Solas had left the outskirts of Haven around midday with the intention of finding some rare herbs that would help him access the Fade later that night. Too many thoughts disturbed his waking hours, and he knew that if he wished to delve into old memories, he would need external aid. However, he had not expected the search to force him to travel such long distances for results, and by the time he turned back, he found himself trapped in a blizzard.
As the afternoon faded, the temperature atop the mountain dropped abruptly, giving way to a snowstorm accompanied by wind, ice, and heavy snowfall. Visibility was so poor he couldn't see what was right in front of him, and so he was forced to extend a protective barrier around himself in order to continue. He summoned the help of a friendly spirit entity, a luminous wisp that knew Solas well and had crossed the Veil many times to aid his sight when required.
Throughout his journey, Solas had been lost in thoughts of his past. Of himself... and, again and again, of her... Elentari.
The night before, the dalish elf had come to his quarters in search of clarity. The mage had noticed she did not need hollow reassurances like "everything will be fine"; she needed to know where she stood. So he had told her.
She stood at the edge of a dark abyss. Because she was being shaped into a narrative capable of forging reality.
And Solas knew all too well the power of a narrative...
The Elven Empire was first born in Mythal's imagination.
She had dreamed of a benevolent, wise, and just world where elves and spirits could live in complete freedom. And under that vision, some powerful spirits chose to take physical form using the skin of the titans, becoming the first elves: the Evanuris.
When that happened, the titans retaliated. And so, the world Mythal had dreamed of was threatened by an unforeseen reality: resistance.
Thus were born countless stories mourning the persecution of the young elven people at the hands of the malevolent Pillars of the Earth, the titans. These tales also called upon the elves to seize their destiny, to defend themselves from their enemies...
Solas hadn't known it at the time, but the fact that the Evanuris clung so strongly to the narrative of their own suffering while ignoring the reality of the titans had fed the ensuing conflict between elves and the Pillars of the Earth.
The stories inspired the elves to see themselves as victims in need of developing military power and building their own empire. But they barely considered the catastrophic consequences this would have for the titans... for him. And for the rest of the world.
Solas had taken elven form because he believed in those stories... because he believed in imperialist myths he himself helped spread across Elvhenan as General of the Enlightened Armies, through violence.
He knew perfectly well what it meant to believe in a story and become the weapon that makes it real. He knew what it was to be used... he knew the weight of such abhorrent acts all too well. He knew what it was to stand at the edge of an abyss and finally leap into the depth of its shadows.
What he hadn't known at the time was that military action was utterly irrational unless tied to a dominant political objective.
Of course, he hadn't been able to see the truth: that the victories he had achieved only served to elevate a handful of egotistical elves to the status of elven gods incapable of accepting their worldly limitations. And Solas, as naive as he had been, had secured the creation of the Elven Empire and the "divine" rule of false elven gods...
With this in mind, he could not help but wonder these days: What political objectives would be served by the Inquisition's military success? Would they drag Elentari to the edge of the abyss, or, like him, would they push her to leap into its depths?
The wisp and the elf had walked for hours while Solas' dark thoughts continued to consume him. Night had already begun to fall around them.
Naturally, during those hours the Veil thinned due to increased spiritual activity, as it often did when reaching out to the sleeping. Tonight was no exception.
Above Solas, the Veil now held a large group of spirits pressing against the metaphysical barrier he had once erected between worlds. Though the lands around Haven had seen many battles and the Veil was often thinner there, spirits rarely gathered in such numbers in one place. The activity was undeniably unusual... they seemed to be following him. He knew fatalistic thoughts drew them, and although he would have preferred to contain himself, it simply wasn't possible... Elentari stirred in him too many reflections he would have rather left buried in darkness.
- Return to the depths of the Fade... I will be fine... - he whispered uncomfortably to the dream-entities.
As the creator of the Veil, he knew its secrets. He knew it was a metaphysical curtain that produced a magical vibration strong enough to repel forces of the Fade and contain them within the Realm of Dreams. But he was also aware that ever since the Breach opened in the sky, an unusual arcane vibration had emerged, making the barrier unstable and unpredictable. Since the Breach, Solas felt the arcane currents as tides that needed to be contained to prevent ruptures. And tonight, that sea was stormy.
- If you keep pressing so recklessly, I'll have to release my spiritual barrier... - the apostate warned the spirits. But he knew them well enough to realize they would not listen this time. Solas was speaking to them from the waking world, and he only held command over them in the Fade. Still, his threat was not a bluff. If they kept piling atop him, he would have to stop using magic entirely, and given the storm's intensity, he couldn't be sure how close he was to the village. He was getting closer, but not enough to know when. The idea of freezing did not please him.
So focused was he on protecting the spirits and preventing his magic from tearing apart the Veil's alchemical fabric that he didn't notice the danger his spectral friends had been trying to warn him about until it stood right in front of him.
The snow bit down to the bone, and the storm showed no signs of relenting. Because of this, the mage failed to notice the men hiding by the Inquisition's tents until they grabbed him by the arm and struck his abdomen without warning. He only felt a claw latch onto his arm and then pain in his ribs as the blow knocked the air from his lungs. Immediately, the mage severed all magical ties, released the wisp from his will, and allowed the dark night to swallow him whole. The spirits slammed against the Veil in fury at the event. Thedas might fear them, but to the Dread Wolf, they were dear friends ready to defend him. Yet this time, he did not want their help; he feared their rage would drive them mad and turn them into demons.
- This maleficar returns from dealing with demons! Kill him! - a man shouted as he grabbed Solas by the neck and struck again. The elf felt the hardness of a heavy armored gauntlet, then a metal knee to the abdomen, and soon a storm of punches, pommel blows, and kicks from an indeterminate number of attackers.
It was not the first time Solas had suffered such a beatine... he had endured torture in ancient Arlathan and survived. But there had been one crucial difference: back then, there was no Veil preventing him from unleashing his magic. Now, he could feel the spirits swirling above, trying to break through.
Solas twisted, threw himself into the snow, sprinted, and managed to break away from his assailants, putting some distance between them. Still stunned by the speed of the attack, a sharp pain pierced him cruelly, and he felt the burning warmth of tears sting the corners of his eyes. His entire body began to sweat despite the cold and tremble with pain.
From the searing pain, those idiots must have stabbed him in the abdomen with a blade, and he hadn't even noticed.
- I am no maleficar! - he roared once he could speak.
The blood bore silent witness to the wound Solas had sustained. Moments later, the snow was stained crimson, and fury flooded Fen'Harel.
Perhaps it was all he had been thinking about during the day, but his mind chose to drag him into an old trauma.
Suddenly, Elgar'nan's voice echoed from a long-buried memory, back when he had been Solas' military mentor:
"Visualize your enemy, Solas. And show no mercy. The titans kill our brothers, our friends, and our families... because they are responsible for all that has happened to us. They are guilty of our actions."
Suddenly, Solas' insides boiled with rage. Not at his attackers tonight, but at the memory of Elgar'nan. The Dread Wolf felt his mana surge, and the Veil shook harder. The spirits fed on his emotions and battered the metaphysical barrier again.
Unable to contain the surge of grim memories, the moment dissolved into another reality, one where he had been a monster.
This was no longer a battle against the titans... it was Fen'Harel against the Enlightened Army of the self-proclaimed god of Creation: Elgar'nan, who called himself Sun-Tamer.
A stream of blood had splashed across his face. He opened his mouth and tasted it. Then he spat it out and tried to wipe it off, and saw the soldier it had come from. An elf from the Enlightened Army. Blood was pouring from his eyes like water seeking new tributaries... Had he attacked him? When? The elven soldier stood there, staring at him, petrified. One of his eyes was a red socket, as if it had been gouged out. The other was bleeding too, but it shone… with that eerie glint so typical of a body whose spirit has already left. He was going to die… no, he was already dead. Yet, somehow, as if his muscles hadn't fully given up their upright posture, the body remained standing, staring at him…
He looked at him as if judging him for all those he had killed.
He looked at him demanding justice for his past mistakes and all the lives Solas had taken because of them.
He looked at him because he still could, because he still stood...
He looked at him because Solas deserved sentencing...
He looked at him until, finally, he fell to the ground.
And Solas was paralyzed.
The corpses piled on top of each other near a bush whose leaves dripped blood.
Had he been the one to kill them?
He no longer remembered...
... He had forgotten.
Another soldier lunged at Fen'Harel. Solas released a fireball.
The arcane blast lifted the attacker off the ground and hurled him against a fallen log. His legs flailed until the screams gradually died out.
There was blood everywhere.
Another life stolen.
"Visualize your enemy, Solas. And show no mercy."
- NO!! - roared Solas, this time, returning to the present.
He heard a man shout… a distant voice:
- HE'S A BLOOD MAGE!!
No. They hadn't been elven warriors… Solas had attacked these men…
Then his head throbbed so hard he felt something strange shift inside his brain.
- I'm a member of the Inquisition and I've made no pact with any demon! - he cried out, desperate and confused, trying to reason even as the situation spiraled out of control before him. He had lost control of his mind. The past had caught up with him, despite all his efforts to lock it away in oblivion.
Suddenly, Solas stopped hearing everything around him. It was as if his heart had ceased and the world stood still. The Veil thickened, the spirits held back. His attackers glowed with a pale, whitish light. He felt something (or someone) pull him, said something he couldn't understand, and then a sharp disruption of his magic made his eyes throb in pain. The sensation was strange, anomalous… nauseating…
What began as pain in his eyes soon surged into his brain. His ears burned, tears slid down his cheeks, though he wasn't crying, he was suffering. Solas screamed, and the men leapt at him.
He needed no further confirmation: these attackers were Templars, and they had just blocked him. Yet thanks to the whitish glow of each, the mage now knew they were five, and that he was injured. Now, at last, he could be certain, this was true danger… and these fools had no idea they had just provoked the wrath of the Dread Wolf.
"Visualize your enemy, Solas. And show no mercy."
Fen'Harel dug deep into his inner reserves of mana, deeper than he ever had in Thedas. With a savage roar, he raised his hands and unleashed chaos. The Veil ripped open, spirits surged forth, and a wave of force blasted from the mage, flinging each Templar backward as if they weighed nothing. Winds swirled around the Dread Wolf… power coursed feral through his blood, because the spirits were feeding him. They made him feel whole…
It would've been easy to do more... so much more. Tear those idiots apart, grind them into particles too small for any funeral rite, summon the spirits around him and exact vengeance… but he knew he mustn't. He knew the raw arcane currents were flowing toward him, answering his will… and he had to contain the damage. So he focused. He tamed the arcane forces as he had in another world and cast nearly all the spirits back into the depths of the Fade…
His world began to fade. He had used far more magic than he should have in this world to control the spirits, and he had lost too much blood. Solas collapsed into the snow, coughing, his entire body wracked in agony. More blood pooled in his mouth and he choked on it. The arteries in his neck pulsed as if breathing of their own volition.
Had he killed the Templars?
Unnecessary…
A truly unnecessary slaughter…
… but… after hearing Elgar'nan's voice once again (his orders, his training) suddenly, all the massacres Solas had witnessed since the day war touched him came rushing back, as if someone else was killing again in the same way he had done in the past.
Grotesque.
Something stirred inside him. His conscience. But Solas wasn't willing to listen. This time, though, it would not be silent…
He had destroyed his world… he was the one to blame… he had created the Blight, facilitated Mythal's death, created the Veil and, ultimately… led Corypheus to his Orb…
He was tired. No, exhausted… his spirit shattered… in countless fragments, impossible to rejoin.
Solas struggled to breathe. The effort made his stomach clench and a spasm seized him in agony. A choked scream escaped his throat just as everything began to darken before him…
A familiar voice echoed distantly… it was a woman… but…
"Solas!"
… everything turned to black.