#solathena

Chapter 230 of Tales of the Fadewalker has been posted!

In this chapter- Athena goes home again. 

Chapter 239 - Little Moments 

Chapter 237 - Tales of the Fadewalker

Thank you for continuing to read my fic

Thank you for re-reading it and commenting when you do so.

Thank you for sticking with me with my waxing and waning muse this last year.

Thank you for being on this journey with me for the last 3 years.

Thank you to @solverne-02 for responding to my screaming questions about plots.

I promise I will finish this fic, I just don't know when.

I was tagged by the ever beautiful, ever amazing, @dreadhobo Solas x Athena (Solathena respectively)

So this was a terrible idea given to me by a few readers and @solverne-02 about what happened after Redcliffe to Athena and the others in the year before the Inquisitor and Dorian show up in my fic Tales of the Fadewalker. 

So I wrote it - trigger warning for minor torture and wounds - just in case.

It had taken three months for The Elder One to come to full power.  

Without the Mark, unnatural tears in the Veil conquered the skies.  

The members of the Inquisition that were in Redcliffe Keep fled when Dorian and the Herald of Andraste did not return. But without a keep such as Skyhold to protect them, the people of Haven fell.  

The final battle from the Chantry was led by Commander Cullen, who so bravely stared into the faces of a thousand demons and struck them down by one by one. Watching him fall was the thing to break the Inquisition’s resolve. When the demons broke through the Chantry doors, they did not kill everyone on sight. They were led by their corrupted Templar masters and ordered to drag the survivors back to Redcliffe for information.  

Corypheus and Alexius were still paranoid of the return of the one who could close the rifts. But even more so, his Nightmare Demon had whispered stories of one who had crossed the Veil. One who had crossed from worlds and clung to secrets of Thedas. Those rumors spread through the remaining members of the Inquisition and one by one they turned.  

You could have prevented this!

You knew!

Unfortunately, she knew. Even worse, she knew that they would all be destroyed in this reality. They would cease to exist the moment the Herald came into this reality and disappeared again. It was difficult to hold onto that hope when every day she was dragged through the sludge of Redcliffe’s underbelly and thrown onto a rack. They grew unique in their tortures.  

The obvious first was physical. She was lashed until the leather of their whip hit bone. She was held underneath water until she thought she would never know air again. Joints broken, skin torn, everything but her spirit was attacked in those opening days. All for shreds of knowledge in a world that didn’t matter anymore.

 Then there was the mental. The Elder One had endless demons at his disposal and Nightmare was particularly skilled in breaking through her walls. With a body that was barely a shell, how hard could it be to break though the mind? But she still held on, and with each passing day the screams faded. She had accepted her reality. She had accepted the future of the millions of stinging wasps that demons fabricated into her mind.  

The Elder One did not care for weakness, and there were no healers in their ranks. They had to force one of the Inquisition’s own to do that sort of work for them. So, every day, for months, Athena’s broken body was thrown onto a cold, hard table in front of an elf. The sight of him used to bring her joy, adoration even, but when her secret was revealed to the Inner Party he became as detached as the rest of them. He would fix her body when it was broken, mend the wounds and return her to her cell so that it could all be repeated the next day.  

It wasn’t until her mind began to break that she saw the first signs of sympathy on his face.  

There were no wounds to stitch together, no blood that was spilt. She was dumped onto his table a trembling shell of a person with his back facing him. There was no more life to her eyes, no more music, nothing but the darkness of what was left of the Fade. “What do you cling to?” He asked once the door closed. It was the first time they had spoken in weeks. He had no more words to say when he let her know what he thought of her knowledge, but she never said a word. She didn’t have the energy to.  

“Are they gone?” She asked, her voice a thousand miles away, trapped within the shard of light that was left in her mind.  

He nodded solemnly, his hands lightly touching to see if they had hurt her anywhere. She could feel that his aura grew weaker by the day and the red lyrium even corrupted his touch then. “They have turned the corner. We only have minutes before they return.” He whispered, his voice low.  

“I cling to knowing it could be worse. For everyone left.” The words tore at the cracks in her dry lips and she tasted blood. It was such a familiar taste to her she barely noticed. Still, he passed his hand over her face and healed that, as simple of a cut that it was.  

“I do not believe that to be possible.” He chided at her as his dwindling magic tingled over her lips. It was the closest thing she had to comfort those days. She reached forward and stopped his hand with hers. His gasp would have once brought her joy, but she was numb to the sound.  

“If you can trust me at all. . . trust me that it can be worse.”

They waited two weeks before bringing her to him again with actual wounds to heal. Each visit, they tried to speak more and more. From what she could gather, there were still a few of the Inner Party alive. She knew this because that time they had changed their routine with a mixture of the two. They had made her watch Leliana’s own process and for the first time she almost said something, but a very stern look from the former Spymaster gave her a bit of strength to keep her silence. So, there she lay, bleeding and cold, on the all-too familiar healing table.  

“There will almost be nothing left if you continue - “  

The predictable sound of a strike broke through the room and her eyes widened, hand clutching the table as fresh anger surged strength through her body.

 “Do your job, or you’ll join her next time.”  

They were left with their silence, but she groaned and pushed herself to a sitting position, ignoring the stretching of her back that brought even more bleeding. They had sliced his cheek open with the punch and even his blood now looked to glow with the corruption of the red lyrium. It pained her to see it, so she gestured for him to come closer. He looked to her with confusion, taking a step forward for her to do something she hadn’t tried in a long time.  

The magic was hidden within her, rolled up into a ball and placed underneath all of the pain, all of the non-stop suffering. The Templars knew how to contain such magic, but she had a glimmer left and she promised herself she would wait for an opportunity to end her own pain. She knew then that they would never allow that. They watched her sleep, the only time she had alone was when she was with him. If she died during her supposed healing, they would kill him in a moment.  

Too precious of a resource.

So, she unwrapped that gift, unrolled it until the magic tingled underneath her fingers and onto his cheek. He stilled under her touch, but did nothing but relax as what little healing magic she knew lightened the bruise and erased the small cut formed from an outlandish champion of Dumat. Somehow, she felt even more exhausted when he looked up but for the first time she felt a glimmer of happiness.  

“That was unnecessary.”  

Athena cracked a broken smile. “So is healing a dead woman, but you continue to do it anyways.”

She didn’t break, proudly, for almost nine months.  

The healing sessions became her reprieve, the few moments of her day where she didn’t have to worry about pain. That, in time, began to be used against her. There was a day where she was just hung from her chains, all day, with nothing but silence as her companion. It would have been alright, if not for the burning in her wrists.  

That was until the first stifled scream.  

It was deeper than usual, but somehow familiar. It was the same sound of struggle she had heard on the battlefield when he tried to cast a spell, or when he was hit by an enemy. He was never one to fully cry out, he was too restrained.  

Immediately she jerked against her chains, knowing exactly why they had started.  

“Stop it! Leave him alone!”  

Her voice was hoarse but she still cried out, her arms yanking the chains back and forth until they made a sound. The groans from the other room stopped. There were armored footsteps and then the door opened, the sparking eyes of a Red Templars piercing through.  

“That was quicker than we thought. Dumat – a fucking knife-ear? It’ll be over if you give us something, Fade-Walker. The Elder One is not a patient man.”  

She jerked against the chains, ignoring the way the metal pressed into her skin. “Like what? He already has half the world and an army of demons at his back.”

  There was another strike and a followed hiss of pain, the Templar not even breaking eye contact with her. She jerked against the chains and felt hot tears sting her eyes. It had been so long, she had forgotten what the feeling was like to cry. “There’s a Temple. . . “ Another strike. “A fucking Temple near the Emerald Graves – now would you please just stop?”

The Templar leaned over and raised his hands then the sounds stopped. “Tell me more.”

Athena shook her head, feeling a small bout of rebellion. “Not until tomorrow.”

 “That will cost you.”  

She waited a beat, shaking her head before meeting the soldier’s eyes. “So be it.”

That day had been the worst. But every strike was worth it, knowing she was saving someone else from getting the same. Plus, at the end of it all, they laid her worn body, slicked with blood, on his table. He, moving a bit more stiffly than before, still walked over to the table and began his duties the moment the door shut.  

“You did not have - “  

“Solas.”  

The tone of her voice was so definite, he didn’t say another word. She waited until halfway before twisting a piece of her hair, what was left of it, unsure of what to ask. “I need to ask you something.”

He made a small sound of acknowledgement as his magic worked into her back and her legs. Her voice dropped to as low as possible, as she gripped her upper arms and asked: “What happened to Felassan after you killed him in the Fade?”

The magic flickered in his hands but he did not stop. She heard him move and looked over her shoulder to see him looking to the door. When there were no footsteps, he looked back to her with a sigh. “It seems pointless to refute it now. When a person’s spirit ceases to exist in the Fade, their bodies loses that connection.” He gasped softly and looked over his shoulder before cursing under his breath. “But with the Breach and your physical weakness you will simply- “  

“Die.” The word felt like a relief in itself. They both sighed and she shuddered underneath the coolness of the table. “Can you do it?”

The magic completely stopped and she rolled over, onto barely healed scars, and met his gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest, took in a deep breath, and nodded. “What more could you be protecting?”  

“I will tell you. . . in the Fade – or whatever could be left of it.” He made a noise of frustration before the sound of footsteps interrupted it.  

“You need to focus past the red lyrium – it is difficult, but it is there. You have shown me your dreams before so it will be easier but we won’t have much time and it may not work.” The door opened and he stepped back to allow them to carry her back to her room. She was able to catch a glance at his eyes before the door slammed quickly behind them.  

Solas had been right, the red lyrium was like a swarm of angry insects buzzing around in her head. But past that, she saw green. It was fragmented, and hurt, but there were some remnants of the Fade there. Spirits were being torn through Rifts and it was difficult to raise a barrier to keep demons out, but within seconds he was there. He ran towards her, each step appearing as a flicker in time but eventually he came to her and she couldn’t help but wrap her arms around him.

 “You.” She finally answered, feeling hot tears of miasmic energy falling down her face from the strain of staying in the Fade.  

“What - “ He started to ask, his hands hesitating before holding her to him as if she were about to slip through.  

“You, Mythal, the eluvians, the fact that the Herald is coming any day now and this will all be a terrible nightmare – he cannot know this. I don’t know how much longer I can last and I do not want to be a liability for the Inquisition. I cannot let others die in vain.” His embrace grew tighter and he turned his head into the crook of her neck, his grip shaky as he nodded and whispered a mumbled apology into her neck.  

“Ir abelas, vhenan.”

The wind stilled as if to give him time to whisper. “I would rather put a knife through my own heart.”