Chapter Text
Prologue - Six months after the explosion at the Conclave
“Listen up, Dread Wolf,” Elias began dangerously.
Solas tried and failed to keep his face impassive; the sound of his own pulse roared in his ears until he could barely think. He brought magic just under the surface of his skin- the first in a series of spells to erase the woman’s memory if he could, and escape if he must. He focused on regaining control of his own body and expressions, trying not to give the Herald any hold while he scrambled to find a denial.
“There are exactly three people in this world who know who and what you really are,” Elias said in the same soft, clipped voice, moving on before Solas could even open his mouth. He suspected that at another time Elias would have greatly enjoyed stunning him into silence. “One is probably off wandering around somewhere turning into a dragon. One is me. And the other is your girlfriend that you profess to love, who we just dumped in the Fade. You caused all this, and now you’re going to undo it.”
That was not technically true, but no force in Thedas could have made Solas admit that to her. How much did she know? And for how long had she known it? Perhaps the bulk of his plan was still salvageable.
“Seriously . . . ?“ Solas began icily, but Elias cut him off.
“If you stand there and deny it, if you really intend to look me in the eye after everything that’s happened, after Adamant and Haven and Corypheus and this,” Elias held up her left hand for emphasis, which spat glowing green light throughout the room. “If you stand there and deny all of this, after you left Shadow Lavellan in the Fade to die when you told her you loved her, I swear by all my gods and yours I will break every bone in your face.”
Whatever response he had expected Elias to have over the loss of her best and oldest friend, this was clearly not it. Losing her companion had obviously unhinged her; the Herald had never spoken to him, or indeed anyone, this way before that he could recall. His compassionate, cautious friend had been replaced with an unrecognizable, vicious adversary that barked orders and somehow knew his most guarded secret.
“You have no idea how I feel about her,” Solas spat, much more loudly than he’d intended, “and I seem to recall I was not the only one who left her in the Fade to save themselves.”
Solas got the distinct impression that his “compassionate, cautious” friend had restrained herself from throwing half his library at his head with every bit of self-control she possessed.
“BEING DRAGGED BODILY FROM THE FADE BY THREE BURLY MEN, ONE OF WHOM I SUCCEEDED IN LIGHTING ON FIRE, DOES NOT EQUAL LEAVING OF MY OWN VOLITION!” Elias shouted, so loudly that he was surprised no one came to check on them. “AND BESIDES THAT, LOST ANY ANCIENT ARTIFACTS IN YOUR FRIEND’S BODY PARTS RECENTLY?”
She barreled on quickly, before he could work his way into a distraction or a rebuttal.
“So here’s how this is going to go, Dread Wolf,” Elias repeated with emphasis, as if daring him to try and correct her again. “We’re going to gather whatever supplies we need: lyrium, artifacts, anything you suggest, and we’re going back for her. You can pretend you don’t know how to do that for as long as you’d like. But I’m going to wait exactly 24 hours, and then I’m going to start opening rifts and poking around in them.”
Solas' eyes widened in dismay before he could stop them; he could tell from the satisfied look on Elias' face that this had been the reaction she was expecting.
“I figured we’d start here, in Skyhold,” she continued, gesturing over their heads at the castle in which they were standing. “This place is very old, isn’t it? Elven maybe?”
Solas bit back what he wanted to say about Elias’ ignorance as he looked for something- anything- useful to utter to dissuade such a disastrous plan. He shifted his weight but remained silent, and the knowing look returned to Elias' face, his feet betraying him while he focused on his mouth.
“No need even to travel, really,” she said, a chipper fragility belying the incredible danger of her proposition, “we could test my theories here—“
Elias, the compassionate woman who he’d never seen refuse a request for help, would never do that. He had a foothold.
“I do not believe you would intentionally endanger your own forces simply to test me,” Solas interrupted in a facsimile of his Humble Apostate voice.
The look Elias gave him was one of pure venom. “Watch me,” she whispered.
“And if that fails?” Solas challenged, heat entering his voice. “If that fails, what will you do then?”
“Well,” Elias began with a smirk. “I thought I’d try Kirkwall.”
“And after that?” he asked again. “When Skyhold and Kirkwall yield you no results? When half the world has been swallowed in your foolish quest, will it be enough?”
“Then I’ll try Nevarra!” Elias thundered, knocking the papers from his desk and slamming her fists into the wood for emphasis. “And then Tevinter, elven ruins, the eluvians! I’ll find Mythal in her Wilds and we’ll have this conversation again if we have to, because it’s never going to be enough! So either help me retrieve the woman you claim to love or get the fuck out of my Inquisition.”
Solas studied her face for what felt like an eternity, and at the end of it, he could not say whether or not she was bluffing. One thing was certain: he could not leave the Inquisition until he had his orb, or was certain it had been destroyed.