Archive of Our Own

They walked under the stone archway hand in hand, the swirls of mist rising from the waterfall and flowing past them like rivulets of smoke. “The Veil is thin here,” Solas said, his nerves compelling him to break the silence. “Can you feel it, tingling on your skin?”

Iris arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know about you, but my skin is tingling for completely unrelated reasons.”

Her thumb stroked over his knuckle, and it sent a shiver up his spine as if to underscore her point. He attempted to chuckle in response but it came out choked and strange, which only made Iris smile wider.

Of course she knew what she did to him. She had known before even he did. He kept his thoughts on this to himself and led her over to the blanket he had laid out on the grass. Iris, never one to wait for permission, sat and pulled him down next to her.

“I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he said, his heart pounding as he took both of her hands and met her gaze with his own.

Iris’s eyes sparkled and her grin turned practically feral. “I’m listening. Though I could offer some suggestions.” Her voice caressed him like silk on bare skin.

Blood rushed to his cheeks. And other places. He had forgotten how intense and immediate a physical form could be. His body demanded and his mind played catch-up. “I shall bear that in mind,” he managed to reply, wrenching his thoughts back onto the prepared track.

“For now, the best gift I can offer is… the truth.” What a weighty word that was. The first line of a confession. He had lied to her, to them all, lied with every breath.

*Only lies of omission,” said a part of him, the part that was cunning and careful. The part that would do anything to achieve his goals. Solas silenced this voice, as he had often done lately. However twisted this world was, she deserved the best of him, and so far, he had given her only scraps.

“You are unique. In all of Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me. More important than I could have imagined.”

Her gazed softened now, laying bare the heart beneath all her witty banter. “As you are to me,” she said, squeezing his hands, tipping her head toward him in mute invitation.

*Fenedhis.* What he wanted was to kiss her, preferably over and over again until all that existed was the two of them, letting the world outside vanish for a day, for a century perhaps.

But no, love and lies of this magnitude were incompatible, as he had cause to know. He swallowed past the knot in his throat, looking at Iris, and past her, to the stone halla watching over them. He only wanted another moment to collect his thoughts, to marshall his resolve, but a memory overcame him with the suddenness of a spring downpour.

**********************

“Look at this creature and tell me what you observe.”

His eyes flicked sideways to Mythal’s face, trying, out of habit, to guess her intent though, as usual, her face betrayed nothing. She was both his mentor and his oldest friend, famed for her subtle wisdom. This was the kind of question she used to test his knowledge and observation skills though this happened less and less as time passed. Five winters had come and gone since she had helped him to manifest, and though he was still young as the People reckoned things, she usually treated him as an equal.

Or as near to an equal as an Evanuris could treat one of their bound servants.

He turned to the object - the being - of interest. They were in Mythal’s private garden, a place normally protected from trespassers of any species, but there in the middle of the floating lanterns, burbling fountains, and the mingling perfumes of a hundred different blooms was an animal.

In appearance, it was a bit like the deer that roamed the forests of the material world, but it had a pure white pelt, and rather than the branching antlers he was familiar with, silvery horns twisted upward in an elegant spiral. When he approached, the animal looked up, eyeing him with unusual intelligence. Intrigued, he opened his eyes to energies of the Beyond and gasped.

As ever, the spires of Arlathan gleamed, connected by the incandescent threads of power that had spun them into being. The forms of the Elvhen flickered like stars, the intensity and hue of their spirits tied to their magical natures, And when he looked at the creature, it glowed in much the same way. Not with the intensity that he or Mythal did, but still…

“This animal is tied to the Beyond, like children of the People who are born to the material world,” Solas said, trying to temper his excitement for politeness’ sake.

Children could be a touchy subject for Mythal. She had been cast as Mother to the Elvhen people, but she had only one child of her own. Dirthamen was one of the first of the Elvhen born in the material world, and at the time of his birth, many of the People looked down on the ‘People of Earth.” They were helpless as infants and tiresome as children, wholly dependent on their caretakers, and though their skills with magic grew with time, they would never have the ease or depth of understanding of one born to the Beyond.

Of course, there were advantages that had become apparent as these children grew. Their physical strength and resistance to the mercurial conditions in the ebb and flow of magic had become a cornerstone of Elvhen society. But Mythal never forgot the fear she had felt for her son, and the bad choices it had caused her to make.

This time, however, she showed no reaction to this oblique reminder of the past, and he continued. “I am not certain whether I am more interested in how this was done or why someone would bother. It is somewhat miraculous that it hasn’t driven the creature insane.”

“Quite,” Mythal replied with an upward quirk of her eyebrows. “This, I am told, is called a ‘halla’. A creation of Andruil’s new favorite, Ghilan’nain. According to her, they are intelligent and sure-footed, making them a challenge to hunt, but they are tame-able, with patience, making them valuable as beasts of burden on less certain terrain. They can even navigate the Paths by instinct, provided the doorways are open.”

“Impressive, if true. Certainly less flashy and more utilitarian than the ‘flesh-artisans’ usually produce.”

It was a newer craft, practiced primarily by highly placed followers of June, but most of their creations were animals from the material world mutated by magic, big cats with wings of light, horses who changed color to match the rider’s mood, snakes whose bites caused harmless hallucinations or sexual frenzy. In contrast, the halla appeared, at a casual glance, to have no magical abilities. It was simply a new kind of animal. “Can it be bred?” Creatures of magic were rarely stable enough to breed at all, let alone true to their parents.

“That is the promise. She has a whole herd of them at Andruil’s temple here. Ghilan’nain gifted this to me in hopes that halla will become a fashionable status symbol, giving her the means to fund other research,” Mythal said with a hint of grudging admiration. It was certainly an impressive display of skill, one that would only truly be appreciated by those familiar with the craft.

“Shrewd of her, though I am surprised Andruil would allow such a blatant display of independence.”

Mythal nodded and beckoned him toward the garden’s exit. Neither of them spoke until they were in her inner office, layers of warding and silencing spells ensconcing them in a cocoon of quiet and stillness that was, even now, a bit off-putting. “So, you see that she may be a dangerous new opponent.”

“Ghilan’nain? She’s certainly more powerful than I would expect for a pet of Andruil’s.” Andruil was a creature of brute strength rather than strategy, and would not abide any rival. Perhaps she had fooled even her patron. *Not a terribly difficult task.*

“Exactly my point,” Mythal said, drumming her fingers on the long stone table that served her as a desk. As large as it was, the only time he had ever seen it be less than immaculately clean was in the middle of a war meeting. Like much of what the Evanuris did, the size was mostly for show. “She is powerful and clever, her motives unknown. We need more information.”

Solas was never sure if he was included in the ‘we’. “I take it you would like me to investigate.”

“Obviously. As luck would have it, there have been sightings of Geldauron to the northwest. And a dragon.” Dragons were Mythal and Elgar’nan’s most closely guarded treasure. The breeding females were hidden in a realm that not even Solas had access to. They occasionally released young for hunting and harvesting, but every individual was accounted for, practically down to the scale. There were only a few reasons for an unknown dragon to suddenly appear, and none of them were good.

His eyebrows flicked upward. “So this is to be a side trip?”

“A discreet fact-finding mission on the way to a more overt fact-finding mission,” she countered, pulling a memory crystal out of her pocket. “This contains all the information I have about Geldauron and his ilk, as well as a few contacts among Dirthamen and June’s people. I know those are the only courts you can stomach.”

Solas took the crystal and put into the bag at his side. There was, no doubt, useful information there, but likely little that he did not already know. The purpose of the stone was mainly as a decoy, something for spies to find and enemies to overhear, just enough to keep them from looking deeper.

“I will tell you that Ghilan’nain is supposed to be staying at Andruil’s main residence just outside the city, but my contacts believe she is much more likely to be headed to the northernmost summer lodge, which seems to be her main workshop.”

“Very well,” he said. “I will leave early tomorrow morning.”

****************

He found her first in the forest. Or rather, she found him.

Utilizing his favorite animal form, he had installed himself as leader of a local wolf pack in order to scout the area. No fights for dominance or other dramatics were involved; the breeding male had been killed by Andruil’s hunters during the winter, leaving just two rangy sub-adults trying without much success to feed their mother, who was due to whelp any day.

Both the half-grown pups and the matriarch had accepted him as a member of the pack with little complaint, which meant he would have the young wolves as company whenever he scouted. A lone wolf was both unusual and vulnerable, a target, but three wolves on the trail together were unremarkable and best left alone.

Underfed as they were, the young wolves taught him much of local area: where the hunters camped and patrolled, areas frequented by the ever-dangerous great bears and the even more dangerous wyverns, as well as the locations of old dens for hiding, fresh water sources, and game trails. In return, he taught them how to catch fish in the stream, find eggs in nests, and dig up forgotten fox caches. He showed them how to escape from the snares of hunters, but his hope was that showing the youngsters these supplemental food sources would keep them well away from the lodge. They eyed the halla pens with drooling avarice, but he knew that even an unsuccessful hunt would lead to swift reprisal.

As the fourth day dawned, a horn sounded in the distance, announcing that Andruil’s folk would be hunting in much more extravagant fashion. The sensible thing to do, as a wolf, would be to hunker down in the den until they left. But the upheaval was a perfect opportunity to try to get closer, maybe even see Ghilan’nain in person.

Besides, he could tell by scent that the mother wolf would soon be in labor. She would not wish his, nor anyone’s, company during this process. So, after dropping a fresh-caught fish at her feet, he led the youngsters out on the trail.

Even before he had taken a body, he had loved this form: the joy and freedom of running on swift paws, the scent of pine, dead wood, and damp earth, the wind rustling in the leaves, the trilling song of birds, even the shrieks of alarm and the flurry of wings when they sensed his approach. All filled him with joy. As much as he disagreed with Andruil’s methods, he understood her fascination with the hunt. There was nothing quite like the rush that came at the end of a long chase when the hot blood filled your mouth.

Solas caught the scent of hare on the wind, and led his charges in a wide circle so their prey wouldn’t smell them coming. It was coming onto mating season for rabbit-kind, so the bucks were growing restless and wild. Easy prey, with a bit of clever planning.

In a grassy meadow, they found a group of does nibbling on the dewy clover, watched over by several jostling males. Once the young wolves were concealed in the long grass on either side of the clearing, he waited for the perfect moment, when two of the bucks started a scuffle over whatever social hierarchy rabbits possessed. Solas darted in, jaws snapping, not actually harming any of the animals, but driving the panicked creatures toward the waiting youngsters. The males, eager to prove their prowess, practically dove into the wolves’ jaws. Solas only lamented that in his current form, so many soft hides went to waste.

Even as he congratulated himself on a job well done, the younger of the two wolves, who he’d taken to calling Virevas in his head, pricked up her ears, her hackles raised. Her brother, Virnehn, followed suit, and Solas too strained to listen. Fainter than the breeze through the treetops, came the sound of a distant snarl.

All three wolves sprinted toward the den. As the largest, Solas ought to have been able to outpace them, but they had been born in this forest. They knew every trail and tree stump in their bones. Solas’s lungs burned as he raced to keep up, and still Virhnehn was the first to reach the den. His snarl followed by a yelp of pain sent Solas’s heart into his throat and gave him the strength to sprint those last few yards, and he skidded into the clearing to stand over the fallen pup before he even knew what he was facing.

Three hunters of Andruil faced him with arrows nocked, each clad in blood-red leathers, their faces obscured by masks fashioned in the likeness of hawks, sharp beaks and fierce eyes framed by upraised wings.

Solas’s heart thudded. An arrow could kill him just as easily as one of the others. Magically, he could overpower them with a thought, but he knew there were others watching. Mythal would be furious if he revealed himself for so trivial a reason, but he knew the mother wolf still lived. He could hear her heavy breathing behind him, and from the scent of blood and amnion, she was deep in the throes of labor. What sort of coward would hunt a creature as she brought forth new life? The obscenity of it made his hackles rise, and he snarled again.

“What a fierce defender,” someone spoke from the shadows, the voice so high and cheerful that it might have been mistaken for a child. But the being that approached was no innocent waif.

She was small and slender, straight hair the color of ripe berries trailing behind her like a curtain, her flowing robes so white they dazzled the eyes. She approached him fearlessly, reaching out a slender hand, and his ears flattened. No one in their right mind should try to touch a wild wolf, and it was clear by the scent of her spirit that something inside Ghilan’nain was deeply, perhaps irrevocably, broken.

He knew it was her immediately, and not just because of the way the hunters hurried to defer to this frail-looking elf. Her bare forearms were criss-crossed with knotted scars, and one of her eyes was milky-white, lazily gazing at nothing. The story of her rise had apparently been more truthful than he expected. Her other eye was a sphere of unknown material, perhaps obsidian or stormheart, inscribed with glowing runes. This eye was staring right at him, and he knew, somehow, that she knew exactly what, and perhaps even who, he was.

“What an interesting specimen you are,” she said, smiling in a way that any predator would recognize. The thing about predators was that you were in the most danger if you ran.

He matched her stare, a deep growl vibrating in his chest. Her smile widened, but she backed off, turning her gaze to her underlings. “Surely, there is better sport than this. Bring me a wyvern heart or something.”

“But, my Lady,” the lead hunter interjected, his downcast eyes flicking toward Solas. “Lady Andruil would not like for us to leave you alone here.”

Ghilan’nain’s gaze could have felled a mountain, though the tone of her voice was unchanged. “I have my own defenses,” she replied, and for a moment the world seemed to contract, flexing inward like the ribcage of an inhaling giant.

This level of power, this mastery of the material world, was almost unheard of. Solas was powerful, but his strongest talents lay in the Beyond. He couldn’t imagine what sorts of wonders (or horrors) she could create.

The hunters all shrunk away from her, visibly trembling. You had to be fairly fearless to serve Andruil, but her violence was straightforward and finite. She got angry, tried to strangle or stab you, and either you lived or you died. If you lived, you might actually rise in station because she valued a person with fortitude.

Solas could already tell that Ghilan’nain was different. She held grudges, and she would enjoy playing with her victims. The hunters had no interest in being on her list.
“As you wish, my Lady,” the leader said, chancing one more glance at Solas.

“Don’t fret about that one,” Ghilan’nain said airily. “I can tell we’re going to be great friends.”

*********’

They stared at each other in silence for several minutes as the sounds of the retreating hunters faded into the distance. After a minute or two, Virnehn rose stiffly to his feet, bleeding a little from a shallow slice across the flank, and received several joyful nuzzles from his sister. The wound would heal, which comforted Solas immensely, but he kept up his guard up as the youngsters went to their mother, who was attempting to retreat to the den without attracting anyone’s attention. The three wolves gave Ghilan’nain the widest possible berth, but she appeared to pay them no mind.

“So,” she said finally, in a tone that suggested they were chatting over a light brunch at a cafe, “You must be a spy for one of the Evanuris. I can sense the power radiating from you, and a lesser house could hardly afford to waste such skill on a scouting mission. An assassin wouldn’t bother with a cover, especially one so…..domestic,” she added with a laugh. “Won’t you tell me who you work for?”

As he suspected. He let his hackles lower and his growls subside, as there was little point in posturing, but if anything, he was more suspicious. *How would this benefit me?* He replied in the resonant voice of the Fade. *Betraying my patron only creates two enemies from one.*

“What makes you think we’re enemies? We are both servants of others. Perhaps our goals align,” she said, her high voice sliding into a sensual purr.

Something in him responded, as if her voice was a caress on bare skin. *I highly doubt that* he replied, but with less surety than before.

Ghilan’nain laughed in the knowledge that she had affected him. “I think we have a great deal in common, Mister Spy, but I can see you don’t trust my intentions. Let us agree to part ways, for now.”

He could sense the unspoken threat. Do not come nosing into my business if you wish to remain at peace. *And later?*

“I believe there is mutual benefit is us getting to know each other. The next time I’m in Arlathan, I’ll be sure to look you up.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, but turned away and melted into the forest.

Was she invisible? Had she turned into an animal? Had she even been there at all? His magical senses showed him nothing out of the ordinary.

The young wolves came out a few minutes later, giving him many relieved kisses. Deep in the den, he could faintly hear the grunts and squeaks of newborn pups, but he doubted the whole litter had been born in so short a time, so he decided to stay out of the way. With the young wolves curled around him for reassurance, he guarded the den through the night, dozing only lightly.

In the morning, he tread cautiously inside, giving an inquiring whine. The mother wolf raised her head wearily and regarded him for a moment before her tail gave a cautious wag. He moved slowly and carefully into the birthing den and sniffed each of the five squirming pups. All seemed healthy, whimpering and nosing at their mother’s flank for more milk.

He touched noses with the mother to reassure her. Yesterday had been a frightening ordeal for everyone. She flicked her tongue over his jaw, mute thanks for the protection and food he had provided at a critical time, though in practical terms, they were not a mated pair.

As wolves often mated for life, he knew it would be cruel to stay too long, but the pack was at their most vulnerable with the mother unable to hunt and the pups wholly dependent on her. He would stay until their eyes opened and the mother was able to leave the den. Perhaps he could find them a new den, farther away from the lodge.

Mythal might be annoyed that he had found out so little, but the extra few weeks would hardly matter in comparison to the pace of Elvhen politics. He could allow himself this respite.

****************

He returned to Arlathan months later in triumph, having roused a number of Geldauron’s followers to rebel against his rule, leaving him vulnerable to capture. Even Mythal was impressed he had managed such a feat alone, when she had expected only information.

“I can hardly take all the credit,” he countered when they were finally alone in her smaller audience chamber. “I simply stoked existing resentment, and his own people did most of the work.”

“Even so, it is an impressive victory. A talent others here might find threatening,” Mythal said with a smile that was both indulgent and calculating. “However, we have yet to speak of the other matter I asked you to look into. Did you find any success?”

“Less than I hoped, but not none. Our target is much more powerful than reports would have us believe,” indicating with his eyes that he had more to tell, in a better protected locale.

Mythal pursed her lips, exhaling sharply. “As I feared. We will have to speak on this later. Elgar’nan intends to hold a festival to honor your victory at the rising of the full moon, and I suspect we will have little time for other matters,” she said out loud, but her hands flashed a series of gestures that said something else entirely.

In Arlathan, it was just after sunrise. The wealthy and powerful rose late, so the city was quiet but for the unnoticed toil of the thousands of laborers who made sure food was cooked, privies were cleaned, and crystal spires continued to stand. But where Solas was, a sliver of crescent moon rose over a sea of golden sand.

Few remembered this place, the spot where the People first gathered when the Sun kissed the Earth and gave birth to Elgar’nan. The Evanuris loved to weave true history into mythology to inflate their own importance, but in this case, it was at least a little warranted. Solas doubted Elgar’nan was truly the first spirit to notice how Titans created reality with their very breath. Instead of possessing a living being, a spirit could create a body of their own using blood, the blood of the two creatures that somehow defined the material world, the Titans and the dragons.

Whether or not he was the first, Elgar’nan was certainly the elf who defeated the powerful spirit that was now imprisoned in the depths of the Beyond. Their battle had created the crack that spanned the desert from edge to edge, so deep it reached into places that no Elvhen dared to tread. Here Mythal was born, they said, from the tears of the earth, weeping for the imprisonment of her beloved and the suffering creatures of her lands.

Mythal never spoke of her true origins, and he did not press. Solas had been born from Pride, her pride most of all, in her city and her People. If there were things too painful to speak of, it was not his business to lay them bare.

Still, standing in the place it all began, he couldn’t help wondering.

The dragon landing on the crest of a nearby dune was no longer a surprise, and Solas waited patiently as it morphed into Mythal and crossed the distance to meet him.

“I recognize that expression,” she said with a wry twist of her mouth. “How much of the story is true and how much have we fabricated to serve our own ends?”

“I know some of it,” Solas replied. “Although the details are a bit obscured.”

“We do not speak of it,” she said, gesturing with a jut of her chin. “The Sun may be the first spirit, and it is certainly the most powerful. Perhaps it is even the source of the Beyond itself, though I doubt it. Either way, the Sun turned against its children, wreaking a path of destruction that this land will never recover from. Yet we dare not destroy it. When Elgar’nan trapped it, in the pit created by their battle, the earth began to die. Magic weakened and failed. The anger and hatred of the sun poisoned the land. So it was that I came to be, to plead on behalf of the creatures of earth to let the Sun free. “

Solas thought about this, eyes narrowed. “But isn’t the sun, the one in the sky of the physical world, simply a star held close to the earth?”

“Indeed. But a thing need not be one thing only. That is all I will say. This knowledge is one of our oldest and most dangerous secrets. Not because it may be used for evil, but because it *is* evil, and the corruption it spreads could end all that we have built.”

Solas was unsure how to reply. He was surprised by her sudden candor, but equally surprised by what it had revealed. And what it had not.

Mythal gave him no chance to dwell on this conundrum, however. “I did not call you here to retread ancient battles. You saw Ghilan’nain, and what you discovered surprised you. Here, at least, only the earth can overhear.”

He took a deep breath, unsure how much to reveal. Some things were too close to the core of who he was to speak aloud, even to her. perhaps especially to her. “She found me. I had spent some days scouting the area around the lodge as a wolf, probing for weaknesses, observing the routine. A hunt was called, and I found myself caught up in it, when those that had sheltered me were threatened without cause.” He couldn’t help glancing at Mythal then; surely she would think him weak, taking a needless risk out of sentiment.

But her gaze was soft. In the darkness, it was hard to be certain, but she might have been smiling as she gestured for him to continue.

“I was in a hard place then, because to save my own skin, I would be forced to reveal myself as more than a mere beast. Ghil’anaian appeared and called off the hunters. Not out of mercy,” he added. “Whatever the truth of the story Andruil put about, she has clearly been blinded and tortured. Perhaps whatever she endured broke her mind, or perhaps she was always… wrong. But I could feel it, how much she enjoyed inflicting pain and fear.”

Away from her weirdly beguiling influence, his skin crawled at the memory. “But more importantly, one of her eyes has been replaced by a magical creation, perhaps something created by June’s people. With it, she knew right away that I was no natural creature. ”

Mythal frowned, pacing. “I suppose we should be grateful that no one thought to create such a thing until now. Shapeshifting is not a common talent, but it is useful for reconnaissance, and it was only a matter of time. It only requires opening one’s eyes to the Beyond.”

Solas nodded in agreement. “That is not the thing that concerns me most. I had the sense, though I have no evidence, that her enhanced eye had more powerful abilities. She seemed sure that she would know me easily, and hinted that she would make contact. I felt the eye revealed something intrinsic to my being that she would recognize. Perhaps even track. It was unsettling.”

“That would throw a wrinkle into things, would it not?” Mythal agreed. “Imagine the secrets she could wield, simply by revealing everyone with a double identity. If devices like hers become commonplace, it would change the whole nature of information gathering and politics. At least until someone manages to counter it. If she keeps it to herself, she suddenly becomes the spider in a web of blackmail.”

“I imagine she would prefer the latter,” he remarked, remembering her enjoyment of the power she wielded.

“A precarious throne to perch on,” Mythal said, her eyes flashing like steel. “Though she has a powerful protector. “

“Aside from the eye, she is herself not without power. She did something, only a show of force to impress her underlings, but I have never experienced it before. It was as if she pulled at the very bones of creation. And when she had gone, I began to feel as if she had never been there at all.”

The more he thought on it, the more baffled he was. It felt like the Fade, bent and twisted by a fevered mind, but he knew the Beyond, and he would swear that they had been as far from it as the material world could get.

“So, she is an illusionist of some power, skilled at the manipulation of living flesh, and she has some hitherto unknown control over the physical world. Why then, would she not try to rise on her own merit?” Mythal thought aloud. “Why bind herself to Andruil so early?”

“Maybe she intends to usurp Andruil’s place,” he mused. “Use her as a figurehead while she consolidates her power, and then cut it out from under her in one fell swoop.”

“That is what you would do,” Mythal said with a harsh bark of laughter. “Though it is true that Andruil cares little for the subtlety of politics. She is a hunter and a warrior, and holds onto power only because to admit defeat would be to become the prey.”

“Perhaps they both have something to gain. For all we know, Ghilan’nain may have been pulling the strings long before we were aware. Or maybe the stories of her devotion are true. Born into Andruil’s service, maybe her greatest ambition is to rule at Andruil’s side. It seems unlikely, but…” he trailed off.

“She didn’t seem to inhabit the same earth as the rest of us?” Mythal finished.

“Yes,” he agreed with a rueful chuckle, but at the same time, he considered that inhabiting the same earth was a matter of perspective, wasn’t it?

Though many of the People seemed eager to forget their origins, to claim the physical world as their natural habitat, he remembered their true home. The tides of power, of emotion and memory, that flowed through the world like leaves blown on the breeze, were where he had been born. There, the world was what you made it, quite literally, and in that case, no one quite inhabited the same one at all.

“Unfortunately, you will have another opportunity to evaluate her motives soon. Elgar’nan has decided that the capture of Geldauron is the perfect opportunity to bring everyone together, and Andruil has already agreed that she and Ghilan’nain will come. The fact that she was mentioned by name certainly caught me by surprise. Andruil has had favorites before, of course, but they were still part of the nameless retinue, unless they came from powerful families.”

“Perhaps she truly cares for Ghilan’nain,” Solas said, because he felt that he should. Mythal was a natural cynic. When he had first manifested, she had told him she wanted to remember all the good the Elvhen could be.

He still genuinely believed that most of the People were good at heart. With some of the Evanuris . . . Most of the Evanuris, it was hard to see.

‘Ha,” Mythal replied without a trace of humor. “I shall believe it when I see it, but I will say that it would be a relief for Andruil to have something to think about besides what she’s going to murder next.”

************

On the night of the ball, Arlathan was decked out in its finest. The crystal spires were ablaze with light, the windows of every building glowing with candles or magic and lanterns lining every thoroughfare. The air rang with music, from the ethereal tones of harps and flutes that could only be played by spirits to the visceral pounding of skin drums.

Even the lowest slaves had been given the day off; on this Mythal had particularly insisted, and everyone serving at the ball, the cooks, waiters, footmen, even the cleaners were being paid from the Evanuris’ own treasury. Some of the nobility had protested this until Andruil had suggested that those who were incapable of feeding themselves a single meal perhaps required her instruction, a rare instance where she and Solas were in agreement.

Normally, he spent events such as these either prowling around the perimeter watching and listening, a task combining the thrill of the hunt with the pleasure of canapés, or occasionally, he would be tasked to play the menacing bodyguard, which was boring but usually short.

Tonight, however, he was the guest of honor. There would be no skulking behind curtains or impersonating servants to discover who was sleeping with whom or taking payments on the sly. He would dine at the head table and lead the first dance. Mythal had made it clear that she expected him to stay at least as long as she did, a prospect he found most unpleasant; the fact that most of the Evanuris left long before the canapés ran out was only a small comfort.

The clothes were no consolation either. The golden silk was beautiful, yes, and on its own the silk tunic with belled sleeves was like wearing a cloud. But, there was a linen undertunic and then a vest made from overlapping strips of midnight blue leather, skin of an animal he couldn’t begin to name, the collar of which went all the way up his neck. It was stiff and uncomfortable, and even a few softening and flexibility spells didn’t completely eliminate the way it weighed on him. No shoes, of course, even if his hold on his physical form was now quite solid, it was tradition that your feet should be able to touch the earth from which you came. However, the wrapped leggings were also made of the midnight blue leather, a bit thinner and more supple than the vest, but still heavier than he would like.

And the jewelry. Mythal’s chief lieutenant, or whatever ridiculous title she had given him, could not possibly be seen without a collar and wide bracelets of volcanic aurum, earrings inlaid with gems the color of summer twilight, and half his fingers rendered useless by gold rings fashioned like the branches of Mythal’s ironwood trees. His hair was done into hundreds of tiny braids, strung with gems and draped with fine gold chain anchored by the aforementioned earrings, like his coiffure was an animal that might close to escape.

“They will certainly hear me coming, if the glare from all these gems prevents them from seeing me,” he remarked with a scowl as he presented himself for Mythal’s approval.

“Consider it a new challenge for you to enjoy,” she replied without missing a beat. “Or perhaps, you might think of this as a different kind of camouflage. As a servant, you are overlooked, but like this,” she said, gesturing to his finery, “You are a peer. Worthy of being listened to. Confided in. Imagine what influence you might wield if you started from a place of strength.”

“I assume you’re speaking from experience,” he said, his mind even now spinning up possibilities.

But Mythal scowled. “Perhaps I did once. Now, I spend more time resolving petty disputes than making actual change. I hope you never fall into the same trap.” She sighed. “Let us go, before I start getting maudlin.”

The next hour was a whirlwind of light, color, and sound. A thousand names passed through his ears in introduction, and he knew he would remember none of them. So many eyes upon him, newly-kindled with curiosity, avarice, or in a few cases, open hostility. He might have spent a great deal of time dwelling on that last category, but then he found himself standing on the dais, just three steps below the gleaming crystal thrones of the Evanuris.

Elgar’nan spent a great deal of time pontificating on the importance of maintaining a united front in the face of their enemies. No one dared to even appear bored, knowing the reputation of his temper. The rumor that he could vaporize you with his gaze seemed less far-fetched when those fiery eyes were looking right at you.

Then it was Mythal’s turn. “Solas has always been a friend to the People. Long ago, he helped to broker peace with the Forgotten Ones, bringing an end to a war that claimed so many in the early days of Elvhenan. With tensions once again rising, I am glad to have him at my side once more. It is worth remembering that many of the followers of Geldauron served him out of fear, or were misled by promises of opportunity and fair treatment for those that Elvhenan has too long overlooked.”

There was some scattered grumbling over this, and Solas did not miss the deepening scowl on Falon’din’s countenance, but Mythal did not waver for a moment. “Whenever injustice is allowed to thrive among the People, it leaves an opening for the Forgotten Ones. This night is a celebration, not only of the defeat of a threat to the People, but of the loyalty and cleverness of the one who orchestrated his downfall. Yet it should also serve as a reminder: those who show no mercy for those they deem lesser will find no mercy at their hands. Nor in mine.”

With this somewhat ominous message, she gestured towards the musicians, who began playing a cheerful but not too lively tune on harp and flute. Solas, doing his best not to notice everyone staring at him, descended what felt like far too many stairs to the dance floor where his appointed partner awaited. He was fairly sure Mythal had mentioned Sylaise’s daughter… maybe a granddaughter or grand-niece….

Few of the Evanuris had children. Elgar’nan had Sylaise, an offspring in the way that spirits reckoned them, and then he and Mythal had Dirthamen in the physical realm, but that was all. Sylaise seemed determined to make up for this lack, though who she partnered with was a secret she kept close-guarded, her marriage to June being both recent and unlikely to produce heirs.

The young elf, eyes the color of a leaf striking against brown skin and an absolute ocean of golden hair, smiled at him prettily, and he took her hand. Though he had practiced the steps what felt like a hundred times, he felt uncomfortably aware of every part of his body and the way it moved, the clamminess of their clasped hands, the thundering of his heart. Was he supposed to say something, and if so, what?

“Er… you are one of Sylaise’s people?” He began, his tongue overly thick in his mouth.

She nodded, which was about as much response as that remark deserved, considering her quite visible vallaslin. He hoped she wasn’t Sylaise’s daughter. The coldness of the heart that would bind even a grandchild so tightly to their service could hardly be imagined.

“Er…. “ he continued, casting around for another topic like a drowning man. “Are you one of the artisans?”

She nodded again. Solas was beginning to wonder if Sylaise also cut out her servants’ tongues, but then, the song ended, and the girl disappeared into the crowd the moment he released her hand. There was no time to wonder where he might have misstepped because the musicians started the first measure of a much livelier tune. This was one of those numbers where you danced down a line and switched partners at the end, and before he could back out of the way, someone had linked elbows with him and they were careening manically across the ballroom.

He had to admit, it was difficult to worry about anything at this speed, and something about the whirling sensation made infectious bubbles of laughter well up somewhere in his abdomen. Fits of giggles were definitely a social faux pas, but he wasn’t the only one grinning like a fool.

When the music finally stopped and he, completely out of breath, managed to make it to the sidelines and begin searching for one of the servers with a drink tray, a voice spoke into his ear that sent a chill up his spine.

“When I said I would see you in Arlathan, I never thought it would be so easy.”

“Ghilan’nain!” He gasped out, too surprised and off-balance to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about.

She grinned impishly up at him, for she was more than a head shorter. Or at least, she appeared to be. He couldn’t forget that she was unlikely to be anything that she seemed. “Imagine my surprise when the guest of honor at this little soirée turned out to be exactly who I had hoped to find. Of all the various minions of our illustrious leaders, I never expected Mythal’s best kept secret. It was a master stroke, really, sending you after Geldauron just then, ensuring she got to reveal you as a hero before the other Evanuris figured out who’d been meddling in all their plans.”

Solas blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again, bereft of words as refutations, implications, and accusations warred to find voice.

Ghilan’nain laughed and grabbed his arm. “Come, come, let us dance so no one becomes suspicious.”

He decided not to resist. At least on the dance floor, Mythal could intervene if Ghilan’nain did anything particularly alarming. “So,” he said, once they were making stately circles, “Did you come here simply to make me uncomfortable? To prove that you could?”

She giggled again, too high and girlish for someone with a gaze so calculating. Her gown was white again, a simple cut that seemed over-large, like the fabric was swallowing her. He realized belatedly that everything about her appearance was designed to make her seem small and delicate. The white emphasized her natural pallor, making her scars stand out more, and even her voice, now that he thought to listen, was pitched much higher than was natural.

“I did, of course, want to provide a demonstration of my abilities, but, as I said, I believe we have many common goals. You and Mythal may have only just taken an interest in my doings, but I have been following your activities for some time.”

“I am not sure what about me you would find particularly interesting,” Solas replied with a frown.

“Well, nothing about *you* particularly,” she said, still smiling. “But I have my own ways of finding things out, and of course, I couldn’t help being curious about Mythal’s most secretive and trusted lieutenant. One of the only Elvhen permitted to attend her alone, a privilege not even her own son enjoys, and yet so little was known about you, until today. It was fairly obvious that you were a manifested spirit, with a name like Solas, but for a spirit of Pride, you kept a surprisingly low profile. She said you helped broker the original peace treaty with the Forgotten Ones. Is that true?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he admitted, wary of offering more information than was necessary, but also he didn’t feel she could gain much from history so ancient. “I simply reminded the parties of all they had once shared.”

“And yet, for such a consequential figure, there is no record of you among the People until quite recently,” she said with the tone of someone who was only getting confirmation of something they already believed.

“City life holds little interest for me,” he replied blandly. “And what of yourself? The lowest of slaves risen to the right hand of her goddess as a reward for devotion? It is a tale that belongs more to a child’s bedtime story than reality. You can hardly blame Mythal for wanting to know more.”

Ghilan’nain laughed, and this seemed more genuine, a bit husky with a hint of maliciousness. “People have to have something to hope for, even if the truth is a bit less… enchanting. But I was certainly the lowest of slaves,” she added with a hint of venom, her fingers on his arm clenching.

Solas could recognize someone reliving an old hatred, and he wondered if it was the same person who caused her scars. Had it been Andruil herself? Even he didn’t think she was that monstrous. “I would have expected that someone of your talent would be recognized early.”

“It’s amazing the kind of gifts that can lie dormant when you’re starving,” she countered, her voice still outwardly pleasant as her eyes blazed with fury. “When your master bleeds you nearly dry once a week for his ‘experiments’. In fact, that’s just what I want to discuss with you.”

“I would be glad to bring this matter to Mythal’s attention,” he said easily. “She would never allow such abuses to go unpunished.”

“Ha,” Ghilan’nain practically spat. “You may think sunlight shines out of ‘Mother Mythal’s’ ass, but I know better.”

His shock must have shown on his face because Ghilan’nain let out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, maybe you’re right, and she’s really as good and just as you think she is. But by the time you and your fellow knights in shining armor get there to save the day, the evidence will be gone, and the slaves will be dead. I need someone with contacts who can be stealthy. I can get vengeance myself, in my own time, but this can’t wait.” She gave him one long, searching look with that glowing eye, like she was rifling through his soul to find the really good dirt.

“I have siblings. Younger siblings. They’re still there, with him,” she said, and for the first time, he saw her shoulders sag, just for a moment. A crack in the armor, and it heartened him. “I can’t go get them myself. The minute I got out, he made sure all his wards excluded me with extra violence. And no, I don’t want to ask Andruil for help. Despite the tale, I don’t actually want her to have more of a hold on me than she already does. Or them.”

At some point, without him noticing, they had retreated to a dark curtained alcove out of sight of the dais. He recognized the background murmur of a silencing spell. “Why me? If you distrust Mythal so much, why rely on me for such a sensitive mission.”

She gave him an almost pitying look. “I saw you with the wolves, cuddling those overgrown puppies like they were your own, and I know you have the skill. If anyone in the whole blasted city can be trusted to do this, it’s you. And if she’s even half as great as you think she is, they’ll be far better off in her household. Or wherever. I don’t want to know where you take them, actually. What I don’t know, I can never betray.”

Clearly, she had been thinking about this for a long time, considering every angle. Maybe since the moment they had met in the woods. Quite probably long before that. He didn’t even consider refusing. “I accept. I mean, I will try. You will need to give me more details.”

For the first time, she seemed genuinely taken aback. “You’re not going to make any demands? No ‘how does this benefit me’ or ‘first you have to do something for me’?’”

He ran a hand over his hair, or he would have, except that his hand met a net of gold and jewels. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, he thought, bringing his clenched fist to his side. Something about Ghilan’nain shook him out of all his guarded habits, which he felt he should regret, but somehow, he did not. “You believe me to be some sort of noble miracle worker, so I confess I feel challenged to live up to the expectation. But also, I would like to believe that most people would not hesitate to rescue children from being tortured if they knew where such could be found.”

She laughed. “Solas, you have exceeded all my expectations, I assure you. Now, I should let you go back to your party before Mythal comes to personally drag you back.” Then, before he could react, she pulled his head down, meeting his mouth with hers. He would realize, far later, that this was the first time he had felt a kiss with his physical body, the heat of mouths meeting, the electric tingle of her tongue brushing past his lips, and everything he knew condensed to the point where their mouths met.

She pulled away, her teeth scraping his lower lip, and even she seemed surprised to find his sleeve clenched in her fist. “So you have something to look forward to,” she said, before he could even ask the question. “Besides, it’s a better explanation for hiding in a dark corner than the truth.”

Once again, she left him standing alone, bewildered, wondering how much of the last few moments had been real.

*********************

He had promised, Solas reminded himself for perhaps the tenth time, as he lifted another barely conscious child from a cage. He had promised not to hurt anyone, not to take any vengeance of his own, but it was getting harder and harder to keep that promise. Everyone knew there were nobles who treated their slaves poorly. But they, or at least he, had imagined beatings and neglect of adults, which was bad enough, but this? This was beyond cruel, a level of barbarity that he could hardly conceive.

At least he had the spirits. He didn’t like exposing spirits to this nightmare, taking the chance that it would twist them to new, more violent forms, but without them to join with the older children, to give them just enough strength and will to help him help them escape, he never would have managed it.

Of course, Ghilan’nain had wanted him to only get her siblings out, but once he saw the other children, there was no way he could leave without them. He would’ve freed the adults as well, but there didn’t seem to be any. Maybe among the higher placed of the household staff, the clerks, the gamekeeper, the steward, but everyone else, from the maids on down, was no older than fifteen winters. Anyone who lasted that long was sold to others, usually fit for little more than an ornament to remind their peers that there were worse masters.

The laboratory was little more than a dungeon, dank stone caverns haunted with ghosts, the living children too tired and weak to even cry. Not one had tried to fight, or even question him, and now they led him to the secret exit in a ragged line, their limbs shaking and their eyes glazed.

He had prepared a place for them, a secret bolthole of his in the forgotten extremity of the paths, but now he realized he would need help. Not only were there far more than he had expected, more than twenty, but he feared that without both a skilled healer and someone more practiced at childcare, some of them would not survive the week. Luckily, he had contacts in the lower city.

It was less than twelve hours later, but it felt like seasons had passed, when the two middle-aged washerwomen and their son, a healer whose lyrium addiction had lost him his station and his left hand, arrived at the abandoned library he had claimed for his own. From the forest beyond, he could hear Virnehn howling a greeting.

In the end, he couldn’t bear to leave the pack on Andruil’s lands. It was bad enough, imagining Virnehn and Virevas on the end of a hunter’s spear, but the moment the five little balls of fuzz that were their younger siblings opened their eyes, he knew he would perish before he let anything happen to them. It did take a bit of prodding to get the mother wolf, whom he now called Adhalen, to come through the eluvian, but now they had settled in nicely. With so many strangers in the library, he expected them to keep their distance, though by now they had become accustomed to him in all his forms.

The children mostly sat around in listless shock, unable to believe that they were safe, unsure what to do. The healer, shaking nearly as much as they were, but unfailingly gentle, visited each of them in turn, while the two women helped Solas to arrange a meal and baths for those that would allow it. He was glad for their expertise, because he would not have known that people recovering from starvation needed simple food, frequently but in small amounts.

Finally, all of them had the worst of their wounds tended and were at least attempting to eat. “What will you do now?” The healer asked. They did not share names. You didn’t, when you knew that any moment you might be forced to betray each other.

“I am unsure. I didn’t expect to find so many. I went to find three in particular, their last living family wished me to take them far away and keep them hidden. But these… could any of their parents live?”

“I have a pretty good idea where they came from, and the answer is no. Or at least, if they do, they won’t wish to remember. The best way for a known child-killer to find more kids is to make them himself, after all.”

The full implications hit Solas like a wave of ice, and he once again regretted making that promise to Ghilan’nain. “Perhaps they would be better off remaining here,” he managed to say through gritted teeth.

“I dare say they would, but you’re forgetting one thing,” the healer said, tapping his finger on his forehead, where his own vallaslin sat, faded and marred by the brand of exile. “Some of ‘em are a bit too young to have been marked, but not all. And if that bastard has a mind, he can find them.”

Solas scowled. “I will have to set stronger wards.”

“Agreed, but that won’t work forever, not if he gets desperate. He’ll make them want to go back, and they’ll tell him everything they know, even if they’d rather die. Unless you get rid of the mark. I’ve heard it can be done.”

“I didn’t think it was possible,” he said, his heart suddenly racing.

“Maybe it isn’t,” the healer said with a shrug. “But they ought to have every chance, don’t you think?”

*********

The memories came faster now, a torrent of memory and emotion interspersed with flashes of clarity.

Clandestine meetings in dark corners, mouths meetings, clothes casually discarded. Boundaries pushed, then broken.

Sneaking into her lab so she could explain the wonders she was creating. And then the horrors. No further than this, they would agree. But next time there would be more.

Screaming as he burned the vallaslin from his face, and grinning through the pain because it had worked. With the help of the healer, the children were all free. Mythal was shocked, perhaps a little hurt, but she had more important matters to deal with than his growing independence, with Darren’thal and Anaris assaulting the southern border.

Ghilan’nain refused to have hers removed. She had plans. Andruil went hunting in the Void, and came back a rabid beast. When Mythal was forced to take action, reducing the Titan’s daughter to a wisp of her former self, who better to lead her household than her most devoted servant, selflessly nursing her back to health?

The noble whose dungeons had been emptied of children was gruesomely murdered, along with every member of his family and remaining servants. It was excessive, barbaric, but only to be expected, after all she had suffered. That was how Solas comforted himself, when he saw their mutilated corpses in his dreams.

And there were others that needed freeing. Word had begun to spread in the lower city. Everyone had a child, a lover, a parent who needed saving, and each new atrocity Solas witnessed hardened his resolve.

Ghilan’nain invited him to her new lab, deep in abandoned tunnels of the durgen’len. She was excited to show him her newest creation. The things she had done to the wolves, some of whom he recognized…. The words they screamed at each other, the spells and fists flung recklessly, the blood running from his nose mixing with the blood of Adhalen and three of her children, each moment was carved into his heart, a monument to shame and betrayal.

The Evanuris, however, were impressed by her skill, and perhaps a little frightened by the new monstrosities roaming the borderlands. In exchange for destroying the bulk of her creations, she was offered a place among them. Her own house, her own throne, her own slaves marked with her own vallaslin. Perhaps this had been the plan all along. She beamed with triumph as Andruil’s hunters slaughtered the things she had made.

In the dead of night, he recovered the wolf pelts from the carnage, and wore them in memory of those he had lost, a tangible reminder that, whatever she said, he could never trust Ghilan’nain again. He redoubled his efforts to free abused slaves, especially those that might be sold to her growing household. The nobles called him Dread Wolf in fearful whispers, and delighting in their terror, he haunted their dreams.

They still told the story of the day Andruil caught him, though the fact that it was Ghilan’nain’s binding spell was lost to time. Nor did anyone recount the hours she spent using him for her own pleasure while Andruil watched.

And the final betrayal. He had redoubled his wards against Ghilan’nain, but she didn’t need to get into his stronghold. She just locked him inside it. The spirits screamed as the Evanuris murdered Mythal, and he screamed along with them.

Much as Ghilan’nain did from the other side of her prison. Of all the Evanuris, he made sure to lock her away first. He walked away as she begged.

***********

Just as he did now.

He had removed her vallaslin, the last and truest gift he could offer. In the end, he could not bear to speak the words he owed her, to reveal all that he was, and his last shred of decency would not allow him to continue to love her while living a lie.

Iris didn’t beg; she was stunned. Tears streamed down her face as she demanded an explanation.

She certainly deserved that much, but it was only another thing to add to the list, things he should and should not have done. Beautiful things he had ruined through stupidity, monstrous things he had enabled out of selfishness.

She threatened to change everything, to change him, and he couldn’t let that happen. There were wrongs that still needed righted, mistakes he could never fully undo. But he had to try, even if it would destroy all that Iris had worked to rebuild.

The jawbone of a young wolf banged against his breastbone with every step, reminding him why Fen’harel hunted alone.