Chapter Text
This summer was unusually hot and humid for Arlathan.
The keepers and caretakers of the Temple of Fen’Harel tried to maintain the various ice pools throughout the temple, but the heat was simply too persistent. Congregations around the cooling pools were a common sight and even Solas was finding the heat annoying to say the least.
The evenings were by far the worst, especially when he was needed past reasonable hours. The sun had only set an hour before and the sweat accumulating under his armor was aggravating as he waited for his informant to appear.
The light filtering in from the balcony was the only light he permitted in the room as he sat in the shadows, smoking his pipe in boredom as he waited. The faint sound of a door latch being slowly pulled had taken his attention away from the smoke lingering in the air and brought it to the hooded figure entering the room, sealing the door behind them.
“I keep you waiting long?” The man occupied the seat across from Solas, crossing their legs as they leaned back in a display of coolness to their host.
“I’ve been waiting months for your correspondence. I would have feared you were discovered and killed, but the others have made no mention of any spies.” Placing the pipe on an elevated table next to him, Solas waited patiently for a response.
“I had taken my time gathering a few things before sending word. It does take work to be a good spy, you know.”
“My understanding was a good spy is efficient in their work.” With the heat in the night causing chaffing under his armor, Solas’ temper was short; simply not in the mood to entertain when feeling the weight of his sweat soaked hair run drops down his neck.
“I dare you to find a better one, my friend! Plus, I have more than enough here to douse that mood.” Pulling a thick tome from his belt, the man opened it to find many notes and letters nestled between the blank pages. Tossing them one by one to his patron as he read each carefully by the light outside, Solas nodded and gathered the notes into a neat pile on the table.
“These are missives for high priests and knights?” His guest nodded in agreement, bright white teeth grinning back through an arrogant smirk.
Solas did not return the smile. The orchestrated plans on the pages had illustrated a plan more threatening than he originally anticipated. “Under whose allegiance were these letters penned?” Solas could feel a weight drop from his heart to his stomach.
“You won’t like it my friend. It’s all of them.”
“What do you mean all of them?” Solas couldn’t help the volume in his voice as he demanded his answer.
“I mean, everyone from Elgar’nan to Andruil; save you of course. The entire Pantheon wants their hand in this. Bad news, eh?” Solas didn’t appreciate the apathetic tone, but there were more important things to consider at this moment.
“So...” the man began, “how does one go about thwarting the assassination of a God, by seven other Gods? Why not let it happen?”
“No, Mythal must endure. Without her influence the Pantheon collapses into chaos. They will be nothing more than rabid dogs pulling for each scrap left behind.” Solas wiped the sweat from his brow as best he could through his gauntlet, but this only amplified his frustration.
“Her influence? Yeah, her influence is doing her well lately. She’s just a lid on a boiling pot.” Standing from his chair, Solas began to slowly walk toward the door with the notes in hand. The man followed him to the empty hall of the temple, picking his oak staff out of the decorative foliage in a large ornate planter before tapping the dirt from its point.
Solas continued walking until he was at the foot of the stairs leading to the tower where his eluvian was guarded, looking back to see his confidant leaning against his staff as he waited for his final order for the evening.
“I need to talk with Mythal. You need to be there with me.” The face on the man went from jovial to severe as quickly as the sentence was uttered.
“That compromises my position, doesn’t it?” Straightening his back, the man appeared for the first time that evening to be serious.
“It no longer matters, Felassan. You will meet me here tomorrow morning to discuss this in greater detail. You are dismissed” With no further argument, both men parted ways in the great hall, eager to rest before their task .