your faith was strong but you needed proof.

[dirth]

WHO: Solas, Thranduil, Adalia, Anders, Beleth, Rey
WHAT: All New, Faded for Her: Fade Rift edition
WHEN: Early this month after their return from the Sunless Lands
WHERE: Exalted Plains
NOTES: Possible warnings for murder, burning alive and all sorts of nastiness depending on the outcome of the quest! Starters are all in the comments!

ALL NEW, FADED FOR HER "One of Solas's old friends, a spirit, has been summoned against its will and needs his help."

Comments

closed to thranduil.

[dirth]

It starts with a dream.

Solas falls into the Fade in that all too familiar way, finding his way through the winding passages and familiar passageways until something hits him; a roadblock, something strange and unfamiliar, something with a heavy weight to it. There's a voice, familiar to him but distant, and when he wakes up it haunts him like a hounding echo, something weighted and dangerous that hangs around his shoulders.

When he wakes up his immediate reaction is horror and fear - it takes him a few moments to find any kind of calmness, something to settle him down and make him feel as though he's in his right mind once more, but then he moves and prepares for the day. The panic still hovers over him with the gentle nudging reminder of sleep burning at his eyes, but a cup of tea does something to manage that, at least, before he has to gather himself and make his way out of the tiny room he calls his own and across to the office that he knows he will find his friend in.

The door opens - he is always welcomed to Thranduil's rooms and it's rare that he takes advantage of it - and he stalks inside, tension evident in every shape and form of his body.

"I may need to ask a favour."

[rowancrowned]

Solas, with his strain writ large on his body, is not an unwelcome guest. Thranduil rises from his desk, leaving his papers behind, and crosses the room to meet the other elf.

“Yes,” he promises, because Solas is not young, no spry Dalish child with a full clan to help, but instead an apostate and attuned to the necessity of not asking for favors, of not expecting company. “What do you need, Solas?”

He thinks, at most and given the look, that someone has bothered the other elf and he requires Thranduil’s minimal pull as a division head to tidy something. Or perhaps not—this tenseness is new.

[dirth]

The certainty to which Thranduil moves to him is comforting to Solas, who has grown accustomed to being alone, to having little and expecting little from others. He was more versed in forcing himself to bear the weight of centuries upon his own shoulders rather than asking for aid and there's a moment where he seems almost genuinely shocked by the eagerness of his friend.

He gets over it quickly.

"One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard its cry for help as I slept." Solas breathes out, sharp and frustrated, waving a hand in front of him. "It asks for my help to return to the Fade."

[rowancrowned]

Love is the best way to bind someone to you, and Thranduil aches in some part of himself for all the elves. He fears (and suspects Galadriel does as well, though they will never speak of it) that this will be their fate too, someday, that somehow the Quendi will be pulled to these depths.

"'It'?" he says, expecting a mistranslation somewhere. An animal, perhaps? But he does not refer to his elk as it. Such a thing hardly matters, not now, not when Solas describes his friend with such tenderness. Slavery, no, that cannot stand. "A spirit? Of course. Where are they? I will make the arrangements to come with you. Do you wish for Inquisition arms and support as well?"

One of the perks of his placement.

[dirth]

There is a strangeness, to wake here and find kinship with people from another world, and Solas still questions the reality of it. It feels too convenient, too wonderful a thing, as if this is some dream world that he has imagined between the Veil and the Fade, as if he has brought them here to fill the void in his own chest. It seems a foolish, childish notion that makes him hurt.

"A Spirit of Wisdom." Solas expects there to be some judgement, now. His oldest friend being no more than a spirit? Anyone else might imagine him mad. "It. They are in the Exalted Plains, trapped by some means." The idea of the Inquisition coming as support... Solas hesitates. He would not ask if he did not want the strength of his friends, but...

"Only those that you think can be trusted with the care of my friend."

[rowancrowned]

A spirit, of all possible options? But Solas, in the kindest possible terms, is nomadic and apostates would not have access to the crystals that they have here and now. A spirit whom he could visit while he slept makes sense in that context, but oh, how lonely.

(Unless, his mind whispers, 'oldest' only means 'still living'.)

"Not official Inquisition business, I think," Thranduil murmurs. "Choose those who you think best suited and speak of it as necessary for the recovery of some artifact or another, or some protection for the Veil. I will make arrangements for the rest."

That, he can do for his friend.

[dirth]

Friendships are few and far between when most of your fellows are imprisoned with magic and age befalls those that you might get close to - Solas is not quite mortal, not quite a God, and the only people that have survived with length enough to mean something have been spirits. They mean a great deal to him, a last connection with a world he needs to repair, and he grips at them with all the strength that he has.

The tension, at least, is clear. His friend is important, is special, and Solas refuses to allow them to be harmed.

"I would appreciate it." His privacy is important and he has never been the kind of man to spread his own problems across public forums. No, he would rather keep this as quiet as possible, with as few people as can be managed. This is something that requires people he can put his faith in, as few a number as it may turn out to be.

"Adalia can be trusted with the truth, if she is willing," He frowns, bowing his head. His friend, almost, he thinks he might call her that. "I will contact some others, those that I think will be willing to offer aid. Whenever you are free to leave will be best." The sooner the better.

[rowancrowned]

“A day and a night,” Thranduil says. “Any longer, and you ought to leave without me, and I will join you after. Your friend is more important.”

They are in Kirkwall and far less important for that, and he now knows just how much Casimir can be expected to handle while he is gone. It is unlikely that they will be gone for more than a handful of days, and this is far more important than some of the other things he has done for the Inquisition.

He inclines his head in deference to Solas’ choice and keeps his (baseless, to others) opinions to himself. “As you like,” he says. “We must move quickly to help them.”

[dirth]

"That is enough time." It's an easy thing to agree to - a bare few days, enough for them to gather something, and then they can be off and prepared for the worst.

Solas does not know what to expect when he travels and finds Wisdom. All he knows is that it cried out for help, that it was desperate for him to find it, help, to soothe whatever aches have drawn the spirit from the Fade and into this world, and his own anger and fear is causing him some small measure of panic. It has been a long, long time since he had felt so on edge, so desperate.

It takes him a few moments, but he manages to nod.

"Yes. You have my thanks, Thranduil."