At the end of the first day, everyone had to find a place to sleep. The fortress was large and far more comfortable than the mountain had been, so people wasted no time in erecting tents or staking out a place within the keep itself.
Arethin found a room near the top of the keep. No one else wanted it, so she took it, and she relished in the opportunity to be away from people for a bit.
The bedroom was large, still as of yet unfinished but definitely habitable. There was a door to a balcony that she did not yet trust, and a great deal of scattered debris that she would have to deal with at some point, but not now. Arethin put her bedroll on the wooden floor and began to settle herself in.
“Lavellan.”
The voice startled her, and Arethin surged to her feet, grabbing her staff and holding it out.
“Don't!”
It was Felassan who stood on evidently trustworthy balcony, his hands up.
“You!” Arethin didn't lower her staff. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” she peered around him, and saw no ladder or any other way he could have gotten onto the balcony without climbing.
“I came to tell you something important.”
She narrowed her eyes, and he sighed.
“Who do you think I am?” he asked.
“I don't know. The entire point is that you are someone who refuses to tell us who you are.”
“And that makes me so dangerous?”
“You have a wall around your dreams.”
He smirked. “You are well informed.”
“Why are you here?” she growled.
“I have come to give a peace offering,” he said. “From Fen'harel to the People.”
She stared at him. At length, she spoke. “You are not--”
“I am not Fen'harel,” he clarified.
“Well, it's true, you don't much look like a wolf at the moment,” she said. “And if you are not him...?”
“I speak...on his behalf. After a fashion.”
She raised her eyebrows. “After a fashion.”
He didn't so much as blink. “The tale is a complicated one. I will tell you, if you will let me.”
“And why would one of Fen'harel's people want to tell me anything?”
“He—we—are not what you think,” Felassan said. “He is not the enemy that you believe him to be.”
Arethin still had not lowered her staff, and Felassan eyed it.
“A trickster naturally lies,” she told him.
He inclined his head. “So we're in a conundrum,” he spread his hands. “Will you at least listen to what I tell you?”
“Why should I? You have given me no reason.”
“This place was once his,” Felassan said.
She glanced away from him for the first time, looking around at the room she had claimed. “The castle?”
“Yes. A very long time ago, this place was his. It's yours now. You might have noticed, this place is no trap.”
“Not as of yet,” Arethin muttered, eyeing the walls with some suspicion. “This doesn't look like anything but a human-built castle.”
“I think quite a few people have used this place in the past,” Felassan explained. “But it was Fen'harel's before it was anyone else's. He built the foundations that we stand upon.”
“I did not realize that Fen'harel enjoyed building things so much.”
“Ah, well, you get old enough, and you start knowing a little of everything,” Felassan's tone was strangely wistful.
She regarded him for a long time. “Very well,” she said at length. “You can tell me your story. But first...why come to me?'
“You have the mark.”
“So?”
“It's important,” Felassan said. “Old, old magic, very powerful, and the fact that you aren't dead just from holding it in your hand speaks to you being powerful as well.” he smirked. “And the way you steered that shemlen rabble and the rest amused me.”
“I see,” she lowered her staff, but kept her eyes on him. “Fine. Tell me your tale.”
“We must be quick, now,” he cautioned. “We haven't much time.”
“Then hurry.”
“First, you must understand that what the Dalish believe is...untrue,” Felassan snorted in some disdain. “Your stories and legends—half-remembered tales and things passed by word of mouth. Most of them wrong in some variety.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, insults—just the thing that will make me listen to you.”
Felassan shook his head. “It is—it is not you I am angry at,” he admitted. “Not really. It isn't your fault what happened to you. I know that that is a belief, yes? The Creators will return when you prove your elves again?”
“That's one interpretation, yes.”
“Well, you don't need to do that. I wouldn't worry.” he began to pace, worrying at his lower lip. “Consider—even a trickster acts in self interest. Understand that as well. What trickster wants to play tricks in a world that's destroyed?”
“True,” Arethin said, tilting her head to one side.
“So considering these things, consider what I say when I tell you that he has returned from Uthenera, and he wishes to help.”
“For someone so helpful, he spends a lot of time not being it.”
“He wouldn't,” Felassan tugged at a strand of hair and glanced at the balcony, as if expecting someone to appear there. “He wants to help but...in the wrong way.”
“The wrong way?”
“It's complicated. It's—he...” Felassan sighed. “Here. Something else to consider is that Fen'harel is an elf, like—well, more like me than like you, but—you get the idea.”
Arethin blinked. “So he is not a god.”
“Not even close. Not a god, or a spirit, or a demon. What he is is a very, very powerful mage, such as you wouldn't see now.”
“And assuming that this is true, what does it matter?”
“So, he's...” Felassan sighed. “He's powerful, and intelligent, and very, very creative, but no less flawed than any other man. I—was privy to the general—to Fen'harel's plan.” Felassan ran his hands through his hair.
“Yes?” Arethin leaned forward. “And what happened?”
“And I helped, as best I could. For a time.”
“For a time.”
“Then I met—well, do you know Briala?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I met her, and then your Coalition--”
“I know that too.”
“And I realized—I couldn't help him do what he wanted.” he looked away from her, staring out the open window. “Not in the same way.”
“Why not?” Arethin folded her arms.
“His plan was too destructive,” Felassan said. “What he would do—part of it is something that's necessary either way, but the way he would do it is too violent. At first, I agreed with what he wanted—but now I see you and your people, and—there must be a different way.”
“And are you going to explain what this plan of his is...?'
“The Veil,” Felassan said. “It's not natural. It's artificial.”
Arethin scowled, not angry, but now more intrigued. “I've...heard that theory before. Go on, tell me about his plan.”
“So, it's an artificial construct, that didn't exist in Elvhenan. Fen'harel created it.”
“Why?”
“To stop the Evanuris from fighting. The Evanuris are--”
Arethin held up a hand. “I've seen some references to them. We—the Coalition—have been trying to sort propaganda from history, but it's rather difficult when we barely have a grasp on the language, let alone everything else.”
“And what do you know about them?” Felassan's expression was carefully blank, violet eyes gone flat.
“As far as we can tell the Evanuris were god-kings, who took on the monikers of the Creators. Either that or, according to some other accounts, they were the Creators, or rather, elves who aspired to godhood. We're still arguing about all of that.”
Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Hm. Clever.”
“Cleverer than you expected from the Dalish?” Arethin rolled her eyes.
“Well—ah—yes,” he said. “To be frank. Most of the Dalish Clans I know are very set in their ways.”
“Well, so are the humans, and I don't see you complaining about them.”
Felassan smirked. “Well, da'len, they're all idiots. Elves—not necessarily.”
“How complimentary.” Arethin growled. “So. The Evanuris fought, and Fen'harel erected the Veil to stop them?”
Felassan nodded. “Yes. That's what I know, anyway—at the time I was more of a footsoldier.”
“And now?”
“Everyone else is dead. So, here I am.”
“I see. And so he wants to take the Veil down now? Why?”
“It is—bad for the world,” Felassan said, violet eyes pensive. “It's rather hard to describe. Firstly it—well, it damaged the People and our creations, in too many ways to explain quickly. But overall the thing served its purpose, and he wants it gone.”
“I see. And what exactly is the issue with that?”
“He wants to do it in such a way that—well, manipulations of the Veil can manipulate time,” he said. “He wanted to unmake this world, and try and change his mistakes in the past.”
Arethin was struck with a sudden sense of deja vu, and she put her elbows on her knees. “I know the feeling,” she muttered.
“You do? Well, you'll have to tell me that story sometime.”
Not likely. “But you disagreed with him.”
Felassan nodded. “At first—when I first woke from Uthenera, I saw only the problems, and I felt the same way he did. Our people were—damaged, drained of magic and vitality, and even seem like Tranquil to the uneducated eye.”
“What?” Arethin exclaimed. “How?”
“It's the Veil,” Felassan said. “Even with mages, it—well, it doesn't cut off your emotions like an actual Tranquil, but to someone not used to it, it's incredibly stifling.” he shuddered. “Your dreams are built wrong,” he said. “I—I'm not an expert on the Fade, but there's something about it that's wrong now, and any elf that went into Uthenera before the Veil and came out after it was put into place would feel it. He would be better able to explain than I could,” he said, seeing her start to ask.
She narrowed her eyes. “You said you changed your mind.”
He nodded. “After more time spent with your people. You are not—so different from us as I thought. I think that if the Veil were taken down, but time not altered, you would become more like us—more like how you are meant to be. Your magic and vitality restored, and the world would be right again.”
“And who are you to tell us what we are meant to be?” Arethin demanded, bristling.
“You are only the way you are because of an accident,” Felassan informed her. “Do your Dalish not wish the old ways to be restored?”
“What would you know of us? You hardly deign to accept us as people.”
He sighed and shook his head. “To one like me you are—our many great-grandchildren, and we have done you a terrible wrong. Do you see? You suffer, and die, and it is our fault.”
“Not only yours.”
“No, humans have much of the blame, it's true,” he shrugged. “But we hurt your people—our children. We must set it right.”
“I see,” Arethin said, her eyes narrowed. “And Fen'harel...?”
“It's...complicated.”
“Make it easy.” Arethin gave him a nasty smirk. “Pretend I'm a simple, uneducated Dalish.”
Felassan sighed and leaned back. “He woke up and everyone he knew was dead, and all his people were—wrong, and wounded, and dying,” he said. “It happened to me, too, but I don't have the power to level mountains, little sister. What would you do to gain your family back if they were gone?”
The blood in Arethin's veins turned to ice.
“A very great deal,” she muttered.
“And if you had to kill someone to do it...?”
“I would kill anyone.”
For the chance to see her son, her Elladen again, she would do anything. She could only imagine how a man who had earned the moniker of god might do when motivated in such a way.
He inclined his head. “And there you are.”
“I see,” Arethin nodded. “So you have come to me because you agree with his goals—but find him too dangerous.”
“Absolutely. I don't think it would work—and I don't think he should.”
“You do not want your people back?”
“I do,” he said, looking away from her. “Oh, little sister.” he was quiet for a moment, then he looked back at her. “But we...I don't think we can. And I don't want to destroy this world so that maybe the old one will be restored.”
“Why could you not do it?” she asked. “Time magic exists. Why could you not?”
He shrugged. “We would have to go back thousands of years, to a specific point, change the past in a specific way, and that would take more power than either of us has.” his violet eyes flashed. “I know what he and I have lost. And we both want it back so badly, but this—it would not be fair to you. Not to our children. You deserve better than the world that was made for you.”
“I see.” she looked at him steadily. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”
Felassan leaned forward. “I can tell you where Fen'harel is.”
“Oh.” Arethin blinked, her mind going fuzzy for a moment. “And if you tell me where he is, what must I give you?”
“Promise you won't kill him,” Felassan said. “Because if you tried, he'd kill you, and then he'd tear down the Veil, and then everyone would be dead. I don't want that. Oh, and I'd like to not be a prisoner, also.”
“There is a very large problem with that.”
“You have no reason to believe me. I know.” Felassan sighed. “Why would you believe someone who carried the word of your trickster god?” there was a bitter edge to his words.
“Precisely,” Arethin said.
“You have said yourself, you have seen ruins in the eluvian network--”
“Ruins which we must weigh against reality, and how precious little we know of Elvhenan,” Arethin said. “We have very little way of telling which is real and which is not. So anything that says that Fen'harel was benevolent could be something that a cult who worshipped him spread. On the other hand, our ideas of those we call the Creators could be entirely wrong.” she laced her fingers together.
“They are.”
“But you admit to being an agent of Fen'harel,” Arethin reminded him, and Felassan's shoulders slumped.
“And your worry is not necessarily that Fen'harel is the trickster, it's that you truly do not know enough to know whether he is or not,” Felassan said. “I see your dilemma.” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I had thought—so many of the Dalish seemed willfully blind to the truth--”
“Yes, because we're supposed to suss out the nuance of a culture a thousand years gone, all while barely having the resources to keep ourselves alive and out of slavery.” Arethin's voice was very dry. “A culture which, by the way, Tevinter went a long way towards eradicating completely. Yes. We are so willfully ignorant. Our lack of understanding is absolutely our fault, and not the fault of any external factors.” she leaned in, and Felassan winced. “Completely.”
“My apologies,” Felassan muttered.
“Apology accepted. It does not help our dilemma, however.”
“I suppose it doesn't,” Felassan hummed to himself. They remained silent for a few moments.
“Why are you so protective of Fen'harel?” Arethin asked at length. “Surely he is capable of looking after his own skin.”
“Well, that is part of the problem,” Felassan admitted. “I am sure he can. But you might be hurt, or you might hurt him, and I don't want either of those things to happen.”
“How could we hurt him? You just told me how powerful he is.”
“For one, he's an elf, just as you are, and not a god,” Felassan said. “He's subjected to most of the same weaknesses and failings all other elves are.”
“Most?”
“Well, most elves his age? Probably won't age.” he grinned. “Same with me.”
“How fortunate for you.”
“Only by a certain margin. So, he's just as weak or as strong as another elf,” he said. “And now, he has no army, no fortress, no allies who would stay allies once they knew who he was, unless I can convince you otherwise.”
“I see your point. But why are you so invested? You said you were only a footsoldier.”
“I was. But Fen'harel is also the freer of slaves,” Felassan's back straightened.
“Ah,” Arethin felt a pang of shame go through her. “And he freed you?”
“His army did. But I've seen him on a battlefield, as well,” Felassan's gaze went wistful. “Oh, you would not believe it.”
“I think I might.”
“You? Perhaps. But yes, he and his people freed me. Funny thing? I served Falon'din.”
Arethin blinked. “But your vallaslin are to--”
“Mythal, I know.”
“Why--?”
“That is a very, very long story,” Felassan sighed. “But I am devoted to no one.”
“Except him.”
“You could say that.”
“You are. You're defending him.”
“Ah. I suppose that...doesn't exactly look good for me.”
“Not really, no.”
Felassan grimaced. “I...he will be very unhappy I told you this,” he said. “But we are running out of time. If you meet him, you will be...disinclined to kill him. Please, just talk, and save killing each other till you've killed Corypheus, at least. I'm sure you could manage that.”
“I cannot make any promises for anyone apart from myself,” she reminded him.
“I know.” Felassan sighed and drummed his fingers on his chair. “Alright, we are becoming very short on time,” he said. “If I don't give you who he is soon, he'll leave, and you'll know who he is but you will never find him again if he doesn't want you to. Do not attack him, promise me that, and I'll tell you who he is, and you can keep an eye on him. Fair?”
Arethin gave him a long look.
“Fine,” she said at last. “If you make me regret this, I'm going to skin you and leave you for ants, understand me?”
“Of course,” he nodded. “You've already met him. He's downstairs.” Felassan gritted his teeth. “A certain bald elf who helped you with your mark?”
Arethin stared at him. “Felassan, if you are lying to me...”
“I am absolutely not.”
]
She grabbed his arm and tore downstairs. She kicked the door to the great hall open.
“Where is Solas?” she bellowed.
“He's probably on his way out,” Felassan said. “He--”
“I am, actually, right here,” Solas strode up to them, looking extremely cross. “Felassan.”
“Ah--” Felassan gave a somewhat strained laugh. “Good evening.”
Solas said something that sounded like Dalish, but wasn't. Felassan looked sheepish and answered back.
“Enough!” Arethin said. She jabbed a finger at Solas. “You. Explain. Right now.”
“Explain what?” Solas sighed. “What did Felassan tell you?”
“You're--” Arethin looked around, her eyes narrowed. Others began to crowd in as well. She spotted Keeper Lanaya.
“Keeper,” she yanked Felassan forward. “Keep an eye on this one.”
Lanaya stared at Felassan, then back to Arethin. “Where did he come from?” she asked.
“Not now,” Arethin waved a hand. “Or rather—you can explain,” she pointed at Felassan. She looked around at everyone. “Solas,” she snapped. “You come with me.”
Felassan muttered something to Solas in their shared language again, and Solas gave him a dirty look.
“If you wish,” Solas said.
“I do wish. Come.”
They left Felassan to try and explain himself to the others, and for privacy's sake, Arethin and Solas returned to her room.
Once they were alone together, she crossed her arms and looked at him.
“What did Felassan say to you?” he asked, tilting his head up.
“He said that you are Fen'harel,” she said.
He sighed and closed his eyes, and muttered something insulting that had 'Felassan' in it.
“Can I assume this is why you don't like the Dalish?” Arethin asked, raising her eyebrows.
“One reason.”
“Then tell me why I shouldn't throw you in prison.”
“And how much good would you believe that to be?”
Arethin sighed. “Probably not much.”
He looked at her. “I am here, and have not left,” he said. “And likewise, you did not attack. So it seems I am somewhat worthy of a modicum of trust.”
“Maybe. I'm still trying to decide.”
Solas pinched the bridge of his nose. “What would you have me tell you?”
“What are you planning? Felassan told me a story, but I want to hear what you have to say.”
“I do only what I must.”
“And what is it that you must do?” she narrowed her eyes at him. “I want no falsehoods, and no half-truths. Tell me what you plan to do.”
He considered her for a long time. “I wish to destroy the Veil,” he said. “And restore the Elvhenan that was.”
Arethin tilted her head back. “He said we should stop you doing that. The whole reason he's here is because he thinks you shouldn't be doing it.”
Solas looked away, his brow furrowed. “He has expressed...misgivings,” he murmured.
“Then perhaps that means you shouldn't do it.”
“Well, it will be a great deal more difficult now.”
“That's true.”
They stood, considering each other, neither really knowing what to say.
“It was my fault,” Solas said at last.
“What was?”
“I constructed the Veil.” he looked away. “I destroyed Elvhenan. All that came after is my doing.”
“Felassan said the same.”
“Is it not true?”
“Only mostly true.”
Solas chuckled. “Your honesty is refreshing.”
“Do you spend a great deal of time around dishonest people?” she hummed to herself. “Or perhaps liars merely accumulate other liars.”
“That is entirely possible. I never directly lied to you, however.”
Arethin sighed. “Yes, yes...we never asked, and all. Although I think 'are you Fen'harel' is a question that wouldn't likely come up in conversation.”
“And thus, the lack of a need to explicitly lie.”
“Very true.” she peered at him. “Felassan said to bring back Elvhenan, you would need to use magic that affects time, like Alexius did.”
“Yes. Although it is quite likely that at this point, you would work to stop me.”
"Of course I would. I rather enjoy living.” she ran a hand over her head. “Tell me why.”
“I could, as you say, lie.”
“Of course. But tell me something to justify yourself. Then I shall decide if you're lying or not.”
Solas sighed and looked up, out an overhead window. “It was a mistake, to do what I did. I want to undo it.”
“At our expense? I don't believe that's the only reason.” her jaw was clenched.
“You don't believe me the vicious monster of your legends?” his lip curled at mentioning Dalish legends.
“I believe that if you were like that, it wouldn't make sense to bring Elvhenan back if you destroyed it in the first place, so why bother even to lie about it?” Arethin said. “And I believe that if you are how you say you are, you have more reasons than repairing a mistake.”
“You went to the future with Dorian and Vivienne. You undid that world.”
“It isn't the same.”
“Is it not?”
“The only reason that world existed was because I wasn't there to close the Breach,” she reminded him. “You came the slow way to this world. It was no accident that brought you here.”
Solas sighed.
“So,” she said. “Justify yourself. Felassan tried to do it. Now I want to hear you before I decide what to do next.”
“I killed my people,” Solas said, gray eyes flashing. “Perhaps I did not intend to, but it was still my actions that brought their deaths. I cannot let it stand.”
Arethin's mouth thinned into a hard line. “I see,” she said. “And we are not your people?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“There are a thousand years between your people and mine. Even without—all that has been done—we would be different. All that I knew—everything—is gone.”
“I suppose.” Arethin looked away from him, considering her next words. “Think very carefully before you answer my next question,” she said. “And do not lie.”
“Very well.”
“You said you had children, once.”
“I did.” Solas inclined his head. “They all died,” he said. “All of them. I have not found any. Not even their graves.”
“And your friends? The rest of your family?”
“Gone.”
Arethin's hands went cold. “Was that before or after the Veil?”
“My eldest died in battle, in one of the Evanuris' wars,” his lips twisted. “And then, others died as well. Then they killed Mythal.”
“Mythal?” she blinked. “How could they kill her?”
“A betrayal. It is...a long tale, one too long to explain now. She is not wholly dead.”
“How can someone not be wholly dead?”
“The Evanuris have their ways. So many died that something had to be done to stop them. But in doing so, I destroyed everything.” his eyes took on a faraway look.
“Well, you destroyed everything you know. But we're still here.” her tone was almost imploring. Perhaps all was not as he thought it was.
He chuckled. “You make it sound simpler than it is.”
“Is that so?”
“My people lived for thousands of years,” Solas said. “Our children die within a hundred. The destruction is not total, but must be remedied.”
“Killing all of us wouldn't be fixing the problem.”
“I know,” he said. “I—want there to be another way. But do you see? If I do nothing, I destroyed my world for yours. Or, I can destroy your world for mine. There is no avenue I can take.”
“Maybe there is.” she raised her marked hand and held it out to him. “After all,” she said. “You don't know all of what this does. Nor do I.”
“It is meant to be mine,” he said. “If left alone, it will kill you.”
“Yours?”
“The orb Corypheus carries is mine.”
“Ah.” she narrowed her eyes. “Why does he have it?”
“A mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“The kind of mistake one makes when profoundly disoriented and immediately accosted by a foul-smelling darkspawn,” Solas said, his tone becoming somewhat defensive. “I could not use it—I was too weak. Corypheus could feel the magic, and offered to open it.”
“And you just gave it to him?” Arethin demanded, outraged. “Are you insane?”
He was quiet for a long time. “What would you do for your son, Arethin?”
Arethin's heart leapt into her throat. “Don't use my son for your argument.” she snapped.
“Then think what I would do for my own sons and daughters.”
She was silent, her stomach churning. “I know what it's like to lose family,” she said. “And I know—I know—I would do anything for my son.”
“And you also know I could be lying.”
“I know that, too,” she agreed. “And I might regret this in the future, when you've done your evil plan and played us all like puppets--” she sighed. “But I have this,” she held up her marked hand. “So I have something over you. And...” she sighed. “You stayed. Felassan was sure you would run.”
“I thought...” Solas sighed. “I knew you would at least listen to me.”
“And I did. And here we are.”
“You can stop it,” he said. “Before things go too far. Before--” he cut himself off. “You asked what I wanted.”
“I did.”
“I want them back,” Solas said. “That—I had loftier goals, once. Now I don't care. I just want them back.”
“I know, my friend,” she said. “Anyone would. I know. But I don't know what to do about that.” she sighed. “So. What are we going to do?”
“Technically, this is my fortress,” Solas pointed out. “Do with that what you will.”
“We'll talk to Lanaya,” Arethin said. “Then the others.”