Chapter Text
Solas’ mouth went dry. The world seemed to come to jarring standstill around him as he processed Dorian’s words. The rotunda was suddenly too loud and yet too quiet all at once, a deafening silence that beat in his ears in time with his heart.
Another elven dreamer.
Awake.
Like him.
He chastised himself almost immediately for the fleeting thought. There were others, but they were locked away in an eternal slumber until the time came for him to wake them up. There was the slim possibility that by some chance somewhere, some of the ancients had woken up…but none would have been found in Tevinter.
This woman, this now ex-slave, would have been born into an age where it was highly improbable to have manifested that kind of innate power with such an intense connection to the fade. It was near impossible because of the actions he had taken all those thousands of years ago when he sealed the Fade behind the veil. If Dorian was telling the truth…
She could change everything.
But that such a ridiculous notion—how could Dorian truly know? What if a demon had possessed her and granted her the ability to commune through dreams and weave the fabric of the fade? A possibility, a stretch perhaps...more believable than a dreamer born of this world.
To hear of someone from this era having such a strong affiliation with the Fade, and having the ability to reconstruct its very essence like himself…could there be more to this woman than Dorian is letting on? Or that he even was aware of?
The Tevinter’s voice broke him from his reverie.
“She reached out to me last night with such…urgency. Something is wrong and she couldn’t tell me, or wouldn’t tell me,” Dorian ran a hand through his mussed hair distractedly, worriedly, “She wants to meet in person and explain. I could tell something has her spooked. She normally doesn’t behave like this, she’s usually so composed. It was obvious she was worried about…something…I think something is haunting her,” Dorian massaged his head for a few more seconds before whisking his hand away in a flourishing gesture, “Regardless, she needs help and I just knew when I woke up I had to go to you. You’re a somniari, you would know what to do.”
Solas was flattered, but he couldn’t quite bask in it, not with Dorian’s concerns about his friend being plagued by some mysterious presence. It only supported his speculations of her being possessed.
“Whatever is haunting her must be drawn in by her power. The ability to walk the fade as I do is exceedingly rare by my research. There have been so few documented dreamers in recent history. I am hesitant to label her a dreamer when there could be other factors at play.” He said, letting some of his skepticism seep into his voice.
“Oh she is most definitely a somniari.” Dorian laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges as he spoke, “I am sure of it.”
Solas suddenly had a hundred questions brewing inside him—how did an elven somniari end up a slave in Tevinter? How did Dorian meet her? Who was this woman exactly? What caused now her to flee?
“How can you be so certain? How do you know this woman?” He settled on asking.
“That is a long story. One I promise to explain on the way.”
Solas quirked a brow, “On the way?”
“I’m meeting her in Nevarra, Perendale to be exact. I promised I would find her as soon as I possibly could. Jacques—I mean Inquisitor Trevelyan, has granted me leave to rescue her and I am permitted to bring along whomever he is not requesting on his outing.”
“This is surprisingly considerate of him.”
“He’s not entirely terrible all of the time.”
“Mmh.” Solas hummed, disbelievingly.
Inquisitor Jacques Trevelyan, descendant of the union between two well-known and wealthy families, one ruling from Antiva and the other from the Trevelyan Clan in the Free Marches, was a conniving son of a bitch and an arrogant ass, to put it simply—and Solas had developed quite a strong dislike for the man, and Trevelyan of him. Solas did not understand what Dorian saw in him—but that was not his place to judge his friend’s interests, nor any of his concern. Nor should he be thinking of Dorian as his friend, he tried to remind himself. He was not achieving much success on that front.
The Inquisitor never went out of his way to do anything that did not benefit him, either directly or indirectly in some manner--so what would Trevelyan gain from acquiring an elven mage fleeing Tevinter? Bringing yet another apostate into the Inquisition--that Trevelyan was using to practically reconstruct a new Templar Order with himself at the forefront--made no logical sense. Only Dorian, Vivienne, and himself were granted amnesty from the Order because of their affiliation with the Inquisitor.
Though Solas was felt as though his was wearing thin with each passing dispute with Jacques.
“We’re going to need to move fast. I don’t know how close that slaver contingent is to catching up with her, and I would very much like to intercept her before they do. I was hoping you would accompany me, I am going to need your help.” Dorian hedged, hopeful.
Solas shifted his weight as he contemplated the course of action he would take. There would be preparations he needed to make, things to consider, if he chose to embark on the journey.
He most certainly was interested in going—that was undoubtedly not in question.
The duties he would neglect here in his absence would cost him precious time, and resources he could not afford to waste if he left. Especially if the woman in question turned out not to be worth the risk. It would take weeks to venture to Perendale alone, not including the time spent trying to locate her within the town and then a few more weeks to travel back. Luckily, he could reach his agents and advise them through their dreams to carry out the tasks he would leave unattended, but he wouldn’t be in Skyhold to oversee certain…peculiar matters he had not even shared amongst his most trusted agents in the fortress.
But he could not stem the tide of rebellious emotion storming within him at the mention of this woman fighting for her freedom. This situation stirred up ancient feelings—ones a younger version of himself would have borne proudly—but he thought he had all but extinguished all of them and replaced them with guilt. This young dreamer would need guidance, and without the proper training she would become a beacon for powerful demons—too tempting for corrupted spirits to resist. Or worse, in the hands of greedy, power lusting Magister….
Solas fought against the surge of anger that last thought evoked, clenching his fists at his side. He made up his mind.
“I will accompany you. But first, I would ask to hear more about this dreamer of yours.”
Dorian gave a dramatic huff and shifted uncomfortably, “You will get one, I swear it, but please… let me get dressed. Like I said, it is a long story and I refuse to be caught in my nightclothes outside my chambers for a second longer.”
Solas rolled his eyes, “Come.”
With that he spun on his heel, gesturing for Dorian to follow him. He nonchalantly swiped the tome off his desk and tucked under his arm as he made his way towards the door that led out of the rotunda.
“Wait, where are we going? People could see me!?”
“Somewhere more private. You did not care that I saw you.”
“Yes but, well, you’re you. You hold no stock in appearances.”
This was true, and he made no effort to deny it.
“There will be seldom few awake and traversing the corridors at this hour. My quarters are secluded, no one will see us, if you are so concerned.”
“Kaffas, I swear if anyone does I will burn every last hideous excuse of sweater you own hanging in your boudoir.”
“I do not own a boudoir.” Solas said without turning back to see Dorian’s appalled expression.
“Where do you keep your clothes?!” Dorian questioned and moved to follow anyway.
As promised, they encountered no one on the way to the living quarters for the Inquisition agents in the West Wing of Skyhold. The higher ranking agents were given loftier rooms, and those who fell within the inner circle of the Herald were given the most accommodating quarters. Solas politely declined one of the more embellished rooms, seeking out a room he knew existed in the lower West Wing prior to arriving that would suit his needs.
After all, Skyhold had been his once.
By passing the main corridor in the West Wing, Solas kept going down the stairwell, and made an immediate left on the first landing. At the end of this smaller hallway stood an old ironbark door with a beautifully crafted tree spanning its entirely, a tribute to Mythal’s honor. A personal touch of his.
With a flick of his wrist, he unsealed the wards he had set to protect his chambers, and his door swung open to let him in. The faint smell of the lingering rosewood incense he had been burning through the night as he slept wafted over his senses as he entered the room, reminiscent of a time when Arlathan still stood in all its glory, incense burning the pyres that lined the crystalline streets.
He made a beeline for his bed on his left, which was draped in soft fur pelts to make the mattress more agreeable. He quickly deposited his tome in the bedside drawer and lit the candles that littered his room on the way to his desk. He seated himself and began to collect all the missives on its surface. Dorian couldn’t read elven, but regardless it made Solas feel more at ease to have them organized. He turned back to observe Dorian, whose mouth was slightly agape as he took in the chamber around him.
Solas’ room had a high ceiling, on which the outlines of a new fresco had been sketched out. He couldn’t quite seem to capture the image he wanted, frequently getting frustrated and returning to the rotunda to work on the public one when his inspiration ran out. His personal stash of art supplies was nestled along the right side of the room, an organized chaos, in front of a large elven styled tapestry depicting a beautiful dragon with its wings spread wide and breathing brilliant white flames into the sky.
What was hidden behind the tapestry was the true reason Solas selected this particular room as his own, for it was concealing a door that led into depths of the castle—a secret network of passageways that no one else knew about—save for himself and his agents of course.
Along the far side of the room, the side Dorian was most preoccupied with, were immense bookcases. The shelves were packed with rare tomes, exotic plants, ancient artifacts, and a copy of Hard in Hightown that Solas had yet to finish.
“I half expected your room to be dusty and dingy, but this is….” Dorian trailed off, crossing the room to where Solas was sitting whilst looking around, “actually quite nice.”
“I am capable of keeping nice things, Dorian.”
Solas reached for one last sheet of paper resting on the edge of his desk but quickly retracted his hand as he narrowly avoided getting it crushed beneath Dorian as the Tevinter hopped up and sat on directly on it.
Solas took a deep breath through his nose and clenched his fingers, watching the paper crinkle as Dorian made himself comfortable before finally noticing what he was sitting on.
“Oh, what’s this?” Dorian tugged the paper out from under him and quickly scanned its contents.
Solas stomach clenched.
Again, he reminded himself, it’s not as if Dorian was well versed in elven enough to decipher what was written on the parchment. And this particular note was not duty related, it was personal.
“Is this…a poem?” Amusement danced in Dorian’s eyes as he turned his gaze on Solas, who was glaring at him, “A love poem, perhaps? Did you write this?”
Solas tried to snatch it back but Dorian anticipated the gesture and yanked out of his grasp.
“It is, isn’t it? Has our humble apostate fallen in love? Writing sappy poems in elven to win the heart of some fair— “
“It is not a love poem, nor did I write it.” His second attempt at swiping the parchment ended with success, and he folded the paper neatly and tucked it into the stack of papers on the edge of his desk. “It is a song, one I have heard throughout many memories during my travels in the Fade. I have been attempting to track its source. I thought writing the words down would give me more clarity on its meaning, and origin.”
It was a half-truth.
It was a song he had heard numerous times in the fade, but he had first heard it while still in uthenera, tugging on the edge of his consciousness. It called to him though he could not place where the melody was coming from. It would appear in memories at random times—a pattern he could not decipher. Its haunting tune followed him after leaving uthenera too, invading his dreams when he least expected it. It was a pleasant distraction from the burdens of the waking world, though it sometimes drove him mad when he thought he was close to the source, the original memory, only to have it fade away into nothing but a chime as he would turn a corner or walk out of a forest.
And Wisdom had not been much of a help either. He sought his oldest, most dear friend’s counsel quite frequently on the melody, but Wisdom had only given him cryptic replies. The slightest of smirks at his frustration, and ending their meetings by saying “Patience, Pride.”
Wisdom knew something and was teasing him.
“I prefer the idea you were attempting to court someone with your poetic prose. But alas, have you found what you were searching for?”
“Not yet. But I feel as though I am close.” Solas steepled his fingers as he rested against the back of his chair, giving his full attention back to Dorian. There were more important matters to discuss than haunting melodies and mysterious whispers of memories long forgotten in this moment.
“Your friend.”
“Of course. We’ll start with the basics, yes? And you can ask any specific questions after. Her name is Ellana Lavellan, formerly enslaved servant from House Antonius—one of the oldest, most influential Altus families in the Imperium. They hold a lot of power within the Magisterium and many other families, including my own, have vied for their favor. My father, in the hopes of sparking good relations with the heads of House Antonius, Magisters Cato and Calista respectively, sent me to the same boarding school as their son, Regulus.”
Dorian paused for breath, considering his next words carefully.
“Imagine every horrid rumor you’ve heard about Tevinter Magisters.”
Solas gave him an unamused stare.
“Now imagine it three times worse than what you can come up with and apply it Cato and Calista. They are charming vipers, cutthroat and ruthless in their pursuit of power, notorious blood mages and scheming…I could go on but I digress. I pitied Regulus, his parents expected so much of him, much like mine. We became fast friends, for he turned out to be nothing like his parents, except for maybe inheriting their charm. How he managed to retain his humanity was most likely large in part by Ellana.” Dorian continued.
“How so?”
“She gave him companionship. He valued her opinion and grew very much attached to her. He was a lonely child, the sole heir of an entire prominent Estate and isolated from the world. He had no friends save for his texts, some of the serving staff and myself, until she came along. His parents pulled him from boarding school and got him private tutors because they felt the school was not meeting the standard they had envisioned for their son. I was permitted to visit, much the elation of my father, and on one of my visits I met Ellana.”
“When did she become enslaved to this family.”
“About twenty years ago. According to Regulus, they had gotten a new set of slaves to go with the additions being added to their estate, and one of the elven women would not part with a child, Ellana, so Regulus’ parents bought them both. Ellana’s attitude was…most difficult and Cato nearly had her executed for insubordination until Regulus intervened, pleading with his father to spare her life and let her be his servant, a playmate to keep him from being lonely. Calista sided with her son and of course two against one…. Ellana’s life was spared. And as she matured she proved to be the...oh how did Cato phrase it, ‘the best investment he ever made.’ Ellana turned out to be the most efficient spy—Cato worked her thoroughly to gain an advantage over his potential rivals within the Imperium, though she would on rare occasion lash out at him for it—when he would involve other slaves in his machinations. And he…lashed back at her twofold for defying him, unfortunately.”
Solas pursed his lips. He had a vivid enough imagination and enough experiences witnessing the torture of slaves to conjure exactly what this Magister might have done to one of his own that disobeyed his orders, or stood up to him.
He hated the man with a burning passion already.
“How did you come to be so close to her?” Solas queried, hoping his voice was calm enough not to betray the swirling storm of anger beneath his composed exterior. He wanted to sway the topic away of the brutal maltreatment that Dorian had been alluding to and prevent his stomach from painfully twisting any further.
“Well, I visited quite frequently during my adolescent years—and quite often in my young adulthood with Felix. Ellana was always present. And actually the first time I met her had been in a dream, I was thirteen. I had fallen asleep in Regulus’ study waiting for him to return from a tutoring session and found myself nearly scared out of my mind when he suddenly appeared—in my dream. He made me promise—to swear on my life that I would breath a word of what he was about to tell me, it was to remain a secret.” Dorian uncrossed and then re-crossed his legs, “Naturally, I had to know what he was keeping hidden so I agreed. And then Ellana appeared and literally reshaped my dream before my very eyes. He had kept her a secret from me, his best friend, for years—that’s how protective he is of her.”
A distant expression flitted across Dorian’s face as he remembered some unseen memory.
“The rest is history at that point. I was flabbergasted and intrigued and in awe all at the same time. After that, the three of us became very close. Messing around at formal functions—in between Ellana’s spying of course, studying late into the night pouring over old tomes and absolutely butchering ancient forms of Tevene, finding new places to explore in the dreams Ellana would create. Sometimes, Regulus and I would take turns teaching her basic spells—not nearly as many as she deserved. She’s got a sharp mind and she learned quickly. More importantly, we taught her ways to hide her aura from the other servants and of course, Regulus’ parents.”
“I am surprised they did not discover her sooner, if they truly are such powerful mages as you claim them to be.” Solas stated skeptically.
“Oh it took a lot of Regulus warding them off her trail, blaming ambient magic laying around on himself practicing new spells. Even I covered for her a few times while I was there. We had to be so discreet. It’s a miracle she lasted twenty years without being exposed, or worse, executed,” Dorian shuddered, “And obviously now, Cato and Calista have discovered her secret.”
“I wish we had more details about her escape, it would help us greatly if we knew the Magister’s motivations, beyond him wanting his slave back. It cannot be that simple.”
“The details of their discovery and her subsequent running I am not privy too—Ellana seemed too distraught to give a full story. I did not want to press her for more than she was comfortable with sharing. And she did promise to explain it all in person. But I do agree, there is more at play here than Ellana has led on.”
Solas hummed an acknowledgement as he processed this new information.
Ellana was a gifted mage with little to no training—nor safe environment to do so for that matter—that happened to keep her talents hidden for nearly two decades within one of the most powerful families in Tevinter. That spoke miles of her abilities, and untapped potential. If she turned out to be as skilled as Dorian was claiming her to be, she might just turn out to be a powerful ally if he was able to directly train her.
“We must be cautious. You must meet with her again and gather more information. It will only aid us in our preparations against the force pursuing her.”
“I plan on it, we briefly discussed meeting in a few nights if she could find me again—and when it would be safe for her to contact me. Whatever that means.” Dorian brushed off his unease with a flourish of his hand.
“If I could arrange to meet her in the fade with you, I would be able to provide extra defenses and create a more stable, secure environment for further discussion.” Solas mused.
“I would love to introduce you to her, as soon as possible. I, most unfortunately, do not possess the same ability as the two of you—which is why I sought you out. You might able to reach her first on your own—be able to help her in ways I was never able to.”
There was no mistaking the chagrined tone inflected in his voice.
“I will if I can. It will be hard to find her dreaming mind in the fade not being acquainted with her aura, the dreaming world is vast and ever changing, and so easy to lose track of someone or something you are searching for without a signal to navigate towards. Even for the most experienced dreamers, finding another spirit in that realm can prove to be a difficult task. And if I did make contact, I would not want to frighten her. She might mistake my presence for—
“A demon.”
“—a powerful spirit.” Solas corrected him, “They are one in the same.”
“As you have tried to lecture me before.”
Solas ignored the comment.
“I will reach out to you in the fade tonight, if you would permit it. We might have to wait for her to make contact with you first if I cannot locate her on my own.”
“That is fine by me,” Dorian agreed, “I don’t know when exactly she will reach out again. But if she does at least you’ll be there.”
More guilt rolled off Dorian in palatable waves, impossible to ignore.
“You are doing the right thing by extending your help to her now.” Solas offered quietly after a few moments of silence.
“I know. Looking back…there was just so much more I could have done. And I didn’t realize it.”
“You are doing your best to rectify that now. It is this moment that makes the difference.”
“You are right,” Dorian sighed, “Don’t let that go to your head.”
“I will refrain from gloating.” Solas quipped dryly, “Who else will be accompanying us on this rescue mission?”
“Jacques is most definitely going to ask Vivienne and Cassandra to accompany him, along with his advisors. And I think he is contemplating bringing Warden Blackwall as well—apparently a Warden will earn you favors in Val Royeaux or something of that nature. So besides you, I will be asking the rest of the inner circle, Varric, Bull, and Sera. Cole will most likely come regardless if I invite him or not.”
Solas would have felt more at ease if Cassandra had been in their party but as a Seeker she would hold rank over the Templars and be an invaluable asset for Trevelyan’s mission to Orlais. The Seeker and Dorian, and unmistakably Cole, were among the select few people within the Inquisition he could tolerate. More than tolerate even. Respect.
At least he would have Cole.
“Did you have any more questions for me regarding Ellana, or am I free to leave and pretend I was never in your bed chambers in this state of dress. What will people think.”
“For now, no. I will think on the details you have given me. If I have anymore inquiries, I will seek you out.” Solas gave a curt nod towards the door and continued to mull over this new information as Dorian instantly excused himself from his quarters.
Solas reinstated the wards with another lazy flick of his wrist as the door shut with an audible click. His mind was racing. This news had shaken his whole perception of the world as he had come to know it. There was so much at stake and yet here he was considering waylaying his plans for runaway slave.
It had not been the first time something like this sidetracked his intentions. History had an odd way of repeating itself.
His eyes roamed back to his bedside drawer where the missive from his agent lay waiting for his translation. There was a lot left to do before he departed from Skyhold.
And in so very little time.