstepped all bounds and grew into an obsessive unease.
It was precisely these dizzying thoughts that kept him from sleep that night, forcing him to toss and turn on the uncomfortable couch, drawing his legs up and crossing his arms over his chest. He would knock the pillow to the floor and put his arm beneath his head instead; he would throw his legs over the armrest of the couch and then let them drop back down; he would lie on his back, and his gaze would come to rest on the blackness of the rotunda's impossibly high ceiling.
The warm yellow light of the library's candles was occasionally caught by a passing draft and scattered the darkness. Then Solas's gaze would fall upon the raven cages hanging near the ceiling, and the birds perched within them. A dispiriting sight. They slept, only now and then shaking their wings and scattering their feathers, which drifted down straight onto the carpet and onto Solas's books. Suddenly he remembered how long he had fussed over fishing the feathers out of that bucket of fresh paint, and how, thanks to that, all his plans had gone straight to hell.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, suppressing a flash of irritation. Then Solas picked the pillow up off the floor, tucked it beneath his head, and lay on his side, facing the back of the couch. The hours passed. He heard the changing of the guard along the walls. That meant dawn was near. But despite everything, the weariness of the day gradually pushed back the tide of his anxious thoughts, and when the first rays of sun touched the cold stone walls of the castle, Solas finally fell asleep.
At first, she counted the tolling of the bells. Then the footsteps of the guards above her quarters. After that, she watched the candle on the table, following the flame as it sank lower and melted wax trickled down the holder. The darkness beyond the windows gradually turned grey. A thin band of light appeared above the jagged peaks of the Frostback Mountains.
The kitchens usually told Lamela when Skyhold was waking. Before the first bell, the smell of rising dough, hot oil and dried herbs would begin drifting through the corridors. Soon, cauldrons clattered below, doors opened and closed, and servants called to one another.
Now the air in her quarters smelled of cold ash, candle wax and stone.
Skyhold slumbered.
In a few hours, Lamela would leave for the Free Marches and her native clan. Thoughts of the coming reunion had kept her awake. She recalled familiar faces, imagined her conversation with Keeper Deshanna and already heard the hunters’ questions. How would they greet her now? As the Inquisitor? As the one who had returned from the Conclave with a glowing mark upon her hand? Or as Lamela, who had spent far too long among shemlen?
She threw back the covers.
The bed had lost all appeal. Lamela washed her face with cold water, gathered her hair and dressed for the road. The formal doublet Josephine had prepared for the meeting with her clan remained hanging beside the screen. Its time would come later, preferably after a persuasive speech about the practical virtues of soft leather and loose sleeves.
The corridors greeted her with half-light. The last torches burned low in the wall sconces, while morning frost silvered the narrow windows. A guard near the stairs stifled a yawn and immediately straightened upon seeing the Inquisitor. Lamela gave him a brief nod and continued on her way.
She heard the quiet rustle of wings on the stairs leading to the rotunda. Leliana’s ravens woke earlier than most of Skyhold’s inhabitants. Some sat in their hanging cages with their beaks tucked beneath their wings. Others shifted along their perches and watched her with gleaming black eyes.
Lamela took several more steps and stopped.
Solas was asleep on the sofa.
He now lay on his back, one hand beneath the pillow and the other hanging loosely over the edge. An open book rested on the carpet beside him. Several raven feathers lay nearby, and a tuft of black down clung to the fresh paint inside a bucket.
So the night had been a long one for him as well.
A raven stirred in the cage above the sofa. The bird spread one wing, shook itself and sent another feather drifting downward. It circled through the warm air of the rotunda, caught a passing draught and landed directly on Solas’s face. The tip brushed his cheek before the feather turned over and settled across his forehead, covering part of his smooth scalp.
The corners of Lamela’s mouth twitched.
The dark feather made the sleeping elf look like a participant in some highly dubious ceremony. Leliana’s ravens had chosen themselves a new leader, and everyone had missed the coronation, including Solas himself.
Lamela moved closer.
Slowly. One step at a time. Placing her boots only upon floorboards she trusted to carry her with dignity and silence.
She bent over the sofa and caught the feather’s shaft between two fingers. Its edge brushed Solas’s skin once again. His breathing kept its steady rhythm. Lamela carefully lifted the feather away.
Success.
Now she should step back.
She remained where she was.
Solas asleep.
A rare sight. Almost intimate.
She usually found him awake, standing before his fresco with a brush in hand, turning the pages of a book or looking somewhere beyond her shoulder. Every movement carried precision. His gaze studied, compared and stored away everything it found.
Sleep had softened his face. The crease between his brows had smoothed, and his familiar concentration had faded. Thin lines remained at the corners of his eyes, along with the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the pointed ear and a faint smear of blue paint near his temple. More paint lingered beneath his thumbnail.
He looked tired.
Close.
Lamela slowly lowered her gaze to his lips.
They parted slightly with every breath and closed again on the exhale.
One beat of her heart.
A second.
The third sounded somewhere in her throat.
Her fingers tightened around the black feather. Lamela realised how close she stood and prepared to straighten.
“Remarkable,” Leliana’s calm voice came from above. “One raven has managed to get closer to Solas than half of my agents.”
Lamela stepped back sharply. Her heel struck the leg of a table, sending an inkpot rocking towards the edge. She caught it in time.
“Leliana…”
“Quiet. You have shown such care for his sleep.”
Lamela looked up. Leliana stood on the upper gallery with one hand resting against the stone balustrade. Her red hair was neatly braided, her clothes fully fastened, and a letter with a broken seal rested in her other hand.
Once again, Lamela wondered whether sleep had any place in Leliana’s schedule. Perhaps somewhere between the second report of the night and one of Cullen’s especially lengthy briefings, she managed to close her eyes for several minutes.
Leliana motioned for her to follow.
An open map of the Free Marches covered the table on the upper landing. Wooden markers traced the road to Wycome and the latest campsites of Clan Lavellan. Letters from Josephine, supply lists and a scouting report lay beside it.
“Confirmation arrived during the night.” Leliana touched a marker north of Wycome. “The clan has made camp here. Templars are moving along the western road, while rebel mages have fortified a position to the south. Venatori have been sighted among them.”
“Both groups will soon reach the clan’s hunting grounds.”
“Exactly. We need Dalish scouts and the Keeper’s support. We will bring supplies and healers.”
“I will speak with Deshanna.”
“Everyone will gather at the southern gate after the first bell. Solas is coming as well.”
Lamela looked down into the rotunda.
“Then ask him to save his lecture on Dalish misconceptions for the journey home.”
“I shall leave that part of the plan to you.”
Only then did Lamela realise that she still held the feather between her fingers. Leliana noticed it as well.
“Keeping it as a souvenir?”
“Physical evidence of an assault by your agents.”
“Of course.”
Lamela placed the feather upon the map.
“The first bell will sound in half an hour,” Leliana reminded her.
Lamela’s gaze returned to the sofa.
“Give Solas a little more time. He has a long road ahead of him.”
A slight smile touched Leliana’s lips.
“Such touching concern for the efficiency of your party, Inquisitor.”
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summary: For six years Lavellan followed his trail. Now, for the first time, and with the help of the Inquisition and the Antivan Crows, she is one step ahead.
Four chapters of an alternate Solavellan story set between the post-Trespasser and pre-Veilguard, where everything could still be changed.
word count: about 43k
"I always knew your every move, but you have surprised me again." - Solas
Perhaps it had been a hasty decision. Gathering the Inquisition's people and setting off for Antiva on the strength of a single letter from Leliana's scouts. The text had been simple: we have intercepted messages from Fen'Harel. In two months, something big is being prepared in Treviso. It must be investigated.
Lavellan froze on her knees before the eluvian that uselessly occupied an entire room in Skyhold. She lowered her head and pressed her palm against the ice-cold glass. She could hear the clang of metal behind her, loud voices, someone shouting about provisions, cutting across Cullen's commanding voice. The usual commotion before a long journey. But never before had she been this nervous. Four years had passed since she had said goodbye to Solas. Four years of silence. Her fingers slid down the glass and her hand fell to her knees. Doubts. Was she even needed there, in Antiva? Perhaps he was not there at all, and the scouts had intercepted a false trail.
Lavellan tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ears and cast a weary glance at the staff lying at her feet. The very same one he had approved of. The very same one with which she had covered his back many times. Lavellan sighed quietly, took the staff with resolve, and rose to her feet. A parting glance at the eluvian, and the tap of her low heels echoed through the room, then dissolved into the long hall of Skyhold, filled with bustling people.
No one could ever take your place
The road to Antiva took several weeks, and the news that came proved disappointing. Scouts from Treviso reported that a traitor had been found among them, a man from the Inquisition. It was possible that he had not acted alone, but in league with the Antivan Crow houses of Dellamorte and De Riva. It was possible that the Inquisition already knew everything about the plan.
Solas finished reading the letter and set the paper down on the table. He fixed a pensive gaze on the small window, beyond which magical vortices of Fade energy caught hold of one another and wove together. The muffled sound of footsteps reached his ears, telling him that he was no longer alone at the Lighthouse and that several elves had returned.
“Anyone ever tell you that you get a little wrinkle when you frown?” a bright female voice called from across the room. "Right here!"
Solas was not surprised by Shai's sudden appearance. He had heard her footsteps, caught a glimpse of her entering his study out of the corner of his eye, and noticed how awkwardly she had stood in silence when she received no reaction from him to her intrusion. And now Shai stood in the doorway, smiling prettily, pointing a finger to the space between her own brows.
"Shai, is it true that the Crows could interfere with our plans?" Solas said, rising from his chair and walking toward the window. "I was told that there was a traitor among us and that he was caught too late."
"It is... true, Fen'Harel," the playfulness vanished from the girl's face, giving way to resolve. "There are rumors that the Inquisition is on our trail and that they are in league with the Crows. Perhaps we should call everything off..."
Solas turned to the girl and the hem of his cloak swayed, as though catching a wave of unease.
"Call it off? We are obliged to finish all preparations and complete what we have started before the Inquisition arrives," Solas's voice was unyielding.. "We cannot let this chance slip away."
"Yes, Fen'Harel, I understand. I will tell our people to make haste," the girl concluded, yet she showed no intention of leaving.
Silence hung between them like a heavy fog. Solas brought his hands behind his back and clasped his palms together. He was curious what his assistant would do next. Shai searched desperately for the right words but could not find them.
"Do all the elves who have arrived have everything they need?" Solas helped the girl when the silence became unbearable.
"Oh, ah, yes. Fortunately, our supplies are replenished just as quickly as the elves—" Shai faltered and silently cursed herself for the stupidity. She looked away from him and let her gaze wander around the room. Just as bare and lonely as a year ago, when she had first come under the care of Fen'Harel.
"I am glad to hear it," Solas said without emotion and made his way to his desk, where several more unopened letters awaited him.
"I also wanted to say—" Shai hurried and took several quick steps toward Solas. "You can give me any task. I would be glad to carry it out!"
"Find out everything you can about the information leak and determine where Inquisitor Lavellan is now," Solas said without looking at the girl and ignoring the disappointment that fell like a shadow across her face. Had she expected something different? Perhaps. He understood this and tried to make clear that his thoughts were occupied with other matters. Solas had encountered displays of affection more than once. Unrequited, to the disappointment of the interested party.
"I... I do know something. But these are only rumors, I will verify everything."
Solas immediately looked at the girl.
"What do you mean?"
"Well..." she took several more nimble steps and touched the edge of the cool surface of the desk with her finger. "Rumors have reached us that Lady Inquisitor left Skyhold together with a dozen soldiers."
"How long ago?"
"Three weeks ago. But what is strange is that her trail vanished in the area of the Free Marches. Several Inquisition soldiers turned up in the nearest villages, several more returned back and were spotted near the Circle of Magi close to Redcliffe. But Lady Inquisitor disappeared."
"The Free Marches..." Solas repeated pensively, picturing Lavellan visiting her clan. Shai was stung by Fen'Harel's silence and pensiveness, and she pressed on insistently, raising her voice.
"Yes. I can—"
"Continue the preparations of the eluvians and the elves," Solas interrupted her, tearing himself with difficulty from the grip of pleasant thoughts. "And strengthen the surveillance. Lady Inquisitor and her people could not have vanished without a trace."
"They could have, Fen'Harel," Shai remarked. "The magical field in that area is very unstable. Rifts appear and then disappear. Even our people walk there with caution. So if something has happened, it is an excellent chance for us to strengthen our position while the Inquisition is weakened."
Solas listened to the girl attentively, and with every word of hers, impatience seethed within him. With every truthful word of hers. Of course, anything could have happened, and in this Shai was right. It was pointless to pretend otherwise. He leaned back against the high back of his chair and looked directly at her. She stood so close that Solas could have counted the number of buttons on her linen blouse, had Shai not come to her senses in time under his gaze and stepped a couple of paces back, as though looking around.
"The Inquisition has long since extended far beyond the control of Lady Inquisitor, and all the true power lies in the hands of the Divine. If something were to happen to Lady Inquisitor, her image would be used as the symbol of a martyr who repeated the fate of Andraste, and that would only strengthen the influence of the Chantry and the Inquisition."
"Oh, I had not thought of that... It is true, the Herald of Andraste will always be her even without her. It is strange that no attempt has been made on her life."
"Yes, that is indeed strange," Solas said unhurriedly, weighing every word.
Suddenly Solas noticed how Shai slowly leaned forward, brought her palm to her face, and slightly covered it, as though the time for secrets had come. Over several years of looking after the young elf, he had grown accustomed to the abrupt shifts in her mood. Despite her restlessness, when it came to surveillance and marksmanship, there was no one better than her.
"I want to confess something," Shai said in a theatrically quiet voice. "I once had the chance to meet Lady Inquisitor. I was a teenager when she and her companions saved our village."
Solas leaned forward with interest, resting his hands on the desk.
"You grew up in Crestwood, did you not?" Solas asked, and in his memories there flashed images of a desperate village besieged by restless souls, a freed spirit, and the icy gloom of an endless cave descending deep underground. And then a lake intruded uninvited into his thoughts, a misty evening and damp cold air. He drops to his knees and calls upon ancient magic to remove her vallaslin. If only he had not been afraid then, if only he had trusted her the way she had trusted him...
"Yes, in a small village," Shai continued, and Solas tore himself free from the grip of regrets. "She inspired me in those times. Many of us, but now everything has changed... She is an elf, after all, raised in a Dalish clan... I remember her vallaslin! But she chose not our side," the elf faltered. "I simply want to say that we could use such strong allies as her."
"Everyone made their choice, regardless of their desires," Solas answered with restraint, driving away the intrusive memories. "One wrong decision can jeopardize the balance of power that has been built. Some alliances must not come to be, and one day—"
"Fen'Harel!" a young elf burst into the study, throwing open the door loudly. The boy was gasping and breathing heavily. "I... I... You must know... Daniel has been killed."
"How did it happen?" Solas immediately approached the young elf and could make out traces of fresh blood and dirt on his traveling clothes.
"Crows."
One word. Silence fell over the study.
"We begin," Solas said with conviction and, meeting no objections, looked at Shai. "Gather the best marksmen."
Shai nodded in silence.
"Catch your breath and get ready," Solas said to the young elf. "You and five more mages must be here with me in an hour. There are preparations that need to be completed."
Without waiting for an answer, Solas walked back to the desk and cast a glance at the unopened letters. There was no longer any need for them.
A night that smells of death and coffee
Several weeks later, the Inquisition reached the shores of the Free Marches, and now the time had come to fulfill the agreements. Lavellan and those closest to her knew that a tail had been following them since the crossing, and it needed to be shaken off. For this, they had to pull off a small maneuver. Several tents were set up along the river, and only in one was there no light burning. Lavellan, Leliana, and Cullen hid inside it, waiting for the remaining conspirators to stage a loud brawl. Suddenly a Crow slipped noiselessly into the tent. Small and nearly unnoticeable. It was no surprise they had sent precisely him.
"You have one of Fen'Harel's elves stationed in the northern part of the camp and one in the southern," he whispered rapidly. "They have shift changes. At that moment we will have several minutes to disappear in the southeastern direction."
"Southeast? The river is in that direction," Cullen frowned.
"Are we going to swim?" Lavellan asked. "The plan was different."
"Don't be afraid to get your feet wet, Inquisition. The plan will have to change. These spies are too well trained."
"If we know their positions, let us distract them," Leliana suggested. "I will send my people to flush them out."
"Excellent. That will give us a couple more minutes. Let us do it quickly."
"I will stay here and cover you," Cullen looked at Lavellan with concern. "Take care of yourself, I beg you."
"I will try," Lavellan answered in a half-whisper. "Follow the plan, and your arrival should coincide with the beginning of the ritual. If Solas delays, the Crows will speed up the process. The time has come to put an end to this."
"It will be done, Inquisitor," Cullen nodded.
The time had come to begin.
The Crow gave Leliana a brief nod, and she disappeared from sight. Not five minutes had passed before the scouts took their positions and a commotion broke out. Lavellan nimbly leapt out of the tent after the Crow. The forests and rivers of the Free Marches were home to her. For eight years she had not set foot on this land, yet even after all that time she felt at ease and confident, as though she had never left these parts. When the lights of the camp vanished behind the trees, the Crow turned toward the river, where a boat was waiting for them.
"Take the cloak and pull the hood up. From here we will have to go downriver."
Lavellan did everything as the Crow said and settled into the boat, which rocked gently on the water. They sailed almost until dawn itself, and as soon as the glow lit up the dark surface of the night sky, the Crow pulled ashore.
To Lavellan's considerable surprise, two saddled horses were already waiting for them nearby. The remaining journey to Antiva they covered in short dashes and rare stops. They avoided taverns and busy roads, and so more often than not they spent the night right in the cold forest. Fortunately, the Dalish soul of Lavellan found this adventure to her liking. She felt as though she had become once more that same carefree girl, studying the secrets of the Keeper's magic and the ancient mysteries of her people.
Several days later they reached Antiva. Having left the shore for the water once more, they entered the Rialto Bay under the cover of night, followed the Crows' secret waterway into Treviso, and moored at a small dock. Lavellan stepped onto the tidy embankment and could not contain her curiosity mixed with delight. Around her rose ancient buildings, growing out of the black surface of the water. The soft light from tall hanging lanterns and windows plunged the well-kept streets into a nighttime slumber.
She regretted that she had no time at all to savor the beauty of nighttime Treviso and to stroll along the dock, adorned with tall trees and flowers neatly planted in clay pots. The Crow quietly called out to Lavellan, and she followed after him, straight into the shadows of the city.
"Can you not be more careful?!" a loud indignant woman's voice rang out after yet another clang of metal against the floor.
"Trust me, my fingers are capable of many things. Even bead embroidery. I can certainly handle this!"
"You are terrible! Why can you not just shut up and do everything properly?!"
"Hey, you simply have not seen how I handle poison."
"I have. Now I want to unsee it. Give me the dagger!"
"You are always so disobedient! I knew you had not had enough lessons..."
"Knew, knew. You knew nothing."
Lavellan silently watched what was happening, sitting in a deep soft armchair the color of dark blood. Around her oil lamps burned, Crows spoke quietly among themselves, and the air was permeated with the bitter aura of death.
"Is it... always like this with you?" she asked quietly, leaning slightly toward her companion.
The Crow took a small sip of coffee and smiled almost imperceptibly.
"Oh, they are still warming up," the man answered calmly, raising to his lips once more a cup with a delicate purple pattern. "Are you sure you do not want a cup?"
Lavellan looked into his dark brown eyes with slight distrust and shook her head.
"No, thank you."
"If we wanted to poison you, we would have done it far more elegantly. Poison in a cup... too banal and outdated," he remarked with an imperturbable air. It seemed the entire situation frankly amused him.
"You do not trust him?" a friendly woman's voice suddenly sounded nearby. A Crow girl with lush curly hair and a warm gaze approached Lavellan and her companion.
"You are our guest, and perhaps our motives are different, but the goal is the same - to stop the ritual of Fen'Harel. So for the time being, there is nothing to fear. Accept the coffee from Lucanis. He knows how to make it truly unforgettable. By the way, I am Teia," she introduced herself with a light smile.
"Inquisitor Lavellan," she replied, fidgeting slightly on the sofa. Everything around was too clean, too tidy. It was unsettling.
"It is a great honor for us," Teia continued. "This is your first time here, and we want to make a good impression. After all, we are about to—"
"Damn it!" the woman's voice from behind the table interrupted her again. "Everything slips out of my hands when you stick your fingers in there!"
Teia rolled her eyes and glanced back at the pair settled at the long table. They were diligently sharpening daggers and cleaning small vials.
"Eli, Viago... What kind of impression are you making on our guest!" Teia looked at Lavellan again, noticing her tension. "They are from the same house, fe Riva. Eli is still learning, she shows great promise. Her temperament, however, is far too willful... but a few special sessions will correct that."
Lavellan nodded silently and continued watching Viago and Eli. How deftly and confidently he handled the daggers, and how she fell into despair when she could not manage it as gracefully. There was something vaguely familiar in it, from a long-forgotten past. The tension inside her eased slightly.
"I think coffee would not hurt," Lavellan finally said.
Lucanis inclined his head in triumph and smiled almost imperceptibly.
"We have already sent word to Fen'Harel," he added, setting the cup on the small coffee table before them. "He has been warned and now knows what comes of conducting magical rituals in Treviso."
Let me lie to you one last time
After coffee with the Crows, Lavellan made her way to the central market of Treviso. As Josephine had warned, she quickly found her bearings among the colorful stalls, bright awnings, and noisy crowd. Before long Lavellan found a small square and the quiet alleyways adjoining it. In one of the inconspicuous houses in this district, Josephine had taken up lodging. Having found the right house, Lavellan climbed a narrow staircase and knocked. The door was opened for her almost at once. A warm embrace. A kind invitation to come in.
Lavellan passed into a small sitting room and sat down on the sofa.
"Fen'Harel's spies were unable to track your movements after your disappearance in the Free Marches. The objective has been achieved; they do not know where you are or what to expect," Josephine's voice was, as always, calm.
Lavellan nodded, brushing the road dust from the hem of her traveling cloak.
"We have not seen each other for so long, and you go straight to business. Then again, it is even better that way. Were you able to find out anything about the Crows?"
"Only a few houses know that you are in Treviso, and they have expressed their gratitude to you for supporting their families and protecting Treviso," Josephine stepped away from the warm fireplace and sat down beside Lavellan. She looked at her friend with concern, and misgivings crept into her heart.
"Deals with the Crows always carry consequences. If one of the sides breaks their word..." She spoke insinuatingly and watched her friend closely. "They have fulfilled their part, helping you escape from the Free Marches. Now they will be waiting for your move."
Lavellan straightened up and her gaze fixed on the flame, slowly swaying in the fireplace.
"Do you remember how we used to sit just like this in front of the fireplace in Skyhold and talk for hours?" Lavellan's lips trembled in a slight smile. "I am glad you came."
"How could I not come, knowing that the Inquisition would be in Antiva," Josephine followed Lavellan's gaze, and the anxious feeling hanging in the room became almost tangible.
"I will repeat myself," she continued cautiously. "The Crows were unambiguous when they named Fen'Harel and all his followers as their target," Josephine looked directly at Lavellan. The warm light of the fireplace softly illuminated her profile, accentuating her neat nose, full lips, and sharp chin.
"I know, Josephine. I read about their plan when they proposed a temporary alliance to the Inquisition," Lavellan answered without a shadow of doubt in her voice.
"But..." Josephine faltered and turned away. The silence twisted her stomach and gripped her throat, slowly stealing her breath.
Lavellan gazed at the fire for a long time, searching for the right words.
"It was the only way," she said at last.
"The only way?" Josephine asked again, her voice rising with disappointment.
"For six years I have watched him continue to destroy his own life. How he runs every time I nearly find him. He leaves behind a trail of blood, broken lives, and spares no one... He gathers his own army from elves who have known injustice. And how many such elves are there in Thedas? When I visit the sites of his rituals, my hands tremble from the residual magic. He cannot yet bring down the Veil, but I can feel how much it has been ravaged by him."
"But surely—"
"This... agreement," Lavellan interrupted Josephine. "If not for it, we would have learned too late that Solas intends to perform a ritual in the ruins of the temple of Andruil. Now, for the first time in so many years, I am one step ahead. We have a chance..."
You are chasing a ghost, and the Crows always fulfill their contracts. Are you not afraid?"
Lavellan chuckled quietly and looked at Josephine. She saw in her eyes genuine despair and a deep, sincere care. The kind she had not felt for so long.
"I simply hope to buy time. After all, this cannot last forever."
"Only this time the Inquisition has found dangerous allies. The Crows will try to see the matter through to the end at any cost."
"Thank you for your care, Josie," Lavellan gently touched her palm and lightly squeezed her fingers.
"You are not telling me everything," Josephine said after a short pause and, freeing her hand, walked to the window to draw the curtains more tightly.
"Perhaps. And who is ever fully candid?"
"Be careful," Josephine looked at her friend with concern. "You and Fen'Harel... Solas... Still? Nothing between you is over?" She turned and met the direct gaze of Lavellan. She did not need an answer.
"That is what I was afraid of," Josephine added with resignation, shifting from foot to foot. "I hope that you will be able to find your answers and that this entire journey will not have been in vain."
"I hope so too. Everything will be decided tomorrow. Cullen's men arrived this morning and have already set off for the ruins, the Crows will be there as well." Lavellan rose and pulled a wide hood over her head.
"You will stay here, in Treviso, will you not? You will not go there? It is far too dangerous." Josephine looked at Lavellan with alarm.
"Of course, I will stay here and wait for word," Lavellan lied and smiled. Josephine accepted this lie, nodding almost imperceptibly.
"Good luck, Lady Inquisitor."
"And to you, Josie."
For a second it seemed to Josephine that Lavellan had wanted to say something more, but she turned, tossing back the edge of her cloak, and without a word left her house, quietly closing the door behind her.
The Day I Chose You
The following morning everyone knew their objective: disrupt the ritual, kill as many of Fen'Harel's followers as possible, weaken his ranks, and, preferably, capture him. Lavellan knew that the Crows had already sent word to Solas, and by her calculations he was already directing all his efforts toward the preparations for the ritual.
In secret from everyone, at dawn, she left the Crows' mansion. Holding her hood in place, Lavellan made her way along the walls of houses, ran across small bridges spanning the canals, and moved confidently toward the city gates. Beyond the city she kept away from the roads and walked deliberately through the forest, orienting herself by the rising sun.
Lavellan carefully made her way through the dense foliage to the place agreed upon beforehand, where Sutherland was waiting for her. A promising soldier of the Inquisition who had served her from the very first months in Skyhold and to this day. Having reached the right spot, she stepped out from behind the foliage.
"Herald!" Sutherland exclaimed and ran to meet her. "Quickly, follow me!"
Lavellan nodded in greeting and followed the soldier. Before long the first traces of the ruined temple appeared among the trees. Fragments of ancient columns, overgrown with moss, and shards of statues were scattered across the ground. In places the tall walls of the temple still stood, as an eternal reminder of the lost greatness of the elven people. Lavellan stopped. She felt the dangerous pull of powerful magic, drawing her toward it in seductive waves. A sweet haze made her head spin, calling upon Lavellan to surrender for a moment, to open her mind to the boundless force and to know all the forbidden passion, allure, and beauty of her desires.
"Herald?" Sutherland asked cautiously, noticing her falter. "Are you all right?"
"Be careful, Sutherland," Lavellan said warily and shook her head, casting off the fog of the magical enchantment. "The very ground here is soaked with the magic of blood rituals."
Sutherland unsheathed his sword in one sharp motion and assumed a stance. The Herald's words had frightened him.
"The Veil is thin here," Lavellan observed, shifting her anxious gaze to the clear sky. "In this part of the forest the demons in the Fade are too strong and hungry. Perhaps there was once a Venatori camp here. Otherwise I cannot explain such a number of sacrifices that have taken place," she moved her hand toward her staff but stopped. "I cannot cast spells here. It is too dangerous. We will leave."
"Yes, Herald. Let us get out of here," Sutherland urged, and Lavellan heeded him. They left the dangerous ruins without looking back.
Before long they came upon a small camp hidden in the dense foliage. Lavellan thanked Sutherland, and they parted ways. The soldier went to join his comrades, and Lavellan made her way with a quick step to Cullen's tent.
"Maker's breath, you came!" Cullen exclaimed with relief, disheveled and clearly having not slept all night. "Are you all right?"
“I am fine, Cullen. The Crows were quite courteous, and Sutherland is excellently prepared," Lavellan answered and wearily sat down on a chair by the wall.
"What do you mean by 'excellently prepared'?" Cullen grew alert. "Did something happen on the way here?"
"We passed by the ruins of the temple, and..." she hesitated, searching for the right words. "The demons in that part of the temple will take hold of every mage who lowers their defenses. Now I understand why Solas chose this place."
Cullen exhaled in exhaustion. The horrors of possession bore down on him in oppressive memories.
"That is not all," Lavellan continued. "If the mages use powerful spells without restraint, there is a risk of a localized breach of the Veil."
"Did I mishear?" Leliana's light voice rang out. "Our mages are left idle today?"
She fluttered softly into the tent and smiled at Lavellan in greeting. Lavellan returned the same to Leliana.
"In our ranks we have experienced templars and a dozen mages. If we direct several templars and mages to hold a barrier rather than enter the fight, it will help buy us time," Cullen spoke quickly, ignoring Leliana's appearance.
"But that is not all the bad news," Leliana continued and handed Lavellan a letter. "We have been informed that Fen'Harel has found out everything."
"Of course," Lavellan sighed in disappointment, running her eyes over the report. "Could it have been any other way? Anything else?..."
"He will not appear. He has completely changed his plan," Leliana concluded. "But he needs to find something in that accursed temple, so in his place he has sent Adem."
"Adem..." Lavellan latched onto the name. "If we capture him before he finds what they need, then Solas will have to start all over again. That will certainly delay him."
"That is what we will do," Cullen said. "We will try to take Adem quietly, but if they already know about us, there will be a fight," Cullen nodded toward Lavellan's staff. "We have not gone into a direct confrontation for many years."
"We will manage," Lavellan answered firmly. "Prepare the men. Our main target is Adem."
As soon as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Cullen gave the first signal. Several humans and elves moved toward the ruins of the temple. Lavellan separated from the main group in order to approach the ruins from the opposite side. She stepped almost on tiptoe onto the fallen leaves and carefully made her way through the branches and trees. It seemed to her that her body itself was telling her how to move so that no thicket could hold her back.
Suddenly a muffled clap reached her ears, and after it a heavy, rolling explosion thundered in the direction of the ruins.
It had begun. The first flashes of spells lit up the ruins. Lavellan quickened her pace and pulled the staff from her back, readying herself for battle. But when she finally reached the site of the fighting, fear seized her. The ruins were drowning in a thick shroud of dust and ash. Here and there fire blazed, peals of thunder crashed, and the air was heavy with the suffocating smell of ozone, smoke, and blood. Suddenly a drawn-out scream reached her ears. How many humans and elves would not return home today? The goal brought her back from her stupor.
Find Aren. Disrupt Solas's plan. Put an end to this.
Lavellan trusted her instincts and threw herself through the smoke and the roar of explosions. Spells tore the air, arrows whistled past, and underfoot it was already impossible to count the bodies. She refused to believe that she had made this entire journey for nothing. If she could capture at least Aren, she would do it.
When a dagger sank with a dull thud into the back of a fleeing elf, Lavellan turned sharply. The Crows had come to help. Several skilled fighters whirled across the battlefield, leaving no one alive. This sudden reinforcement broke the confidence of Solas's elves. They began to retreat in haste, drawing together in one direction. Lavellan secretly followed after them, taking advantage of the commotion and panic in their ranks.
Making her way through the ruins of the once magnificent temple, Lavellan suddenly emerged into a destroyed hall, divided by collapsed walls. In the center of the hall, upon a small elevation, an eluvian shone. The elves hurled themselves toward it in desperation, dodging arrows and spells. Many fell, unable to reach salvation in time, and those who still kept their feet were helped to the eluvian by a mysterious man in a long cloak and hood.
Lavellan hid in her secret shelter, trying to make out the face of the stranger, but because of the lowered hood, it was impossible to discern his features. Lavellan hesitated. Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat. It was him. Aren. It had to be him. Who else would be helping the survivors flee a lost battle? This was her chance.
Adrenaline boiled in her blood and every cell of her body strained forward. Lavellan stared intently at the man in the cloak, searching for the moment to strike, but was there one? What if right now he would step into the eluvian after his allies, and she would lose her target? Lavellan gripped the staff tightly, readying herself for the blow, but suddenly unclenched her fingers and the staff fell onto the stone. The clatter of the fallen staff was drowned out by an explosion that thundered nearby, raising a suffocating cloud of dust, earth, and stones.
Seizing the moment, Lavellan ran out of her shelter and threw herself into the very thick of the settling storm. With all her strength she crashed into the man's back, shoving him forward. From the unexpected blow he staggered slightly, but still managed to keep his footing. Without losing a single second, Lavellan grabbed the hood and tore it off with a sharp pull. The man was overcome with fury. He turned sharply, flung up his hand in the beginning of a spell, and suddenly... froze.
Around them weak vortices of magic slowly swirled and fell away helplessly. Lavellan did not move. She breathed quickly, watching as a snow-white light blazed in the man's eyes and as slowly it faded, giving way to the endlessly familiar gaze of violet-blue eyes.
"Solas... But I was told that..."
Another explosion of a spell rang out behind Lavellan's back. The blast wave flew through the hall and slammed into her back, pushing her hard forward. Unable to withstand the force of the blow, Lavellan crashed straight into Solas and buried her face in his chest, expecting that a hail of stones and dust would follow the wave. She shut her eyes tightly, shielding herself with her hand, but... nothing happened.
A strange calm and silence surrounded her. Lavellan opened her eyes and quickly raised her gaze to Solas. He was holding a protective spell before them, his hand raised. Lavellan turned and saw through the blue glow of the shield how the flames raged and how white flashes of lightning flickered within them.
In that very instant Lavellan experienced the most terribly alluring feeling she was capable of. She, amidst death and despair, had found herself beside him once more, in his arms.
Lavellan timidly touched his dark green armor adorned with fine golden threads woven into a pattern. As though she needed proof that their meeting was real. Proof that he was truly here, before her. In that moment Solas instantly dropped the shield, caught her hand, and led her to the side, away from the eluvian and the thunder of battle.
Lavellan followed after him, ducking each time arrows whistled past. Solas stopped behind collapsed stones, temporarily able to serve as a small shelter. He turned toward the center of the hall, breathing heavily. His elves were still fleeing through the eluvian, which had miraculously survived the explosion.
"Solas..." Lavellan called quietly and gently pulled his hand toward her.
Solas yielded to her gesture and his despairing gaze met hers.
Another explosion thundered and bolts of lightning drove into the ground. Heavy thunder rolled through the temple, the stones and earth beneath their feet shuddered. And then Solas, surrendering to an impulse unknown to him, stepped toward Lavellan and embraced her. He pressed her to his shoulder, covering her head with his palm. He felt her warmth once more, her rapid breathing, and every cell of his body seemed to find peace for these moments. All those years without her had been a terrible torment, and all his attempts to maintain control over himself beside her were doomed.
Lavellan wrapped her arm around him and settled her head more comfortably on his shoulder. She felt how his palm touched her hair, and how his other arm embraced her back, pressing her closer. A pleasant warmth spread through her from his touch. Lavellan could have sworn that this embrace lasted an eternity.
An eternity they had been waiting for. An eternity that was never meant to be theirs.
Solas was the first to loosen the embrace. Their gazes met for an instant, and she wanted to pull herself toward him again, but Solas stepped back.
"Vhenan... Forgive me," Solas said, and Lavellan heard a plea in his voice. "I know why you are here, but I cannot allow you to..."
Lavellan felt her heart pounding wildly in her chest, and how every word of Solas's echoed within her as unbearable pain.
"We can still set everything right. Together. We have done it before. Side by side," she stubbornly sought his gaze, understanding that what she was asking for was never meant to come true.
Solas listened to her, and every word wounded him more deeply than he had expected.
"I have missed you so much. Stay with me for just a moment longer, I beg you, Solas," Lavellan's voice broke. She lingered, catching every second between them. It seemed as though there was less air around them and with every silent second it became harder for her to breathe. Solas did not answer, and Lavellan stepped half a pace back.
This gesture brought Solas to his senses. In a single step he closed the distance between them, took her face in both palms, and pressed his lips softly to hers. They both froze in this wild moment, in their poisoned manifestation of love. Behind their backs screams rang out, the ground beneath their feet trembled, and sparks from spells struck against the stones. But now everything happening around them ceased to exist for them. Suddenly a thunderclap sounded very close. Lavellan flinched from the shock, breaking the kiss, but Solas immediately turned and pressed her against the wall. He leaned over her, glanced briefly into her eyes, and hungrily stole another kiss. Unrestrained. Fierce. Lavellan leaned into his hot lips, his tongue. She let Solas lead in this spontaneous kiss.
The adrenaline raging in her blood only intensified the passion that had flared from his warmth and sensual kiss. Lavellan let out an unrestrained breath against his lips when Solas lowered his palms to her hips, gripped them firmly, and pulled her to him with authority. All the long waiting had erupted into helplessness before one another. All words seemed wrong, and only the way he forgot to breathe and falteringly broke off for a short gasp spoke of everything for him. Lavellan surrendered to the madness that spread through her. The madness that he should have stopped.
"Fen'Harel!" a loud woman's cry suddenly carried through the destroyed hall. "Fen'Harel, where are you?"
Solas reluctantly broke the kiss. Reality crashed down upon them. A reality in which he was Fen'Harel to everyone. To everyone but her. For some time he slowly came to his senses, still struggling with his breathing.
The woman's voice continued to call loudly. Lavellan pulled away and peered out from behind their stone shelter. Near the eluvian she saw a tall elf woman, loosing arrows one after another, and each found its mark. Lavellan looked at Solas with defiance. She did not need to voice her thoughts. Solas caught them at once.
"You must remain in the Inquisition and be the balance that this world needs," Solas said quietly, fighting with himself. "The Herald of Andraste. The one who seeks justice and peace. My world is different."
"What do I care about balance? About the justice of this world?" Lavellan raised her voice, not holding back her feelings. "I can help you."
"You cannot do that," Solas said, tilting his head slightly. "Your purpose is not to join me. Your purpose is to stop me. At any cost."
Another cry. Solas cast a worried glance toward his eluvian, mentally calculating how much time they still had. There was no time.
"I know that the Crows have joined forces with the Inquisition. Now you have even more strength, and you have shown it," bitterness spilled between them with Solas's words. Lavellan understood what he was speaking of. She was party to what had happened no less than he himself was guilty of everything he had done.
"Fen'Harel!" the woman's voice would not relent.
Lavellan closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to listen to the loud voice and to everything happening around her. She felt time slipping away.
"I no longer hold the kind of power I once did. Since you left, it took me a great deal of time to realize many things. What we built together has gone beyond my control," she faltered. "If you do not stop, if you keep running, I will not be able to stop the Inquisition."
Solas listened to Lavellan, gently touched her cheek, and brushed away a tear with his thumb.
"I know, vhenan. I am deeply sorry, but I cannot stop. Let me... let me go, I beg you," Lavellan caught a plea in Solas's voice. Her throat was seized as though by a thousand chains and she could not draw breath. To let him go now meant to let him go forever. She touched his hand, resting softly on her cheek, and slowly lowered it. Without taking her gaze from Solas, she took several steps back from him and nodded toward his eluvian.
"You must go," Lavellan said, her voice breaking, hiding her hand behind her back and clenching it into a fist. "They are waiting for you. You must help your people."
Solas, unexpectedly for himself, reached toward her in an irresolute gesture, but quickly mastering himself, held back.
"Forgive me, my love. It will be better this way."
Lavellan nodded silently, unable to utter a single word, and holding back her tears, stepped one more pace back. She watched submissively as Solas pulled the hood over his head, as that beloved face disappeared from her sight; she saw how he hesitated for several moments, and then turned and walked out of their shelter.
"Fen'Harel! There you are!" a clear woman's voice reached Lavellan's ears and a terrible pain seized her chest. She felt how her heart was entwined with sharp vines and with every breath the thorns dug in deeper. Wasting not another second, she rushed forward, peering out after Solas.
She saw how Solas ascended to the eluvian, how the archer placed her hand on his shoulder, and then they stepped together into the shimmering mirror. The glow flared brighter and swallowed them. Lavellan leaned against the cold stone wall and breathed rapidly. A mad plan appeared in her mind. A plan that would change everything.
She peered out from behind the shelter once more. Elves saving themselves were still leaping into the mirror, and some were peering out from the other side, helping the wounded enter faster. The eluvian was still active.
Without allowing herself a shadow of doubt, Lavellan sprang from behind the shelter. She quickly covered several meters, shielding herself with a weak magical barrier, which cracked after the first arrow that struck it and dispersed with a quiet hum after the second.
Quickening her run, she caught a wounded elf under the arms, one who could barely keep his feet, and helped him up onto the elevation toward the eluvian. Before the final step, Lavellan looked back and swept her gaze across the battlefield. She saw how beneath the banners of the Inquisition her people, who had believed in her for so many years, fought fiercely against the free elves of Fen'Harel, giving their lives. Her heart treacherously clenched for an instant, and then... all of it was left behind. Lavellan plunged into the bottomless surface of the eluvian together with the wounded elf.
There was no way back. She emerged from the other side and found herself in a spacious cool hall. Dark walls soared upward to a high vaulted ceiling, and only veilfire, carelessly dancing in braziers along the walls, illuminated the hall with a pale light. She released the wounded elf and drew a deep breath of the clean and cold air. The many elves who had just been bustling around froze in an instant. Conversations broke off. She realized in full measure the consequences of her choice when a dozen archers raised their bows, drew their bowstrings taut, and aimed their arrows in her direction. They awaited one word alone. His word.
"Where did you disappear to? We thought you had been captured!" Shai worried, having followed Fen'Harel through the eluvian. Every word of Shai's flew past Solas. He needed several minutes to collect himself. He caught himself thinking: did any of this matter? Did he truly need a future world without her? He had once made a promise and was still bound by the ties of duty. He looked back at the eluvian. Wounded elves continued to pass through it, immediately accompanied to the infirmary. Other elves stood along the walls on guard, ready for the appearance of unexpected guests.
Gradually Solas regained control of his mind, and the thoughts that had troubled him a second ago now seemed a moment of weakness. It was not only he who needed the world he was fighting for. The elves surrounding him did too. All those who hated the established world and who were prepared to give their lives for freedom. But he felt how his lips burned, and how a faint tremor still lingered in his hands, and all of it was slowly poisoning his mind. He closed his eyes for a second, bringing back the kiss in his memory, but immediately suppressed the surge of desire that was seizing his mind entirely. And so he did not notice at once how silence had fallen over the hall. Even Shai, standing beside him, had gone quiet.
Solas cast a tense glance at the girl and saw how she slowly raised her bow, drew the string, and aimed an arrow toward the eluvian.
"Fen'Harel. The Inquisitor," the elf woman said. "She is here. What should I do? One word from you and I will kill her."
Solas turned immediately and their gazes met. The defiance radiating from Lavellan, her composure with which she met every arrow aimed at her, echoed within him with boundless regret. He swept a cold gaze across the hall. Each of the archers was frozen in a battle stance, while those who were unarmed whispered among themselves.
"Can it really be her..."
"Are you certain?"
"Of course... I was once a servant in their Inquisition... that is definitely the Inquisitor."
"She is to blame for everything..."
"Look at her hand!"
"She must be killed..."
"Everything that happened today is because of her!"
"She came to kill Fen'Harel!"
"Why does he hesitate?.."
Rumors spread through the hall. Solas was powerless to stop this whispering. They were right, undeniably right. In their eyes she was the one who stood in the way of their plans. By her orders their friends, their loved ones, they themselves were being killed. She, the Herald of Andraste, was one of the chief obstacles in their path, and she had come to kill him.
Lavellan also heard their voices. She stood motionless at the eluvian, surrounded and trapped. She did not need much time to understand the situation she was in, and yet just a minute ago it had seemed to her an excellent plan.
She watched as Solas crossed the hall in several confident strides, as he deliberately closed the distance between them. Every elf around him was watching. He could not let them down.
Coming very close to Lavellan, Solas stopped so near that he could hear her rapid and deep breathing, and she his. Lavellan froze for a moment at his unexpected silent approach, then leaned forward... but stopped. She felt the pressure and sharpness of metal pressing through the thin leather fabric of her belt. Lavellan slowly lowered her gaze and saw that Solas was holding a dagger, pressing the sharp blade into her stomach. Lavellan humbly closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. When she finally managed to open her eyes, she met the infinitely regretful gaze of Solas. He did not take his eyes off her. He could not move from the spot. Could not stir and finish what he had started.
"I understand," Lavellan said in a half-whisper and, unexpectedly for everyone, touched her palm to his cheek. Solas closed his eyes and gripped the hilt of the dagger tightly as the uncomprehending whispers around them grew louder.
"Why does he hesitate..."
"What is happening"
"Do you know anything?"
"What have you done..." Solas whispered quietly. "You knew what this could lead to. They thirst for your death... I," Solas faltered, increasing the pressure. Lavellan felt the tip of the dagger bite deeper into her skin, but she did not retreat. Solas looked into her eyes and saw with what ease and composure she was prepared to give him her life. He had taken lives with this dagger more than once, but this time everything was entirely different.
"I... cannot do this."
In an instant he faltered, turned the blade toward himself, seized Lavellan's hand, and pressed it to the hilt of the dagger. Lavellan's eyes flew open. She tried to pull her hand free, but Solas's grip was too strong.
"If you kill me, then everything will be over," Solas spoke quietly, not taking his eyes off Lavellan. "You will return to your life and your world will no longer be threatened by anything. You will return and say that the Inquisition fulfilled its part of the agreement."
"So you knew everything?" Lavellan asked quietly, continuing to try unsuccessfully to free her hand.
"From the very beginning. I always knew your every move, but you have surprised me again."
Solas's lips trembled for a moment in the semblance of a smile and he pressed her hand more firmly against the hilt.
"What is happening?"
"What does this mean?"
"What is he doing?"
Voices whispered, but neither Solas nor Lavellan had any concern for them anymore.
"Or," Lavellan began softly, "I will stay here, with your people, with you," Lavellan felt how at her words Solas's hand trembled and his grip loosened for a moment.
"What did she say?"
"Why is he..."
"Is there something we do not know?"
"The Inquisitor came to join us? Truly?"
"You do not know what you are asking for. We will have to do terrible things," Solas remarked coldly. "Your hands will be covered in blood and you will have to go against the entire world that you spent so many years so desperately saving."
"In your opinion, is your decision better?" Lavellan gripped the hilt of the dagger with authority, and Solas lowered his hands compliantly. The whispers turned into a murmur, and out of the corner of her eye Lavellan noticed how the archers drew their strings tighter, ready to rain a shower of arrows down upon her.
"You leave me no choice," Solas would not yield.
"All these years I have followed you. I know what you have done and yet here I am. The Inquisition helped me, but if I had to, I would have walked this path alone... I have made my decision. I chose a side from the very beginning. On the day you told me who you are and what you intend to do," Lavellan forcefully flung the dagger aside and it fell to the floor with a resounding clang. Solas did not take his gaze from Lavellan. He listened to her voice, saw how steadily she spoke, felt her beside him, and imperceptibly realized that his anger had given way to helplessness, and helplessness had dissolved into resignation.
"You will have to prove your loyalty to them, if you decide to join," Solas tried to suppress the feeling that had flared within him.
"What?" Shai cried out, lowering her bow but not easing the string. "The Inquisitor is joining us? After everything that happened? She will spy on us!"
Solas held a waiting gaze on Lavellan for several moments. He was giving her one last chance to retreat; Lavellan did not stir. The decision had been made.
Meanwhile, several more lagging elves ran through the eluvian. Suddenly, behind them a man in armor bearing the banner of the Inquisition leapt into the hall and cried out loudly. Lavellan turned and a sharp pang of guilt pierced her heart. She recognized Sutherland. His face and armor were covered in blood mixed with dust and dirt, and a broken arrow protruded ominously from his thigh. In the next instant Sutherland drew his bow and fired in their direction.
Lavellan raised a barrier preemptively and shielded herself and Solas from the flying arrow. In that same instant Shai released an arrow and struck the Inquisition soldier squarely in the chest, simultaneously with other arrows loosed at him. Lavellan watched with unconcealed horror as the man she had known for many years, a soldier who had striven his whole life to serve the Inquisition, fell dead and lay bleeding.
"It seems Inquisitor Lavellan has just made her choice," Solas said loudly, glancing at Lavellan with approval. "Make haste," he commanded. "We are leaving."
Shai looked directly at Lavellan. Her gaze was full of distrust and confusion.
"You all heard," Shai called out. "Help the wounded walk. We retreat!"
"But our people are still there..." the weeping of a young elf woman reached Lavellan's ears. "We will abandon them?"
"These are Fen'Harel's orders," Shai answered. "We are leaving."
Meanwhile Solas approached the eluvian and with a single movement of his hand made the mirror flare for a moment and go dark. The mirror was no longer active. Solas turned and found Lavellan with his gaze. She stood in the same spot and waited for him patiently. Lavellan, who had severed all ties with her former world to follow him, just as he himself had once done, long ago. No matter how much he forced himself to keep his distance and not think of her, she chose him again and again, every time. In spite of everything.
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My love,
forgive me. If you were here with me, I would carry endless regret. I could not bear the thought of the dangers you would face by my side. For no path is more dangerous than the one the Dread Wolf walks.
But you follow me relentlessly, and compel me to press onward toward my goal with greater haste. To finish the ritual, which will most likely consume all the strength I've managed to recover over these years. I don't expect to be granted a second chance to survive. I couldn't tell you this, but surely you've long suspected it, haven't you?
Vhenan. The ritual is nearly complete. I've made sure you and those dear to you are safe, both during and after the ritual. But I cannot protect you if you continue to follow me. I hope I will manage to complete what I've set out to do, and that after the ritual is done, you will make it here, to the Lighthouse, and find this letter, one of many written to you, but most likely the last.
If you're reading these words now… my heart, you must know I've always felt echoes of your fears and desires in my dreams. Even without the anchor, the shadow of your thoughts and your love haunted me through all these long years. I can no longer deny or silence the part of me that yearns for you, but I must do so all the same. I am so sorry. I hope we'll meet again in another world.
god shut your miserable ass up it was a fucking joke, get over it
lovers, well, do you see this? It’s so wonderful when fans of Trick Weekes’ crap just can’t not react to any criticism directed at them.
You know, that’s exactly the point. His statements and comments are meant for a specific circle. Haha, of course, they’ll find their audience, and I’m just happy not to be part of it.
And I’m not going to stay silent about it just because someone doesn’t like it. I’m having so much fun, god. Why should someone have to keep their opinion unspoken in digital space, while people like Trickster have the golden right to shit out whatever garbage they want? So cute.
Sit down, my friend, pour some tea, because I’m so inspired, and this anonymous comment just reminded me of the brawl in the comments last year about Solas and Solavellans. Let me remember. Hmm, I think it was before Veilguard, and I was hoping to get at least one romantic arc that would give me as many emotions as Solas’ romance. Do you feel it? It’s like I just stretched a red flag across the whole feed with this post :D
Anyway, I just replied to this anonymous message so everyone could see it and draw their own conclusions. This won’t be rotting in my unpublished. The guy who wrote this. Well, of course, there are plenty like you, and you have your opinion, and I have mine. I don’t get what you were trying to say with this))) that I should what? Change my opinion about the author’s disgusting behavior, who keeps pulling attention to himself just because he doesn’t even know what else to say or write? Hahaha, lol, alright. To me, he just humiliated himself with this one, making a whole puddle of shit around him. But hey, some people like it, what can you do? :>
I’m freaking out, seriously, how did they hand DA over to talentless hacks like Weeks and that other clown, Epler? Weeks is a guy who accidentally struck gold with Solas, but otherwise—he’s a zero, a void, a cheap hack writer. Taash? It’s nothing but a blatant rip-off cover of Karlach from Baldur’s Gate 3. Veilguard is an absolute disgrace, and Weeks, after losing his job, now just sits there, ogling streamers and figuring out how to ruin his ‘genius’ past even more. Solas was his one hit, his peak, and he went and trashed his own character. It’s like if Rowling went on X and said, ‘Harry Potter, by the way, was dumb as a rock, and his stinky socks made Hogwarts choke.’ Insane? Insane. But a self-respecting author wouldn’t pull that kind of stunt. Weeks and Co. are just the bottom of the barrel, and Veilguard proves it. They trashed the franchise, turned something great into garbage!
OH, I just found out—this Trick Weekes didn’t even come up with Solas! He just latched onto Gaider like a leech, and Solas isn’t even HIS character! Well, that’s it, he’s done, straight to the shitter for good. Haha, he’s an absolute ZERO! This guy’s been leeching off other people’s talent his whole career, and here I was thinking he at least created something himself. Nope, even his ‘bread’ is someone else’s work. Veilguard’s flop makes sense now—this hack can’t do anything but steal and ruin. Finish line, curtain down, get this clown outta here! His level is that plagiarized Taash.
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god shut your miserable ass up it was a fucking joke, get over it
lovers, well, do you see this? It’s so wonderful when fans of Trick Weekes’ crap just can’t not react to any criticism directed at them.
You know, that’s exactly the point. His statements and comments are meant for a specific circle. Haha, of course, they’ll find their audience, and I’m just happy not to be part of it.
And I’m not going to stay silent about it just because someone doesn’t like it. I’m having so much fun, god. Why should someone have to keep their opinion unspoken in digital space, while people like Trickster have the golden right to shit out whatever garbage they want? So cute.
Sit down, my friend, pour some tea, because I’m so inspired, and this anonymous comment just reminded me of the brawl in the comments last year about Solas and Solavellans. Let me remember. Hmm, I think it was before Veilguard, and I was hoping to get at least one romantic arc that would give me as many emotions as Solas’ romance. Do you feel it? It’s like I just stretched a red flag across the whole feed with this post :D
Anyway, I just replied to this anonymous message so everyone could see it and draw their own conclusions. This won’t be rotting in my unpublished. The guy who wrote this. Well, of course, there are plenty like you, and you have your opinion, and I have mine. I don’t get what you were trying to say with this))) that I should what? Change my opinion about the author’s disgusting behavior, who keeps pulling attention to himself just because he doesn’t even know what else to say or write? Hahaha, lol, alright. To me, he just humiliated himself with this one, making a whole puddle of shit around him. But hey, some people like it, what can you do? :>
I’m freaking out, seriously, how did they hand DA over to talentless hacks like Weeks and that other clown, Epler? Weeks is a guy who accidentally struck gold with Solas, but otherwise—he’s a zero, a void, a cheap hack writer. Taash? It’s nothing but a blatant rip-off cover of Karlach from Baldur’s Gate 3. Veilguard is an absolute disgrace, and Weeks, after losing his job, now just sits there, ogling streamers and figuring out how to ruin his ‘genius’ past even more. Solas was his one hit, his peak, and he went and trashed his own character. It’s like if Rowling went on X and said, ‘Harry Potter, by the way, was dumb as a rock, and his stinky socks made Hogwarts choke.’ Insane? Insane. But a self-respecting author wouldn’t pull that kind of stunt. Weeks and Co. are just the bottom of the barrel, and Veilguard proves it. They trashed the franchise, turned something great into garbage!
So this is, obviously, Hitman. And in Hitman you can pick up objects and throw them to cause a noise distraction. But you can also throw them at a person to sneakily take them out, particularly if the object is bladed/sharp or heavy. Now, the thrown weapon is programmed to home in on the target, but it normally moves so fast and the target so slowly that it makes no difference. Enter the briefcase. Intended for discreetly carrying weapons, but because of the briefcase’s size and bulk, it can be thrown, it has a much slower flight speed than, say, a knife or a screwdriver. But this meant that people noticed the trick, because they finally found a weapon that flies slowly enough to turn in mid-air. The devs patched this out of later games, the fans revolted - they wanted the janky homing briefcase.
Now we come to Hitman 2 (2019). The devs, as a joke, added a special variant of the briefcase to the game. So now, not only was there the ordinary briefcase, but a special version of the briefcase with minimum flight speed and perfect homing. Combine that with the one point in the game where a target can out-manoeuvre the inexorable march of the slow, flying suitcase, and you get one of the funniest gifs in modern gaming
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