#VALYA WAS GIVEN A REASON NOT TO TRUST THE WARDENS!!!! WHAT COULD IT BE!!!!

[inquisimer]

in a cycle where I think I'm normal about valya, isseya, and the last flight again, and then I pick up davrin's quest to talk to valya and I mcfuckin LOSE MY MIND

god. I love them so much 😭😭 and they hurt me so bad

[wootensmith]

Crossing

“Do not forget the words, or you will find the Crossroads closed to you,” Solas warned. “Watch, listen, but don’t risk yourselves.” He paused, felt the heaviness of the reality of it all. “Ultimately, the Qunari’s plan is a small threat compared to what we soon face. But we cannot abandon our friends if we are able to aid them. Skyhold and Kirkwall will have many new faces— the Inquisition’s efforts are moving those who have escaped from Tevinter at a rapid pace, and it is easy for spies to slip in. Not just our own. Be vigilant. I will be waiting for word from you.” He let them go, the sea of faces winking out around him as they slipped from the Fade. Abelas, only, remained.

“They deserve to know the real reason this concerns you,” he said. “That is what I have given them. If the Qunari destroy the titan in southern Thedas, it might destabilize the entire continent.” “The same continent that will be consumed by Blight within a few years. Or war in less.” “The outcome is still uncertain. We may yet—” began Solas. “No,” said Abelas, “there is nothing uncertain about what happens when the Veil falls. Six centuries ago, perhaps we had some hope of altering it. Not any longer. What these Qunari do— what any kingdom does now, it is a shadow play. Short lived and pointless.” “Perhaps, but I have no wish to see people suffer, even in the short term. The Qunari will not hesitate to harm any who stand in their way or enslave those willing to submit.” “So it is with every war. This one would be no different, except for one variable. It does not threaten Arlathan. It will not touch our people or their work. How many conflicts have passed through Thedas since you entered uthenera? No mere political shift has roused you in a thousand years.” “I was wrong,” Solas admitted. “I thought they were— simple. That their wars were no more painful or meaningful than a pack of hounds scrabbling over a piece of meat. If I had understood, if I had not been such a fool—” he broke off, the bitterness of it creating ripples in the Fade. “I am awakened. And I cannot stand by and watch them suffer.” Abelas stared at him. “If that is so,” he asked, “then why do you delay? It could be over in moments. A simple spell and it would all be done. Instead, you build an army to battle the Evanuris. Yet, we both know the Evanuris will defeat them. But now it will take years. It suits my own purposes, but theirs? We only draw out our fate, we do not change it. And you encourage this useless search for some— cure, some way to conquer this terrible plague. I thought, at first, you’d given her this task to keep her from the madness that being idle can cause. But now— you seem to believe it, Solas. And you linger and linger. You should have departed weeks ago. This— vendetta against the Qunari, this is not about Thedas. Had they chosen the human kingdoms you would not have blinked. Had they chosen to invade the Imperium, you would not have altered your course, and that would be far more dangerous for Arlathan. You are delaying for the Inquisitor. And going to war for her. And delaying for her.” “No—” “Yes. I do not fault you. Neither would the others. They would still follow you. It is a desire we all share. They, too, are doing this for love. Their families, their people, their world is also threatened by the Qunari. But they deserve to know.” He shook his head. “I am whistling into a hurricane, for it would mean admitting the truth to yourself first. Dawn approaches and there is still much to be done. Dareth shiral, Solas.” Abelas flickered out. He woke slowly, the now familiar dwarven shapes of Anaris’s tower still shadowy in the early morning light. He resisted moving. Resisted the flood of thoughts that cropped up in the wake of the dream. He tried to focus on the sharp angles of the roof above, the precise cuts of each geometric carving. Underneath, he felt it building, the sorrow thickening and pressing into his conscious functions. “Cold and creaking, aching, dry dread as if the spells of Dirthamen were crawling under the skin again—” Solas sat up, but did not look toward Cole. “I would sooner have endured a hundred years of that torture than these past two. It has been far worse.” He shook his head and felt a bitter smile twist his face. “You don’t believe me. You think I have forgotten—” “No,” said Cole, “I can hear. You remember every moment. There are days that you wish you had never met her.” “Yes,” he muttered and pressed a hand to his eyes. “But they are few compared to the days I wish she had never met me.” “I have never heard her think the same.” “That does not make it better,” he said, looking over at last. “I know,” said the boy, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry.” “Why have you come? I did not wish you to see me this way. It can only cause us both more pain.” “To steal a place.” “A place? Has something happened to Skyhold?” Cole shook his head. “I cannot take them there. The world wants Skyhold back. It is trying to take the Inquisition from her. She’ll let it go, soon. Skyhold is emptying, until the end. Until you say. They are all going, one by one, draining away. If Orlais finds the gryphons there when—” “Gryphons?” asked Solas sharply. He stood up. “Valya’s gryphons. Blackwall and Brosca fought to keep them free, but they were forced out. Gone down into the dark with the Inquisitor. She keeps them safe, but she cannot save the gryphons or the recruits.” He held out a hand toward Solas. A slim vial lay in his palm. “Brosca switched them, the antidote for the poison. But the gryphons—” “It won’t help them,” said Solas. “I’m not even certain it will help any of the recruits who aren’t elves.” “It will. Warden Brosca took it. And the King. But the gryphons need a place.” He took the vial carefully. “I’m sorry, Cole. Arlathan is tainted. They cannot come to the city.” “The lighthouse then. The green forest. There is no blight there. It will not spread until the end. They can help. They want to.” Solas hesitated. “I know very little about raising or caring for gryphons.” “Valya knows. And there are a few among your people who remember. I only need the words to speak. I can pass by the spirits who watch, but Valya cannot.” Cole grabbed his hand. “Please Solas. They just need a place to be free. Others will use them. Or destroy them.” “This Valya…” he trailed off, not even certain what he wished to ask. “Who is there to betray you to?” asked Cole, sensing the question beneath. “The only other who would help her is the Inquisitor, if she could. Valya needs you. And you need her help. Or— Abelas does.” “Very well, if you trust her, then I can hardly argue,” said Solas and repeated the passwords slowly. Cole’s smile was brilliant and Solas barely caught his arm before he slipped away. He froze, turning back, his excitement already fading into sorrow. But Solas could not help himself. “Has the anchor grown again?” he asked. “She sent me away,” said Cole. “She sent me away to go down in the dark. I can’t feel her so far from here. I don’t know.” “Why did she send you away? What happened?” “She thought I’d be happier. That I could help more with Hawke. With the people hiding from Tevinter.” He let go. “Are you? Happy?” he asked. “Hawke is kinder now. She was angry when I first came. Suspicious and worried. She thought I was like her friend. I think that I helped. Her hurt isn’t so loud anymore. And the people who came on the boats— they were tired and frightened. I help them rest.” “But you Cole,” Solas insisted gently, “Are you happy?” The boy rocked from foot to foot for a moment before answering. “I think— I could be. Someday. When the worry isn’t like the ocean. I liked it when the hurts were small. I liked helping. Everything is so much now, and I feel— less. In the dark with Cole again, starving and pinched.” Solas wished he could tell him that it would ease, this feeling of helplessness, that in time, the worst fears would prove to be smaller than their shadows. This time— this time he feared it would be a lie. “When you were there with the boy, you could not take his hunger or his pain.” “No,” admitted Cole. “But you did help. You comforted him in his last hours. The things you do now— sheltering the gryphons, remaining beside the Inquisitor when she was ill, helping those escaping torture and slavery to rest— they have meaning.” Cole clutched at the brim of his hat. “Not enough.” He folded the boy in an awkward hug, all limbs and angles and doubt. The hat tumbled off, but he didn’t chase it. “It means more than you know, Cole. And there are moments in this world that comfort is all we can give. The kindness helps, even when deeds cannot.” They stood that way for a few moments, until Cole drew quietly away. Solas picked up the hat and bent it back into shape before handing it to the boy. “I will find Abelas. He’ll send word to the lighthouse to expect you.” “You want me to return to the Inquisitor,” he said flatly. Solas sighed. “You are your own person, Cole. I want you to be safe. I want you to find some peace, and I hoped the Inquisitor would be able to give you both. But I have been wrong. And what you wish for yourself is what matters most.” “I think— I think I want to go home,” said Cole. “Is that wrong?” He peered at Solas from beneath the fabric. “No. No, that is not wrong. I thought you might.” “But not yet. You are going to save her?” “I will try,” said Solas, knowing the boy could sense the lie. “You’ll take her with you?” “Yes, if she will come.” “Until then, I will remain. She thinks it will not help her. But I know it will help you to know she is not alone.” “And if she will not yield?” he asked, feeling the dread press against his ribs again. Cole tilted his head. “Then perhaps she’ll find a way for you to yield,” he said, “Or maybe you’ll stay anyway, when she cannot.” And then he was gone. Solas pulled himself into his armor, feeling weary and bruised though he had just arisen. He had asked Wisdom, once, what was to be done. After Mythal’s death. In the intense panic of the days between.

“I have found no other way, and yet it falls so far short,” he’d cried, drooping over the cluttered work table. He’d been exhausted, sleepless and frantic. But his fear was failing him. He looked up at Wisdom who paced restlessly across from him. “I could retreat,” he said. “No,” said Wisdom, “You have nowhere to retreat to. The Evanuris will continue to chase you. They have risked too much now to fail.” “It will give me more time to…” Solas trailed off and waved vaguely at the multitude of books. He ran an ink-stained hand over his skull. “It will give you more time to panic,” said Wisdom. “You will not find another way on the run. Your thoughts will be turned only to the next haven, the next battle, the next death of your people.” “What are we to do?” Wisdom stopped its restless movement. Came toward him. “The path is before us,” it said. “It is not the one we would choose, but it is all that we have found. We will walk it, one step leading to the next, for as long as we must.” He shook his head, but felt Wisdom’s tingling touch on his shoulder. It waited until he looked up at it again. “We will walk it, Solas, but watch for crossings. There is always an opportunity to change one’s course, if we do not blind ourselves to it.”

One step leading to the next, he thought, pulling the glittering helm back over his head. Until I can change the course of the world. He knew, now, why he cared about the Qunari. Why he was bothering. He could admit to himself that Abelas had been partly right, but it was more than the Inquisitor. It was more than just one woman’s fate. There was a fork in the path, somewhere, he knew. He knew. And until he found it, he’d behave as if the world was going to survive, even as he drew closer to killing it. The tower rang with the sound of his footsteps. He had approached the place with something like a soft regret, an identification with what had driven the man to this madness. He glanced back, now, at the lonely spire, in relief. He was not Anaris.