Solas's lucid consciousness entered the Fade with ease. He knew finding her would not be difficult, since she bore his mark.
The formless paths of the Realm of Dreams began to take shape as the elvhen advanced. Solas mastered this place; the Fade was his ally, and he did not need to look to know where he was going. He moved without haste, letting the dream settle around his steps.
In the distance, he finally glimpsed the presence of a small body, visibly lost in this place. That was her. As he could take no risks, he adopted the form of a great wild wolf, dark-furred and threatening in presence. He wanted to know who she was. He wanted to know the kernel of her essence; after all, that young woman carried a great power—his power—and Solas would not accept that someone unworthy should wield it.
He—who had fought the tyrants of his time with the very power this thief now bore; he—who had defeated his enemies with the strength of Fen'Harel, now in the dalishan's hands… an elf who, from what he could see, seemed to be allied with a corrupt tyrant like Corypheus… a mage Solas had intended to leave for dead when he opened his Orb… and yet now she was marked with the Anchor…
The panorama shifted as the great gray wolf advanced. No longer was it a formless, changing place; instead, a forest rich in vegetation took its place. Around him, elven men and women with tattoos on their faces performed slave labor. Solas was creating the scene he believed suitable to observe her. He tried to make it resemble an environment like the one in which she had grown up—something similar to the Dalish clans he had visited during his awakening in Thedas—but he added the slavery of his own era, in a somber attempt to show her that, even if the prisoner did not know it and the Dalish believed themselves free, they bore marks of slavery on their faces with pride. He felt the fury churn within him. He—who had seen those marks burn upon subjugated skin—now had to behold them raised as standards of freedom. What a brutal irony. Even so, he did not wish to be aggressive—not yet—so he chose to show more "subtle" aspects of oppression. He would see later whether it was necessary to add greater brutality to the images of the Fade.
Now, some of the elven servants scrubbed eating utensils in the stream; others washed clothes, while still others spun tirelessly and wove garments for their masters. Callused hands and roughened skin bore witness to endless years of service. None of them complained; Solas showed them submissive and surrendered to their "fates," though he abhorred the very idea that such a thing existed. The elven prisoner looked around when everything changed, and Solas saw surprise in her gaze. He did not see fear—this could only mean she wandered the dream-realm often, something unusual among the mages of this silent world. He saw her observe, curious, and take a few measured steps back. She bumped into a trunk and, far from worrying, chose to sit down. Wild nature, without doubt, was home to the dalishan… Now seated, Solas saw her turn her face from side to side, absorbing every detail her eyes allowed. She granted herself the necessary time to understand what was happening.
Prudent and intelligent.
The elf let time pass patiently, assimilated what her eyes bore witness to, and then stood to walk toward a group of three elves cleaning bowls with scraps of food. Her build was small, as elves of these times seemed to be. Losing their union with the Fade seemed to have shortened them, making them fragile and sickly. He noticed the woman bore a long cascade of dark hair that fell to her waist in discreet waves, unrestrained in its wild freedom. Something fluttered in the wolf's entrails—he knew all too well the reason—but he did not wish to analyze it. He was still quite unsettled by his first year in this atrocious world. He could not think of her… he must not.
The prisoner approached the elven slaves and sat beside them on the slightly damp earth; the prisoners watched her, somewhat intrigued, and the young woman took one of the bowls to almost immediately share the labor with the servants.
- Why are you cleaning all this? - she whispered, not refraining from helping them simplify the work.
Solas felt something strange within him as he realized that the woman had just formed a bond with slaves without feeling any dishonor in it; instead of approaching the others to demand explanations, she chose to descend into the servants' labor to converse with them as equals. She wanted to make them feel comfortable, dignified… she did not wish to insult them. The wolf's furry tail flicked almost beyond his control; then the great gray wolf sat back on his haunches at a distance, aware she had not noticed his presence, and continued to watch her.
- We must clean all this for our masters. - one of the women replied as if it were obvious. - It is our duty.
The prisoner made a small grimace of disagreement. Solas knew she had never been enslaved. It was ironic to understand that Cassandra's "prisoner" had lived in relative freedom among her own, and now her sleeping body lay in a cold cell. Something stirred within him, as if Solas's rebellious spirit wished to break the shackles that bound her in Thedas and grant her the freedom inherent to all beings with free will. But he knew he must not. For one thing, the dalishan was his cover; for another… she was Corypheus's agent.
- Our duty? - she whispered, looking at the elven servants. - Very well. I'll help you. - And she quickly joined the labor. There was no submission in the gesture, but rather… a kind of—pity? The wolf tilted his head and continued to observe one who might be his enemy in the future.
Time passed among the elves, and the woman's presence quickly integrated with the rest. She washed bowls and placed them carefully atop the others, took them again and repeated the act. Her hands were neither callused nor rough-skinned. Solas could see a thickening of the skin on her right hand, where the mage likely held her staff often, but there were no signs of forced labor upon her. Another oddity. Dalish elves—or at least those he had known—usually bore hands hardened by arduous work, even the young. But this elf did not… had she never been subjected to heavy labor? What sort of dalishan was she? The wolf kept watching…
Solas heard her hum a soft melody in the elven tongue that soon worked like an enchantment upon the slaves' hands, who followed the rhythm of the song to ease the burden of forced labor. He felt a pang of irritation.
This Dalish elf believes suffering is eased by songs. How naive.
And yet the slaves' faces changed. There were smiles, relief. Something within the Rebel Wolf stirred with a warmth he had not asked for. For the truth was that those slaves were spiritual entities who had answered the elvhen's call. Solas was the Spirit-Speaker in this realm, and they responded to his will, gladly. They were his friends—the only ones he had left. And she had made them happy.
The dalish's melody was gentle, a lullaby floating among the ethereal reflections of that dreamscape. The wolf cocked his head. He had seen countless dreamers, trapped in nightmares or shaping the Fade with hunger for power. But this… this elf did it differently. She did not seek to control or escape. Nor did she surrender to chaos. She sang, and unexpectedly connected with the oppressed, synchronizing their movements to the cadence of her voice. Now, thanks to the song, there was no duty in their actions—there was enjoyment. The elf had lightened their burden, and that was worth more than a diamond ring or a pearl necklace. There was a strange beauty in her method. In the way her thoughts wove memories—not to change them, but to hold them within their own harmony. As if she stubbornly believed that pain should not be forgotten, but understood, borne, and shared to lighten its weight… Inevitably, and much against his will, the memory of the great Mythal wandered (again) through his mind. The wolf let out a small growl; he did not want to think of her, much less compare her to the wild Dalish.
The sound of the animal was enough for the prisoner to become aware of his presence. The woman turned toward him and smiled without a trace of fear, though the melody did not stop. Cassandra's prisoner's eyes took on a yellowish hue, the tone of the Sun—so common among the nobles of Solas's era, yet something strange in the lands of Thedas. The elvhen noted the violet halo edging that golden iris and, for an instant, remembered someone dear from his past. Another oddity of the prisoner. That gaze seemed to hide ancient magic—magic of his time… but that was impossible.
The young woman shifted her attention back to the dirty utensils. Her dark lashes were abundant and gave her an arresting expression, shaping beautiful almond eyes. Far from abandoning the task before her, the Dalish continued singing and did not move away from the other slaves.
This woman did not seem a servant of Corypheus…
Solas's agents had dealt with that corrupt mage and warned him he was a tyrant—egotistical and megalomaniacal. The prisoner did not seem the sort of person willing to work with someone like that. Then why?
When all the bowls lay clean beside them, the young elf stood and ceased her song. The elven servants smiled and thanked her. Then she turned and walked toward him without any sign of fear. Another surprise: the elf did not fear wolves. He knew he should not be surprised—after all, she was Dalish —but the lupine form he usually adopted in the Fade was that of a threatening gray wolf, a terrible wolf, not the sort that looked like a "friendly companion."
The gray wolf abandoned his relaxed posture and bared his teeth in intimidation. They did not know each other, and it was best to maintain a prudent distance. The woman stopped and respected it. Solas noted much sadness in the shine of those eyes and, unable to prevent it, wondered what afflicted her. It should not matter to him, but she should not have surprised him either.
- Do you mind if I come closer? - the elven prisoner whispered. Her posture showed a certain tension—she did not fear beasts, but this wolf had just warned her it was not friendly. Then he saw her glance at her left hand, the one glowing with greenish hues. Solas stepped closer; she looked surprised but not intimidated. He sniffed her hand in search of a clue. She offered it for his inspection.
- There is something strange about me, wolf... - she confessed. - I don't remember what happened, and I don't know how to leave this place. But this thing on my palm… it isn't mine.
No. It was his. The wolf watched her and Solas understood she was lost in the Fade. For him, who had been the Spirit-Speaker, it took only a quick sniff to perceive traces of power from a spirit of Terror. Her memories had been stolen; she would be able to tell Cassandra or Leliana very little if she awoke. Trying to understand through the young woman what had happened during the Conclave made no sense. Only a visit to the realm of that spiritual entity could return the stolen memories—but that was a complex mission, pointless at the moment. More important was dealing with the great rift that was expanding. And to do that, she would need to master Fen'Harel's power upon her palm.
The wolf flicked his tail. Solas had decided he had to get her out of here.
The young elf who bore the vallaslin of Ghilan'nain smiled when she saw the beast accept her presence. Then she crouched at his side and stroked between the animal's bluish eyes. The great wolf allowed it—only because he had to wake her.
- You have beautiful eyes, great wolf. - she whispered, and Solas cursed inwardly for having been so careless and forgetting to change the color of his irises. It was dangerous for her to connect his elven form with the Great Wolf. After all, the last time the Dalish recognized him for who he truly was, they had attacked him—and paid the price for offending him. But with her it was different, because her palm bore the power he coveted. The prisoner had to trust Solas, not fear him. She would never know he was Fen'Harel. Then the gray wolf turned and began to walk a path with slow steps, inviting her to follow. She did. And just as he was about to lead her away, Solas opened his eyes in the waking world.
The Seeker stirred, and he knew he had to leave. She must not find him inside the mind of her prisoner. He abruptly abandoned the Fade and looked upon the young woman lying asleep in this world, but lost among dreams.
- Rest, Dalish. I will get you out of there…
A short time later, the warrior stood at his side, her gaze weary and drowsy.
- Forgive me, Solas. I fell asleep.
- There is nothing to forgive, Seeker.
- Have you discovered anything?
- No. I will need more time to examine the prisoner.