Dawn was breaking over the village of Haven when Solas stopped in front of the tent where Leliana was usually found. To his surprise, he encountered the woman who called herself Josephine—the only one among them he had not yet had the pleasure of meeting. She was Antivan by origin, and held the role of diplomat within this group of people who had taken on the commendable task of trying to bring order amid the chaos unleashed by his Orb's explosion.
A difficult task, even for him…
Josephine looked uneasy as she exchanged words with Leliana. The redhead, for her part, held documents in her hands and gripped them tightly. It would have been interesting to vanish into the shadows and listen to every word those two women said, but today his mind was an uncomfortable whirlpool of thoughts. He only wanted to step away, take a breath alone, and decide how to move forward with his personal plans. Just as he turned to leave, he nearly collided head-on with the Seeker of Truth.
May those across the sea take her…
- Oh, Solas… - He felt the warrior's hand clamp around his arm like an iron vise. - Couldn't sleep either? - she asked, her face severe.
He noticed that in her other hand she carried a thick book, exquisitely bound—though old. And what was that? Solas's attention snapped to it at once, but (perhaps without meaning to) she shifted her chest in that direction, blocking his view entirely.
Damn it.
- Actually, I was looking for some fresh air, Seeker.
The woman huffed and offered him a subtle smile. She moved her body away and added:
- I haven't thanked you for your services, Solas. You did excellent work with Elentari. And I'm glad to know we managed to stabilize the Breach.
Yes. That.
Cassandra's prisoner had woken the day before and had effectively helped seal the great rift that had formed inside the Temple of Sacred Ashes during the Conclave explosion. It was precisely those events that had him unsettled this morning.
Once freed from her stupor, the Dalish woman had introduced herself to the group as Elentari, First of Clan Lavellan, and had shown composure from the start. She had fought without hesitation and kept going despite everything.
Solas thought, without doubt, that the young elf must have felt fear upon waking inside a cell—and yet she had chosen to help her captors because it was the right thing to do (she herself had given that reason). And when he had taken her hand and forced her to close the first rift, she had simply obeyed. But her obedience had not been resignation, nor servitude (he could recognize those even with his eyes closed); it had been deliberate and conscious.
A display of unexpected determination…
…as unexpected as the kindness she had shown to spirits in the Fade the day he visited her while she slept.
- The credit belongs to Elentari, Seeker. I have done nothing. - Solas said with firm humility.
Better that all eyes stayed on her, not on him. This time, in this world, he did not want to be the leader of any resistance. Quite the opposite…
He would be the spy in the shadows.
He noticed the warrior smiling again—and then she took his arm and steered him into the tent, toward the other two women. He registered the authority with which she handled his body, the natural strength with which she directed him. Cassandra was clearly used to being obeyed, used to commanding soldiers. But he was a mage, not a soldier.
Not hers, at least.
Still, he considered it prudent to bite his tongue and follow.
- Josephine, this is Solas. - Cassandra said.
The brunette, who had been arguing with Leliana, turned and smiled politely.
- Oh. You're our expert on the forces of the Fade, aren't you? - Solas looked mildly surprised. He registered that she had called him "expert of the Fade," not "apostate," the way Cassandra usually did. - It's a pleasure. I'm Josephine Montilyet.
- The pleasure is all mine.
The Seeker released his arm.
- She is our ambassador and chief diplomat. - Leliana added, stepping in front of him.
The apostate nodded cautiously, feigning surprise at being so actively pulled into the team.
- Then… - the redhead set the documents down on a table and met Solas's gaze. - You believe we must provide more power to Elentari's Mark in order to close the Breach effectively, is that correct?
Solas nodded, though it still sounded strange to hear them refer to "Elentari's Mark," when to him it was Fen'Harel's.
- The hypothesis is that if we concentrate enough magic in her hand, we might accomplish our goal.
Solas said nothing more. Leliana had merely put into words what was already true.
- Unfortunately... - the ambassador intervened - the two groups that could help us achieve that goal have no desire to negotiate with us. - She paused and looked at him. - I mean the rebel mages, or the templars.
Solas nodded and maintained his prudent silence.
- To make matters worse, the Chantry has denounced us and declared us heretics. - Josephine sighed in frustration. - We must reach out to both groups as soon as possible… we need a connection.
- We'll handle that with Elentari. - Cassandra said, resolute. - We'll scout the Hinterlands and see how things stand.
- Has she woken? - Leliana asked.
And Cassandra looked to Solas, expecting an answer. The mage stared at them, faintly surprised. He had not been the one to care for the elf after they had assigned that task to Adan the apothecary.
- Then… I don't know. You assigned the apothecary to that task, remember. - he said.
The redhead made a small gesture of displeasure with her mouth.
- I could…
- Right... - Leliana cut herself off with another sigh, letting her fatigue show. Then she turned to the ambassador. - Well, I suppose it's time to gather everyone in the Chantry, Josie…
- And declare the Inquisition reborn. - Cassandra added firmly, with something like pride in her voice.
Solas looked from one woman to the other. He knew the history of the first Inquisition, but only vaguely. In the last year, he had not had the pleasure of holding a book in his hands that truly developed that subject. Now he knew he had to. Would the library in the lower cells have anything? Almost by accident, his gaze fell—again—on the thick book Cassandra carried.
And now he recognized immediately the Inquisition's symbol, and the urge to ask to borrow it nearly caught in his throat.
But he kept his composure.
He could not reveal his true intentions to anyone here. He did not know them, did not know who they truly were. The tyrants of the past had already taught him an extraordinary ability to feign righteousness.
- This was the order of Her Most Holy, Divine Justinia. - Leliana said, interrupting his thoughts. - Restore the ancient Inquisition and seek those who will oppose the chaos. Justinia asked Elentari for help during the Conclave—we heard her call her! She is the help the Maker sent us in this moment of need.
Solas listened, fully aware of the power those words could carry in the future—if each member of this new "Inquisition" used the pieces on the board strategically in their favor. The three women seemed more than competent. And one thing was certain: they believed what they were saying.
That was significant.
Powerful... but it could also be… dangerous.
Most truly important narratives, the ones that outlived history, had arisen as a consequence of emotional projections and longing. True believers played a key role in the rise of every relevant ideology, and that was precisely what was being forged here. The dispute between mages and templars had plunged the continent into a shared feeling of fear, and the Divine's death into despair…
Only time would be the faithful witness of what these days would do with the figure of a woman capable of taming the very skies…
And yet, that was not what mattered most. Something far more urgent mattered:
The fracture in his Veil.
That was the real danger.
They had no idea how much.
Still, it would be petty of him to dismiss a surprising fact of this age. Perhaps, for the first time since this world had first seen light under his Veil, someone of his race was gaining a prominence as great as the Dalish woman now seemed to hold in the building of a fantastic narrative.
Was it possible?
What future would be traced under the guidance of the one who bore Fen'Harel's Mark?
And so, he decided to push the analysis a little further.
- Forgive me, but… are you aware that Elentari is a Dalish elf?
Cassandra and Leliana looked at him, slightly taken aback. Solas did not flinch. He wanted to hear the answer; he wanted to measure the depth of what was forming here. Was it possible that the Andrastians—those whose Second Exalted March had led to the birth of the "Dalish"—might come to revere one of them out of sheer desperation?
It was the Seeker of Truth who answered:
- She is exactly what we need, and when we need it. It is providence, Solas. It is the help the heavens have sent us in dire times.
In the warrior's eyes, there was hope.
Providence.
What a useful word.
So Solas merely nodded. With all due courtesy, he excused himself and left the three women immersed in their duties, resuming his walk toward the village outskirts so he could think through everything that was happening.
He felt uneasy. Restless.
It was possible that Elentari might truly reach the stature of a mystical being if the Inquisition succeeded. If, in the future, enough believers rallied to her cause, the story told about her could have a far greater impact on Thedas's history than the actual person that young elf truly was.
And that irritated him deeply.
He had already witnessed the force narratives could wield over a people—and the tyranny their protagonists could impose.
And it worried him.
Because wasn't this woman Corypheus's agent?
Or had it been mere chance that she ended up with his Orb's power in the palm of her hand?
He wondered what kind of heroine she would choose to be. One "chosen" by the gods, or one who kept herself apart from divinity. Whether she would desire power and devotion, or instead fight for the oppressed and the innocent…
He could not know.
Not yet.
All he knew was that the Dalish woman carried Fen'Harel's power upon her palm…
Ironic.
From what he had observed, to her people—the elf's savage people—he was the great adversary of their mythology…
…and now she was marked by his Orb.
He clenched his jaw and closed his hands into tight fists. He was angry, because there was nothing he could do—nothing except what he was already doing: becoming part of all of this so he could try to steer the narrative of future events in favor of his purpose.
Solas headed toward a snowy slope that ringed the village. Snow crunched beneath his almost-bare feet with every step. The air was icy, pure—without the corruption of red lyrium, without the scars of a torn Veil. Sometimes, in the mountains or the empty fields, Thedas reminded him of what other times had been. A time when there had been peace…
After all, Solas had lived on these lands in his own age.
But it was only a lie.
This world was an echo of what had been, and his own times had not been peaceful either… He had waged war for centuries that had felt endless… and it had exhausted him. Both spirit and mind. And now he seemed trapped here, where the silence drove him mad.
Solas exhaled with disdain—and then a flicker in the sky drew his attention.
A raven cut across the dawn with imperturbable majesty, drawing a perfect silhouette against the glow of sunrise. It flew with absolute mastery of the currents, as if the sky belonged to it. For an instant, he held his breath.
It was beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
Life, when it was free of corruption, was art in motion.
That flight reminded him of another age, another sky—higher, vaster… threaded through with magical melodies. It reminded him of ancient lands where magic danced in the air, where rivers murmured secrets, and mountains were not mute rock but living stone.
Of a home that no longer existed.
Here, instead, he was a foreigner. A fragment out of place. The air was colder. The leaves no longer sang. The spirits were quiet. Thedas was not his home.
It never would be.
It was only a failed reflection of what had been lost.
And yet he had to protect it.
He closed his eyes. For a moment, he let the pain settle. Nostalgia was nothing but a form of punishment—and he accepted it.
He deserved it…
When he opened his eyes again, the raven was still there.
And far away, near the forest, a silhouette cut against the snow—small, familiar. The vibration of the Anchor in the air was unmistakable.
Her.
Elentari.
Solas lowered his gaze, silent. He didn't need to approach to know what he had to do.
He had to earn her trust…
Because if the narrative of this era was going to place Elentari at its center...
Then he needed to be at its margins from the very beginning.