faderift | your faith was strong but you needed proof.

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your faith was strong but you needed proof.

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."

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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."

They gather as a group and make their way across to the Exalted Plains - not so much a danger as it had been before, perhaps, but still run awry with brigands and thieves that want to make their way by stealing and thievery. It's not as deadly a place as it might have been even months before, but Solas is keenly aware of the threat is poses to people who are unprepared and unready for protecting themselves, and he knows the way to his friend clearly. She had called to him and there was no chance that he would ignore them, nothing that might make him hesitate in chasing down the pathways to their side.

When the group approaches the area he can already see the towering pillars that scream a ritual, something hideous and daunting that makes him feel on edge and uncertain. When he moves forward the nature of them hits him and he stops, stumbling forward with a rage and an anger that is rare to see on his face: he knows no one here will have seen him this edgy before, this frustrated, this tense. He is ready for a fight, calling out as he strides forward.

"My friend..." He makes a sound of pure anguish, of rage. "This is not it's natural form! It's been corrupted, forced to act against it's original purpose! What did they do?"

It's during his monologue that a mage steps out of the shadows, looking petrified in the face of so many people and a demon hovering behind them, trapped only because of the pillars keeping it in place.

"A mage! Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted, we've been fighting that demon!"

Solas rears at that, almost snarling like a wolf on the hunt, dangerous and deadly."

"You summoned that demon! Except it was a Spirit of Wisdom at the time! You made it kill! You twisted it against it's purpose!"

"I understand how it might be confusing for someone who hasn't studied demons,but after you help us I can -"

"We are not here to help you."

( will be updated depending on the group's decision! )

I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Kirkwall.

He walks for hours once his friend is gone. The sadness weighs on him far more than he had ever imagined; there had been so much hope when he had heard their call, a genuine desire to see them restored and returned to the Fade, but it had fallen apart around his fingertips. He had watched them go, disappeared, fade into nothing, knowing they would come back and be different from the creature he had known and enjoyed such a deep friendship with. Recognising that lost, tied up with all the other things, was difficult.

It hurts. It always hurts. But he will survive.

Returning to Kirkwall does not mean that he seeks out his friends immediately. While he is grateful to those that came with him and thankful for the help they offered, the reminder is not what he needs right now. Instead, he wraps himself in a cloak and makes his way through the town, back up the familiar pathways that lead him to another door, to a friend he knows will empathise with him, who will understand the pain weighing on his shoulders and demand nothing from him. He seeks to be comforted, even if he is unsure how to shoulder the weight of it.

Outside her door, he hovers for a few short moments, standing in front of the wood as though it has all the answers for him. A part of him had questioned if it was worthy of him to return, but he had true friends here. He knew that he could not abandon them no more than he could abandon his duty to the Inquisition, his desire to undo the mistakes of his past.

Lifting his hand, he knocks quietly.

When Solas asked for help rescuing his friend, Adalia jumped at the chance both to leave Kirkwall and to help her mentor. That it's a worthy task only made the decision easier, but the trek to the Exalted Plains and outside Kirkwall was Adalia's foremost goal.

At least, it was until she realized the depth of the fuckedness of Wisdom's situation. Now, she's snarling at Solas' side, sparks crackling along her frame.

"We most certainly are not. How do we fix this, Solas? Can it be saved?"

They can deal with mages after Wisdom is rescued, or at least put of its misery.

"You cannot save a demon. No matter how amicable it might appear it is -"

"Shut. Up. You summoned it. To protect you from the bandits. You bound it to obedience and then commanded it to kill."

His fury is clear, rage burning on the tip of his tongue and frustration that makes it seem as though he's close to snapping the man before him in two. He turns to look at the rest of the group, eyes wide and desperate, before he breathes out and tries to make his way forward.

"We have to do something."

"Is there a way to remind it of it's true nature?" Rey pipes up, her eyes not on Solas or any of the others but the creature where the mages had it bound. They've seen demons like that before, and she has to wonder if any of them had also once been spirits that had been corrupted by coming into the mortal world.

Her eyes shift from the demon to Solas, her brows knitted together. "Can you talk to it?"

"The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with it's nature, no demon."

Solas' voice gets louder the more he speaks, and the mage at his side moves forward, hands held in front of him and eyes wide. His fear is equally matched by Solas' anger and frustration and it's a little unclear which he is more afraid of; the demon or the apostate standing in front of him, seeming ready to kill.

"The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us. Whatever it was before, it is a monster now."

Making a noise of anguish, Solas turns to the people around him. Some of them are friends, some acquaintances, but he hopes - or, rather, expects with some level of hope - their cooperation in this. There's a desperation there that probably has never coloured his face in their company before, and he moves a step closer to the circle.

"Please."

Solas doesn't even have to make the plea, honestly — Adalia's running through her arsenal of spells trying to think of what will help them free the spirit quickly enough no one has to interface with the demon too much, how to position people to their best use, what to do with these fucking assholes once they've freed Wisdom. She has ideas, and she fully turns her back on the Kirkwall mages to shut them out of the conversation as she lays them out for the group.

"I can cast haste on two people at a time. Those people can attack the pillars, break them, and move on to the next more quickly, while the rest of us distract the demon. I can absorb a little bit of electrical damage, so I think I should be up front to take the most hits so the rest of you don't have to. Who are the ones I should haste?"

All of this said with the expectation that they will agree to Solas' plea and her plan — there's no reason to kill the spirit if the binding is broken, and the spirit is who they're here to help. Obviously they're going along with Solas' idea.

Well, this was fucked up.

Beleth stays silent as the mage speaks—not one of the ones allied to the Inquisition, or he would have said as much—and then to Solas. Then, still listening to the others speaking, her eyes flick to the demon—former spirit. Solas’ friend. Before the Inquisition, she would have been dubious to such a claim. But now, she’s spoken to multiple spirits. She’s made friends with—whatever Cole is.

She and Solas have their differences, but there are similarities, as well. What would she do, if someone did this to Cole?

“I can fire arrows from a distance. I can either use that to destroy the pillars, or to distract the demon. Lead it away. I wouldn’t need haste in either situation, however. Unless it catches up to me, I suppose.” She should probably be responsible here. Do the right thing for the Inquisition. What would people do if they knew they had freed a demon?

It’s a pity that she doesn’t care.

Rey looked at those of them standing here, her hands going to her lightsabers and drawing them both from her belt and igniting them, twirling both in her hands as she did.

"I can destroy the pillars. Padawan can help distract the demon." She looks down at her mabari who gives a bark of agreement. Rey can't tell what the pillars are made of from where she stands, but so far most materials in Thedas haven't been able to hold up long against a plasma-hot blade.

"With the pillars gone the spell should end. I am certain of that. Perhaps there is still some hope for my friend."

He doesn't sound as enthusiastic about it as he might - the anger and frustration have embittered him, and he seems far more dangerous than he has ever appeared before. Striding along passed the mages, he steps up and around towards the pillars, eyes narrowing.

"Shall we go together?"

The sound is a slight thing, quiet and unassuming, but Galadriel looks up as if it were something substantial, something startling. There are precious few who visit her here, who even know that these rooms are hers, and she cannot imagine what one of them would require of her. They are all welcome faces, however, and she does not wonder long why they might visit her.

She rises from her seat and sets her sewing aside on her table.

She is unaccustomed to doors and does not bid them wait, nor assure them that she is coming, but rather moves silently and then draws the door open. That she finds Solas on the other side is some surprise, insofar as anyone visiting her would be. Her smile is reflexive and it quirks her lips before she truly takes him in. There is something in the set of his shoulders, in the stance he wears, that seems off, almost diminished.

Her smile falls just so but does not quite vanish.

"A welcome sight you are. Please come in, mellon nin," she greets and ushers him into the room.

Solas is half prepared to turn away and pretend as though he does not seek comfort; it's a hard thing to consider, a hard thing to think about, and yet he cannot simply allow himself to ignore the weight of knowledge that settles on his shoulders. He had been out and waited, to see if he could contact his friend again, but he had found only a void, a loss that echoed around the Fade and in the depths of his own spirit.

He is glad to see her, at least, and something in her face and the shape of her does something to calm his broken and restless heart.

"Thank you." Walking inside, he glances around the room - familiar, comfortable, safe - before he breathes out. There's a weariness to him that makes him feel as though he might break all over again, but the agony of it all has him forcing himself back together. Not even Galadriel can have him fall apart, no matter how much he might wish it.

"I am sorry that I did not inform you that I had left," he wonders if she even noticed, "but there was an urgent matter I needed to attend to."

The apology is one she appreciates. He is not beholden to her, a fact that she felt no need to point out, but she had wondered at his sudden absence. She had sought him out once while he was away, but had thought little of finding him missing. He had come to her before he left for the Sunless Lands, had given her some assurances before he went into danger, so until this very moment it had not even occurred to her that he might've been at risk.

Whatever the matter was, he is safe now...at least in body.

She watches as he draws himself back together, as his grace covers the way his shoulders insist on sagging and the way his chin sinks just slightly the longer he stands. He is weary, in spirit if nothing else, and Galadriel wonders what might've rendered him so.

"Do not trouble yourself on my account," Galadriel replies and gently rests a hand against the back of his shoulder. "Come, sit with me a while, and if you like you may tell me what went awry.

"Unless you had imminent need of me somewhere?"

Edited (whoops repeated word) 2018-04-13 00:04 (UTC)

If Solas had rationalised his behaviour after Wisdom's capture then, perhaps, he might have considered alerting Galadriel to his absence; they were friends, of a sort, and he had spent much time in her company. She was the one tutoring him in languages and he knew very well that she might call upon him, but he had done nothing to leave any suggestion of where he was and what he needed to do. It has been a long time, after all, since he had needed to trust anyone with his whereabouts.

The truth was that, in this moment, Solas was exhausted. No sleep was going to repair that; his heart was hurt and his mind needed to stop and focus on something else, to give himself some respite from the ache that had built inside of him. Her company might do that.

Her gentle touch soothes some of his exhaustion and he shakes his head, moving forward into the room and giving her space to close the door should she choose. He would not force her to lock them away from the rest of the world, but he knows as well as she does that privacy is a welcome thing in the midst of the Inquisition and it is not something often given. People are too nosy and too curious for their own good.

"I will sit, and we shall talk." It's the least he can do, especially when he had come here for that purpose, in part. Solas desires comfort, desires someone to help him through the pain he is feeling, and she is one of the few people here that he thinks he can trust with his own hurt. He knows enough of her to think she might empathise with his situation.

"I came to speak with you, not drag you from your rooms, if you have the time to spare."

" Fárë nauva, as much as you like," she assures him warmly and urges him toward her bed. There is no subtler meaning to the gesture, it is simply the only furnishing capable of seating the both of them. She has not read his heart, she has not felt the need for such things in some time, but she can guess that he did not come here to speak to her across the room, seated alone.

Her hand doesn't leave his shoulder as she all but maneuvers him alongside her. It lingers there, perhaps longer than it should, just as she sits closer than she otherwise might.

"What do you wish to speak of? What troubles you?"

"I thank you for it." Solas is not used to being welcomed, to having someone who would listen and support him even in his weakest and darkest moments; he has been alone for quite some time. Realising that he is beginning to have people who will support him, who will be there when he needs it, who will do more than turn their back... It's a bizarre thing to consider, but he recognises it all the same.

He doesn't even consider where they are or their positioning as he sits, focussed entirely on her kindness and the soothing touch of a hand against his shoulder. It's a comfort, one that he is still not quite ready to admit aloud, even to someone he so very nearly trusts.

"A friend was murdered today."

"Murdered?" Galadriel repeats surprise coloring her tone. Her expression shifts and falls as she regards him. She had not expected Solas was troubled by something trivial, but the magnitude of what ails him is beyond her worst guesses.

"Ah, what a terrible thing!" Galadriel replies. "I am so sorry, for your loss as well as their fate."

"They were a spirit, dragged through the Fade to act as a protector to foolish mages." Even now, removed from the situation, with it having come to an end, his fury is obvious. "They were a Spirit of Wisdom, borne to help guide and offer knowledge, not to give chase to those that would harm it. They were twisted and broken and, in the end, lost themselves because of it."

On his legs, Solas clenches his hands, closing his eyes.

"They are gone now. They deserved more than what was given to them."

Galadriel is silent a moment, in deference to the fury in him, but when that moment passes, her hand shifts to rest atop his shoulder, her arm all but wrapped around his back.

"Many do," she says slowly, "and many who live, deserve it little, but do not despair."

She thinks then on Olorin, on his death and how terribly she had handled it. Solas, by comparison, is doing quite well and she is proud of his restraint.

"Death is not the end of all things, especially not for your friend and their ilk. True, it is a sorrowful thing, that their time with you, as they were, has ended...but they can never truly cease to be.

"Facets of them will persist unto the ending of the world and, truly, what is wisdom if it cannot become something wholly new?"

She is uncertain if he would wish to hear a tale and yet she cannot help herself.

"My dearest friends, in all my long years, have been akin to spirits. Their passing is harder for the nature of them...but to find them again, even changed, is so much kinder than to lose them forever to the dim eddies of time. Lament your friend's passing, as it is a tragedy, but take joy that they are not lost. They are not mortal things."

There is a softness, a kindness to her that almost breaks Solas. It's why he had not brought her with him to try and save Wisdom, why it had taken so long to find his way to her side; he knows, as well as anyone might, that the tenderness in which she regards him would soften the fury inside of him. She would make him merciful, and he had no room in his heart for mercy, not for those that broke something so beautiful and wonderful.

"There is always despair," he admits, voice low and hard. "But there is more, too."

There is a promise, a whisper, something dangerous that hides below the surface. All the people in Thedas who think that they know best and better, all the people who have turned their attention to the Fade and said that they know it, that they understand it, that they think of it as something more than it is... All the people who have turned their back on their heritage... Solas wishes, desperately, that he was strong enough to repair this world.

"It hurts. It always does. But I will survive." Saying it aloud instead of alone, in his own mind, makes the words more real. He will survive because there is no other option; he cannot stop, he cannot give in, he cannot allow himself to falter when there is so much left to be done. Not even Galadriel's warmth can calm that flame.

Still, he listens to her story, tilting his head to look at her. There's a calm that reaches around, finally, seeming to temper the frustration and the hurt that had been curling around Solas like a weight, like a flame, like something painful.

"I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It is empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void." It's hard to admit and his voice is softer than it has been so far. "Someday something new may grow there. Perhaps that will be their path, too., much like your friends."

"I hope so," Galadriel agrees and makes no comment on Solas's resolve. He is strong enough that she has no fear he will fade, in truth she is uncertain if the elves here do, but it is old habit that drives her next offer.

"Would you care to meet my friends, Solas?" Galadriel asks a small, slightly bittersweet smile upon her face. "I can show them to you, if not introduce you."

She has used this ability rarely in Thedas and to show others the echoes of Aman or Arda is a singular thing. Solas, however, has earned her absolute trust and she would give him what she can, even if it is ill advised.

"As do I." Solas has little space for hope or expectation. He woke to a world that seems terrible in comparison to what he had left behind and there has been very, very little to convince him that it's something worth protecting and saving. There is nothing to dissuade him from his plans, and he's almost sad to acknowledge it.

Her offer makes him pause, though, and he turns to look at her, exploring her face with quick scans of his eyes. He's not entirely sure what it means, to be given this offer, but he can't help the way that his curiosity is getting the better of him.

"How would you show me them? What would you need me to do?"

"You would need to do nothing, though I expect it might seem less startling if you closed your eyes," Galadriel advises him kindly.

"It is an old skill, one that all elves once shared ere language became so common place. I have always excelled at it, though it is harder here," she says and takes a deep breath, mustering what meager power is still left to her.

Words are harder like this and even I cannot say why.

Her voice whispers into his mind and it is both like and terribly unlike hearing her speak. The sense of her, the way her cadence reflects her thoughts and feelings, is so much stronger without spoken words, but they are easily lost and whole thoughts can slip away like water if one doesn't take care to recall them.

But thoughts...memories, those are simple things.

Almost without her meaning to, the image of Gandalf the Grey manifests itself in her mind. He fits more easily into this place than she ever will and it is no challenge at all to picture him in this room, seated at the table in his huffy, casual way. He fiddles with a long pipe, a sort Thedas does not have, and the smell of pipeweed, however repugnant drifts through her mind and into Solas's.

"Compassion was his calling, his purpose was to defend life, and I had known him for years beyond number."

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your faith was strong but you needed proof.

closed to thranduil.

meeting the friend.

after the battle.

closed to galadriel.

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