Chapter Text
Dreadwolf: Eclipse
or
Our Half of the Sky
Fen'harel headquarters, location unknown, ??/Dragon
In a dimly lit room, a tall figure milled about, illuminated by a single golden candlestick.
He paced slowly, picking up papers at random and neatly stacking them on the desk and surrounding floor.
The man’s movements flicked up snowflakes into the stillness of the night from a cracked window, an icy aura of frost magic fixing the tiny crystals in midair.
A piece of parchment, browned with age, creased deeply as if read countless times:
“Love,
I was not even sure where to write or if you may even receive letters. (Despite her protests and thinking me half mad) Leliana assures me that her last action as my spymaster (before she resigns herself to the work of being The Divine) will be to find a path where my words may reach you.
Something about the idea that you may be constantly on the move but still receiving necessities puts me at ease. I hope every day that you are well… but I would understand if all my well wishes become kindling since paper burns so easily.
The inquisition still lives on as a peacekeeping force but each day I see more and more friends leave.
Maybe I only have myself to blame for finally telling both Ferelden and Orlais exactly what I felt. But what was I supposed to do? All our good work, rubbish!
At least, we did help some.
That will have to be enough.
I hope it may be for you too.
All my thoughts,
L”
A page of fine, green-dyed stationary, dotted with moisture long dried:
“Love:
I was saddened when again I didn’t hear word from you.
You’d think after ten and twenty times I’d learn to not get my hopes up.
But maybe all the books I’d wish for in the world couldn’t teach me that.
Today I catch the first ship back home to the Free Marches coast!
Halla lead me, I even miss the biting flies of the summer there.
Varric’s offer of a title wasn’t just an empty gesture but I’m thinking of turning it down. Could you see me as a royal?
It’s true I’m accustomed to the finer things now but oh- I just had a wonderful idea! More later, the courier says the letters go now or not at all.
It’s giving me flashbacks of “word for you”.
Yours with silly hope,
L”
A letter, dated many years ago, its words somewhat sloppy on the back of a faded notice for lute lessons:
Love,
Did you feel that? It was me hugging you! I can’t believe that the university accepted my sponsorship! It’s like a dream!
Varric was a little out of sorts, something about me having “nothing to prove”. Are we living in the same world? I have everything to prove, I said. I’m still myself after all, and without the accursed anchor, people see me even less now. “Sure, Sunflower, of course I’m happy for you, say hi to the library for me.” He added later (after I poked him with reason.)
Oh, the library! How could I forget the library?
Off! To organize my bookmark collection!
Yours gleefully,
L
The tall figure grumbled to himself as he dug about in a large leather chest beside the desk, then abruptly paused, lost in thought.
A large stack of tiny rolls of paper, as if from a carrier bird’s leg, it smells of faint perfume:
I dreamt of you again last night, the trees sang our song and then I nearly felt-
“My lord, the latest recruits are ready for address-“
Solas startled upward, hitting his head soundly on the chest's lid as he bolted to a standing position, whipping off his hood.
“Can’t you see that I am yet busy?!” he bellowed at the guardsman.
The small elven man cowered in the doorway.
His eyes shown with a vivid fear, unmistakable to Solas as one of the many recruited from the southern alienages.
“A thousand pardons, sir. I, I-”
“No, no,” Solas lowered his tone carefully, extending a hand to pat the guard, though the smaller man almost winced.
“ I shall be out shortly, but perhaps you can help matters-now where is it, yes-“
A paper at the top of a stack of fine envelopes tied with twine, all addressed in a similar fashion and dated recently:
Professor Lavellan, Elven Antiquities
University of Orlais, Ancient Studies Department
With warmest regards from Her Eminence, Empress Celene of Orlais.
It is with great regret that we must inform you that the royal family has no recollection of any individual under its employment by the name of Briala. Nor has there ever been such. We wish you all the best in your future discoveries within the hallowed halls of historical endeavor.
The empress’s seal, a blend of blood-red wax and gold gilding, glints in the moonlight at the page’s bottom.
"Any word on the Briala affair?"
"No, Lord."
"So very typical."
A single scrap of parchment, bearing simple flowing elven script written in red berry ink, turned over and over again in his long fingers before being securely tucked into a pocket at his chest:
The world needs you.
L
҉ ҉ ҉ ҉
The cavern adjacent to his office nook under a low balcony of stone possessed the grandeur of a great hall, fashioned naturally over centuries from limestone dripping to form stalagmite-lined ceilings.
Heavens, were there always such crowds gathered here?
Every time he chanced to look up, it seemed a hundred more had joined the crowd. Mostly elven, which came as no surprise, but now there were large collections of humans, qunari, and even a few dwarves as well.
They varied in all manner of dress and armor as he sent them out again and again, lest too many remain in one place.
The tasks were mostly simple and harmless busy work, but they seemed to be progressing well and remaining hopeful.
He noted a new group of city elfs among the din and gave them a welcoming nod. He swore he heard one of them squeal and fall, requiring a neighbor to fan them.
Tapping his staff sharply on the balcony railing, he commanded the attention of the surrounding crowd, reluctantly raising his voice.
"You’ve trained well, recruits, but only one may have the honor of becoming the guard for our most senior agent."
He paused for effect, letting the weight of his voice settle upon them, the murmuring that was all but deafening a moment ago falling silent as a deep road.
"Listen well, all new arrivals, as you bear witness to this day and what the final choosing of a champion for Fen'harel beckons."
He swept back the fur edge of his black cloak, letting it flow like a rippling cloud.
“Our enemies think me a tyrant, an unfeeling monster intent on wiping all but Elvhen from the world in search of power. But know this, though it be the title I invoke, I do not stand to lord over anyone!”
Clasping his hands behind his back he spoke evenly. Carefully.
Hopeful. Gentle and approachable.
“Wherever there is the hopeless slave tied to their master?
I stand beside them.
Wherever there is a dwarf or tal-vashoth banished from stone or their way?
A human farmer starving by the hand of the corrupt?
I will not be shaken in my protection.”
Had he still the ability to tell how he sounded to others?
Curse this fadeless world of social cues!
They were afraid of him; he saw the measured staring, the reverence that came just before bowing, painting their faces.
Not again. No-
“For all peoples that may be helped by the song of magic once more shall know the name of Fen'harel, no longer as a whisper, but a great howl!”
The cavern erupted in applause as he let out a short howl and swiftly ducked away.
Why did they always expect a howl?
No matter, it was nearly muscle memory at this point.
Oh, to have the tranquil calm of his painting studio once more…
“Come with me,” the guard nearest Solas’s balcony perch spoke gruffly, selecting a figure from the nearest group of armored mages.
Bitter resolution turned over in his mind as he fade stepped back into his private chambers. He had not left the confines of the stronghold for many weeks, his head buried in papers and his body worn thin by lack of sleep and little more than wine.
“Report?” he asked, making a silent hand motion for the guard to be quick.
“Elven.
Dalish habits, face unmarked.
Specialty: Pyromancy.
Higher discipline: Knight Enchanter, Lord.”
“Fire? Such an elementary calling, a child’s toy, and knight enchanter, so headstrong a path.”
Solas allowed himself a chuckle that he supposed sounded casual to the guard.
Instead, he saw the color drain from her face.
“Did I not say repeatedly that I required a rift mage as my very first? This is unheard of, but… fine.”
He brought a hand up to rub at the start of a headache between his eyes.
“Let me see this candidate for my tests. You may leave us.”
The guard “Yes, my lord”ed and “right away, my lord”ed out the door with the speed of a frightened rabbit.
The figure before him was nearly a head and a half shorter than his own, with a slim build compared to any human.
A tufted braid of auburn hair was tied in a small twist, falling over her wide forehead beneath her cloak.
The edge of a wide nose showed traces of having been broken long ago, and a deep scar embossed a full upper lip.
All were telltale signs of experience in the field that met with his silent approval.
“You there. You show great promise, so I am told. Our future will be done.”
“Yes, Lord Fen'harel,” the recruit spoke evenly in a low voice, accented with both Dalish and Orlesian tones.
“You have been with us how long now?”
“Three weeks, Lord.”
Hm. Curious .
“Only weeks, truly? And you wish to pledge yourself to this: my cause as my truest first, champion, and knight, forsaking your path before this day forth?”
He circled the woman, tightening his path with each pass until bending to her eye-level with a narrowed glare.
“I can think of no other path,” the hooded figure lowered her head even more in reply.
Fear?
But she did not shake, as he was so accustomed to. The steady head of command.
Good…
“What have you to say of your abilities that would be of such extraordinary merit?”
“I confess I know not much of what makes merit, Lord…” the recruit replied, dipping in a half-curtsy. “But I have been told I have indomitable focus.”
The hood came off then in a flick of pale turquoise fabric. An unmistakable freckled face he had only seen for years in dreams smiled.
“My heart,” he felt his senses quite leave him and the world fall away.
The elven mage Beth’hauen Lavellan, once called the Herald of Andraste, shook her head slightly and clicked her tongue, looking up at him with bright, tear glossed hazel eyes.
“My love, did you know you’re very hard to find?”