Chapter Text
In truth, I rather missed him.
Corypheus.
He provided a concrete problem with a concrete solution, a fight I could count on. Fights, I could count on.
But I’d long since closed the remaining rifts, slain the last Venatori, hunted the Red Templars to extinction, gutted the final smugglers fool enough to continue their work, and when it was done, I wondered: what would Thedas do with a mage who outlived her purpose?
History had an answer, if I were brave enough to look.
Wherever they told me Surana and Hawke had gone, the truth was they were smart enough to run.
I wanted to.
Gods, I wanted to.
But I still held sway in certain circles, and I feared what would become of Briala if I no longer kept the bureaucracy from winding around her like a noose. I feared the humans would retaliate if her spies moved for revenge, and I feared the eluvians would be lost if they fell.
Leliana’s Chantry ran wild, and I feared the faithful would rise up should the Herald of Andraste disappear. Cassandra had begun to reform the Seekers, and I feared for the once-Tranquil mages who woke to find the world had gone on without them. I sheltered them in Skyhold, but if I were gone? I feared what would become of the elves if I no longer held the emperor by his rounded ear, and I feared what would become of them if they were wholly accepted.
Jovan had a human daughter now.
I searched the Fade for Mythal, and prayed to Dirthamen for answers, but of course I received none.
Answers were for Morrigan, born of an elven goddess, or Blackwall, now a Grey Warden in truth. I hoped Varric found answers in Kirkwall, and that Solas found answers in the Fade, but I found only questions.
Perhaps because I found no answers for myself, I sought to give them freely. I shed my contempt for the throne, and sat in judgement for hours beyond counting. I no longer called them petty land disputes or needless taxes, not when countries starved for lack of crops and coin.
If I’d played The Game before, I lived it now, and no one who came to Skyhold was turned away. So when Josephine discovered an unscheduled petitioner lurking at the door, she didn’t even have to ask. The woman, an elven soldier, carried a pack across one shoulder as she made her way through the great hall to stand before throne. She heaved her burden down to the dais, and the canvas parted to reveal a wolf.
Dead.
Another elven soldier approached to add a second to the pile, and behind him a third, and another and another until I counted forty-nine. Josephine’s eyes widened in confusion, and my own apprehension grew; it was not a human custom. At last a nobleman came forth with a white wolf slung over one shoulder, and he tossed it down to regard me with clear blue eyes.
His finery was unfamiliar, as were his features, though I knew a warrior when I saw one. His skin was dark from years of sunburn, weathered and scared, with crows feet pressed at the corner of each eye. Handsome, to be sure, but older than a soldier had any right to expect.
“Your worship,” he said, a sly smile spreading as he bowed.
I jumped to my feet, and bowed lower in return. Gaspard de Fucking Chalons.
“Your Imperial Majesty!”
“I am told that that among your people, a man declares his intent with the pelt of a wolf.”
Shock blew me back down into my throne. Had he gone quite mad?
“Your Impe—”
“Gaspard, if you please.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have brought a pelt for every thousand acres of land that I will cede to the Dalish for your hand.”
“That’s not possible.”
“That’s the entirety of the Arbor Wilds.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I believe you said that already,” he said, pale eyes glittering. “Am I not the sovereign Emperor of Orlais?”
“I’m…an elf, a mage!”
His laugh was warm, good natured. “I have noticed this about you, my friend.”
I was utterly speechless as ten thousand implications tumbled from the notion; not even Alistair had the power to make his Warden queen. Perhaps ambition was more powerful than love after all. Gaspard gestured and a servant darted to Josephine’s side, dipping into a bow as he presented a stack of documents.
“As her ladyship Briala, Marquise of the Dales, can attest, elves in Orlais possess full citizenship, including the right to hold titles and land. Effective today, elfblooded humans are no longer disqualified from the titles befitting their parentage. Orlais is not yet ready to bestow titles upon its mages, but we will honor any title a mage earns abroad. I suppose the Fade is abroad enough, in your case, Herald.”
“Dread fucking w—”
I trailed off, lost at the enormity of it. Madness. Complete madness. Briala must have been planing this for months. I loved her dearly, but she pushed too hard for too much too fast. I wanted everything she did and more, but three years was not enough for Gaspard to cement his rule. The nobility of Orlais didn’t simply grumble at how high he had raised the elves in that short time— Leliana had sent more than one assassin to quiet those who would undo our alliance.
I looked at the man again, having never seen his naked face. Gaspard stood every inch the soldier, lean, hard, wary; his time on the throne had not softened him in the least. I saw then that he spoke the truth. He would consolidate our power, and the brilliance of his proposal began to slowly unfurl.
Orlais cared nothing for the Arbor Wilds— too hot, too humid, too dangerous, too far from civilization. If it belonged to the elves and sparked a mass exodus, the better for us all. The nobles would practically finance the caravans to get rid of the knife-ears, and even the Dalish would gladly go if it meant reclaiming the Temple of Mythal. With Abelas gone, and Leliana assured me that he was, nothing would stop them.
Gaspard grinned with a surprisingly boyish charm as he watched the realization spread across my features. He’d make me the first elven noble since the fall of the Dales, an Empress. Something dark flickered across my heart.
I would bear him human heirs.
I gathered my wits, swallowed, kept my face a perfect mask.
“Josephine,” I began. “Will you make arrangements for his Imperial Majesty and his retinue?”
“Your Worship.”
My eyes drifted back to the pile of wolves, so freshly slain that not even flies had gathered. I whispered for Amalia and the pile began to writhe, scraping and scrambling to their feet as the dead became a pack once more. If he were unnerved by my magic, Gaspard gave no indication; good.
“My lord, I must take my…treasures elsewhere, but shall we dine this evening?”
“It would be an honor.”
Josephine’s quill danced across her writing-board, the arrangements all but made. I bowed once more for the Emperor and nodded my farewell to the court, trailing the undead wolves behind me. Training in the bailey stopped as we descended the stairs, and Cullen watched our procession from the ramparts.
“Dare I even ask?”
“I have a suitor, it seems.”
“And here I’d been thinking flowers…”
That brought a laugh. Cullen and I found the sort of friendship I once had with Dorian, teasing and warm, but toothless. Now I heard from Dorian only by raven, and missed him dearly. But the work he’d begun in Tevinter was too important, and I wished him nothing but success.
The white wolf brushed against my leg. Run with me, Amalia whispered.
Yes. Yes, I would.
We started slowly, an easy lope to take us across the bridge and then it became a sprint— a wildness that I'd forgotten piled onto a wildness that I’d never known, a once-Dalish elf running headlong into the woods as the beating heart in a pack of wolves.
~~~
In time, I came to find peace in hunting on my own.
It would never feel the same as it did with my clan, or even in Haven, but my aim had certainly improved. I tracked a deer so far as the copse of trees running along the eastern ridge of the mountain, a buck. It scratched at the snowy rocks to uncover a patch of spindleweed, and I nocked an arrow.
When he bent his head to graze, I brought hooked fingers back until they brushed against the rings in my ear. Ice crept along the shaft of the arrow; I no longer came to the woods to forget that I was a mage, but to remember. It was the least important of the powers I held, but the only one among them truly mine.
I held steady a moment, then exhaled and—
The hairs on my neck stood on end.
I held the arrow, held my breath, caught the aura of something behind me, a muted hum of unfamiliar magic. I let nothing betray that awareness, but strafed as if to get a cleaner shot. I kept my face toward the buck, relaxed in feigned confidence, and unfocused my gaze to pick up on the peripheral. There was something behind me, in the shadows to the right, and it was huge.
I couldn’t help but smile. Gods, I hadn’t been prey in years. Whatever blighted creature had wandered up from the depths would be in for a surprise. I had no home like a fight, and death? Death was my dearest friend. We feared no battle, sure in the knowledge that we ever and always held the upper hand.
So I licked my lower lip, adjusted my hold, and jerked around to shoot into the shadows. My arrow puffed into a snowbank, but I felt a ripple of movement across the veil. Fenhedis, it was fast. I pulled another arrow from my quiver, not yet willing to call the Anchor and destroy the unknown.
The woods had gone quiet. I called up my barrier and stalked through the trees, turning a slow circle but finding no tracks in the snow. A demon, then. Peculiar. It’d been ages since I’d given enough shits about anything to attract one, longer still since demons troubled this part of Orlais.
I caught a blur of motion and spun on instinct, loosing a fire arrow to blow back the shadows.
Oh, gods.
Fuck.
I stumbled back.
Solas.
Everything stopped, the whole world going shhhhhh and cascading down to a single point burning bright before him, my arrow stuck midair with a lifetime yet to go.
He was as he had always been, brows low and dark over stormy blue eyes and the faintest memory of a smile on his lips. Simply there, standing between the trees as if he’d always been there, as if he had every right to be there. In the forest. Just waiting for me to loose a slow arrow, just waiting to gently shrug from its path, just waiting to return fire with a look so fierce it could level mountains.
Even without a crown, he’d outshine my husband at court. The elf wore a handsome cloak of pitch black fur, its high collar grazing the base of his ear. It was there, of course. The wolf bone amulet. Peeking from between the folds of his robe, a slash of black against his crimson tunic, just above dark leather breeches tucked into lambskin boots.
But my body had known what my heart could not, and by the time I snapped back into the rhythm of the world, the fletching of another arrow was scraping against my ear. The static pop of electricity coursed across my skin; I was done with fire.
“Andaran atish’an, Inquisitor.”
The playful edge to his voice put terror in the heart of me, and something about his magic screamed out at me to run. He stepped closer and I stepped back, one booted foot testing the fallen log behind me.
“No.”
He frowned. “No you do not believe that I dwell in peace, or no you did not believe that I would return for you.”
“No, no closer.” I’d tasted his magic a thousand time before; this was simply not my Solas. “No, not 'Inquisitor'.”
Demons always left some telltale sign, some detail gone wrong, some hint of their true nature, and this one seemed thick with Desire. He stood with his legs wide and arms loose at his side, occupying space in a way that Solas never did. Cocky. I relaxed by a degree, letting the tip of the arrow waver from its mark.
“Imshael?”
He gave a little snorting laugh, “Do you meet the demon so often?”
“Choice Spirit,” I said, snapping the bowstring taught once more.
He laughed again, a genuine smile creasing each cheek in a way so perfectly Solas that it stole my breath. It was like something out of a dream, but I had no dreams. Not in years. I pushed up onto the log and took a step back, putting it between us, giving myself space so that if he lunged I’d still have time to aim.
And yet…
I wavered, then reached to flick at his aura, skimming just below the surface of darkened mana. I felt weird and throbbing, immense, like trying to fill a thimble in a waterfall. The magnitude of it called up a memory of another someone who’d never loved me. How about not so much? Just asking. For…not so much magic.
And yet…
And yet there was something familiar. A pinch of sugar baked into a loaf, a hint, a whisper, a memory of something sweet and rebellious folded into the very center. A secret. I reached again, feeling his mana swell against mine in a way that I’d very nearly forgotten, in a way I never thought I’d feel again. Little pinpricks flashed across my eyelids, a sting I could not afford.
“Solas?”
“I don’t use that name anymore.”
“What shall I call you?”
“Once you called me vhenan.”
Oh, gods, it was truly him. “Have you come for the Anchor?”
“I’ve come for you,” he said before adding, “if you will have me.”
“Five years may not mean much to you, but that’s five years longer than we ever had.”
“I did not wish to leave, but it was necessary. There is much to explain.”
Solas took a step closer, and I stood stock still. Something awful had happened. Not even the Well of Sorrows imbued Morrigan with the sort of power that swirled around him. Magic like that came at a cost, and I could not help but think of blood.
“What have you done?”
He shook his head, “Nothing but regain what was lost in slumber. Even now I have dimmed it for you.”
My heart skipped at the notion. “What?”
“I once said that I would not abide to share you with a shadow, but that was a lie. I was only ever a shadow for you, Rial. I would have you know me in full.”
“So you hunt me alone in the woods?”
“I would never harm you.”
“Sweet talker.”
The veil shifted around him, torrential magic rolling out in waves, power beyond any scope I could understand, beyond Corypheus, beyond Mythal. It thundered the mana from my pool, leaving me breathless and empty. If he wanted to kill me, if he wanted to take the Anchor, if he wanted to tell me a thousand pretty lies, there was nothing I could do to stop him.
What little electricity coiled around my arrow snuffed out, but I couldn’t bring myself to lower my bow. An arrow would do nothing against him, but it felt like the only thing between me and madness.
“Should I have requested a formal audience with Your Imperial Majesty?”
At that I laughed. “Oh, Maker forbid you settle for anything so mundane.”
“You swear by a new god, I see.”
“The other ones didn’t pan out.”
He grinned again. “Perhaps I can change your mind.”