Chapter Text
At the first of her meetings with Rook, she learned that the Lighthouse adapted as she continued to recruit members of the team. What began as a lonely, rundown home for a single man became a cozy haven for the entire Veilguard. When they walk through the Vi’Revas and into the library, she finds herself wondering how soon she can shape the old, rundown furniture into something more welcoming, and repair the derelict buildings on the property.
Knowing Solas slept on a cot in his office for nearly a decade, she turns to him once they’re standing in the library between the two staircases leading up to the second floor and says, “we will have a bed and it will be a nice one. It will be in a room used as a bedroom.”
“Of course,” Solas says, straight-faced, taking her request seriously when nearly anyone else would have thought she’d have lost her mind for feeling as if she must make that demand.
“You will eat well. Not just dried meat, cheese and oatmeal.”
“I am beginning to think you feel as if your husband neglected himself during your years apart,” Solas says dryly.
“He was alone. Devoid of connection for a decade and I will not allow you to hurt yourself in that way. You need not suffer as my husband did.” She softens, reaching for his hand. “Why don’t we get some rest? It’s been a long day for us.”
Longer in some respects than it was her first time around because, while she didn’t spend hours on end screaming and crying out her despair today, she spent several hours travelling to the Lighthouse after revealing the depths of her and Solas’ deception.
Nodding, Solas pulls her towards the stairs and into what Rook had called the Meditation Room, where there’s a green velvet chaise couch in front of a floor to ceiling aquarium covering the entire back wall. Fish look curiously at them through the glass and various aquatic plants sway with the artificial current of the aquarium. Solas wordlessly strips out of his armour and she follows his lead, plopping onto the couch beside him. Solas wraps his arms around her and pulls her against his bare body, cool and clammy still from the exertion of the day. “Tomorrow I will summon us a bed. Tonight, we rest here.”
Briefly, she considers telling him they should bathe before bed but she’s asleep before she’s able to vocalize the observation.
***
Day one, Solas crafts them a bedroom and summons a bed, as promised. It’s a simple space, nestled down a hallway between the Meditation Room and the infirmary - a relief because a grim part of her ponders the pain and suffering Solas put himself through for the sake of purifying his dagger, even if he never told her how he did it. At least the infirmary and their shared bedroom will be close together.
On day two, Solas begins asking her questions about the red lyrium idol - specifically how long it took Solas to obtain it in her world. He does so while she’s working in the conservatory, tending to the few mostly-dead plants that survived millennia without any sort of care. A few elfroot plants, embrium, and a single surviving blood lotus floating in the tiny pool of water in the centre of the space.
The mark still pains her, but is merely an ache reminiscent of the weeks before the Exalted Council in her own world, though she suspects that’s only because Solas tapped into the power of the orb this morning to calm it, something he warned her will be less and less effective as time goes on.
That her hand is sore again after only four hours bodes poorly. Not the time to ponder that, she decides.
Solas is leaning against the wall, a notebook in-hand and she pulls her hands out of the dirt and looks at him. “Four or five years? Perhaps a bit less? All I know is that he revealed he’d obtained the idol at a meeting about five years from now and my agent had no reason to suspect he was being dishonest. If I asked something, would you answer it honestly?”
“…Perhaps. If I cannot, I will decline to comment.” She sighs, turning back to pulling out the dried remains of once-flourishing plants, wondering who once managed the conservatory and whether they survived the Fall or not.
“Do you anticipate surviving your ritual to bring down the veil? Would my husband have survived?”
“There is a chance I may survive it with the orb, but without it, the strain of the ritual almost certainly would have destroyed him. It would be an unpleasant end.”
As if the crumbling brown leaves are burning hot embers, she pulls her hands away, eyes stinging. Whimpering, she swallows, trying to hold back the floodgate but knowing it to be an impossible task. “Would you stop saying stuff like that? Speaking so clinically about a fate my husband nearly condemned himself to?”
“I would point out that you asked and I promised to be honest.”
“Yes, well…!” She turns, glaring at him and he looks up at her from his spot in the ground, his expression mild, and all fury dissipates like a droplet of blood in a bucket of water.
“It is a price I must pay.”
“No! I came back to save your life, not to lose you in another, stupider way! I’m doing this - all of this, because I want you. I want a quiet little life, regardless of where we wind up.”
“Iris, this will hurt you. Perhaps your husband may have had a point when he refused to let you join him because at least he spared you the pain you’re in now.”
“In doing so he made me spend a decade worried about him!” she shouts. “There was not a day - there was hardly a single waking hour where I didn’t worry about my husband. Where I didn’t wonder how or when I’d lose him for good. Sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to change his heart. You’ve given me a decade and, yes, you need your dagger to craft a new prison, but you won’t bring down the veil yet. Please, just trust that I can take this pain because it’s better than the alternative. Solas, please…” Now, she begins weeping in earnest, covering her face with dirt-stained hands, her body and mind spent from years of strain.
Tentative arms wrap around her and Solas presses his lips to the top of her head. “I require my dagger and to obtain it may require actions you find distasteful. Unfortunate necessities - and the resulting blood spilled will stain your hands as well as mine, for you will not stop me despite being in a position to theoretically do so. You will worry for me, albeit in a different manner. We will argue about our continued… fundamental disagreement. This is unlikely to be an enjoyable period of your life and you may find that you were happier during this time period in your original timeline.”
“I don’t care, I don’t care,” she repeats, over and over, like a prayer.
“You should, Iris.”
“We aren’t so different, you and I,” she chokes out, nestled in his arms and Solas lets out a heavy sigh, as if trying to force out all of the grief built up over millennia in his immortal body.
“No. I suppose we are not. I will send agents out to begin the search for the red lyrium idol and in the meantime, put together plans for the prison I must craft. How shall you pass the time?”
Doing much as she did during her life with her husband: gardening, and reading, though this time it won’t be a better alternative she seeks in the thick tomes on her lap, but an argument solid enough to sway Solas before 9:52 Dragon comes and goes, spelling the end of the reprieve that he had promised her.
“If Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain survive the prison transfer in this world, that opens up an opportunity for us to ambush the Executors,” Solas says after she’s summarized her own plans for the next few years of her life.
“Or we could wait to do the transfer after we’ve defeated the Forgotten Ones? Wipe the remnants on the floor clean before locking away the rest.” What she doesn’t say is that she would feel better knowing that his murderers are nothing more than memories found deep in the Fade. They dealt with Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan in her world. She already knows what must be done there.
“An interesting idea. Allow me time to think on the appropriate order of operations. Compared to the Forgotten Ones, transferring Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain will be straightforward.”
Again, as she always does, she reminds Solas that his name means “Pride”, and he scowls at her but has no retort prepared.
Their first weeks are mostly quiet, until the Caretaker does the spirit equivalent of Fadestepping through the stone door separating the library from the room the Vi’Revas is stored in. Unlike most spirits she’s seen in this timeline, the Caretaker’s body is almost like that of mortals, with a blue lyrium nervous system and a coat that’s seemingly physical and not an illusion of the Fade. They wear a helmet covering the top half of their face, save for their glowing teal eyes reminiscent of the glow Solas’ own eyes take on when he casts nowadays.
The Caretaker introduces themself, offering to help rebuild the Crossroads and suggests they begin by crafting transportation between the islands of this network. Solas, baffled, looks over at her and she shrugs.
“My agent said they helped them a lot and their purpose seemed to be to care for the Crossroads and its inhabitants. They appeared wherever there was a threat to the realm, offering insight into how to defeat the would-be invaders.”
“We would be pleased to have you. My friend, Wisdom, will be visiting shortly. I…” Solas trails off, lost for words, his expression wistful for the briefest of moments before shifting into something more neutral, a mask once more. He wanders off, leaving her alone with the spirit and she gives them a smile that goes unrecognized by a being likely unfamiliar with such expressions.
“I appreciate your desire to care for this place - and for us, as we reside here too. Guests are likely to be few and I expect Solas will have tasks he would appreciate your help with.”
Thanking her, the Caretaker disappears, presumably off to complete their duties and she thinks nothing more of their new roommate until that night in bed, when Solas tells her that there is something at once comforting and disconcerting about the Caretaker. “A familiarity, but I have never encountered this spirit before. It matters not; they desire to serve this place and their efforts will save us both from the menial work of repairing the boat docks and enchanting the longboat hidden away in the armoury.”
Why Solas placed a longboat in an armoury is beyond her - she hadn’t even known he had an armoury. Whatever was in it must have been lost to time by the time Rook arrived because she certainly would have mentioned a surplus of ancient weaponry.
***
Wisdom asks to speak with her in the Crossroads, where they meet at the edge of one of the docks the Caretaker has identified as needing restoration. Their body is not the shades of grey of a dying spirit, but translucent green; the same colour as Solas’ healing magic, though their shoulder length hair is inky black. They extend their hand in an approximation of a handshake but when she goes to shake their hand, she feels nothing more than a brush of magic as their energy meets her physical form.
“I’ve watched introductions. Handshakes were different when Solas took a body. That manner is more common amongst humans, yes?”
“My clan tended to place our hand over our heart and give a bow of the head at Arlathvhens, but I am familiar with the human tradition.”
Wisdom looks at her and their body begins glowing, giving off a neon green aura. “Solas told me your story, but I would hear it from you if you are comfortable sharing it. I am sorry about your husband. When we lose those we love, we mourn them, but grief speaks to the strength of the love shared. Thank you for rescuing me in your world.”
“You died - we helped you but I would not call it a rescue,” she stammers and Wisdom sits down on the ground, crossing their legs and she matches their pose, sitting opposite them.
“I died as me, as Solas told the tale. You helped me in this world too - I liked Rivain. I spent the last few years with an elderly seer who was rescued from the annulment of the Circle by a Rivaini templar who sympathized with her and saw her evacuated aboard a ship. She was lonely and missed her fellow mages, but was grateful for my company in her dreams. Her illness was swift and her death came in days; for which she was grateful. She did not wish to suffer and so I remained until the end.”
“You did a kind thing for that woman. I imagine she valued your company in the years that she had it.”
Wisdom explains that they learned much from the friendship, expanding their understanding of how humans think, and the way mortals perceive the passing of time. She asks Wisdom if they’ve spoken to Solas about the veil and they grow quiet. “You don’t need to answer if you do not think it would be helpful to Solas,” she says gently.
“We have on many occasions over the ages but I will not breach Solas’ confidence and reveal that which he has spoken of with me. After he met you I began to see more of the spirit he once was. Solas struggles with physical form; even his enjoyment of the boons that come with flesh - food, drink and pleasure, comes with the stinging reminder that the things that feel good are only possible because he sacrificed all that he once was. Knowing the affection you hold for him, I am sure you can use that information to guide your next steps.”
“You’ll visit? I’d like to see you again and I think it would make Solas happy to see you regularly.”
Wisdom nods their head, promising to visit again soon. “You’re good for him, Iris. Hope can draw Wisdom away from Pride with enough time.”
A piece of wisdom she clings to once they’ve departed and she stares out into the distance, pondering how she’ll save Solas from himself without the help of Morrigan and Mythal.
***
The Caretaker finds her one morning, nearly a year after their departure from Thedas, and announces that she has a visitor. Knowing instantly who her visitor is to be, she braces herself, wincing as the mark in her hand flares in response to her anxiety.
Most days the pain is horrible unless Solas calms it in the morning and before they go to bed, but she can endure pain. The spread of it is slower, thanks to Solas’ presence by her side these last few years, and if she can just make it to the Void, she’ll have the magic to use as a resource in her fight.
Outside the Vi’Revas stands Flemeth, her hair perfectly coiffed into dragon horns, and her crown in place, as it always was in the memories Solas showed her of Mythal. “Lavellan. How your fortunes have changed. Once, you commanded an army, with a title that intimidated even the loudest Orlesian nobles into deference. Now, you live alone with a wolf, hidden from all who once knew you.”
“I am content with my station,” she says coolly. “Unlike Mythal, I did not seek out a lover for power, but for the companionship we share.”
“You do not think she loved her husband?” Flemeth says, raising an eyebrow. “So determined you are to loathe her that it skews your judgement. You need us. How it must rankle you to know your wolf will perish without the knowledge I intend to provide you.”
She grits her teeth and takes a breath while Flemeth gazes upon her, as if watching a stage play. “Make your ask, child. You wish for more than my counsel.”
“Eventually Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain will fall. Perhaps not for another age or more, but it is inevitable and with them falls the veil - unless you or Solas tag in and maintain it with your life forces. I need your help and expertise to ensure the Forgotten Ones do not kill Solas.”
“I will not bind myself to the veil.”
“You’ll force it upon the spirit you pulled from the Fade?” she cries, her hands clenched.
“From all you’ve told me, he managed in your world. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I cannot. The dagger slew Mythal and so she is already connected to it and my own form is inherently mortal. Solas remains your only option and convince him you must.”
“Then help me make sure my man lives to do so.”
“Your man? You claim ownership over him?” There’s a thinly-veiled mockery to Flemeth’s tone that she forces herself not to react to; a feeling that the woman is toying with her as a cat would toy with a mouse.
Standing in the Crossroads, just outside the Vi’Revas is an odd place for such an argument. It’s a wide open space, yet not a soul lingers, offering privacy during a stand-off that may decide the fate of this world.
“I claim love. My heart is his and he gave me his in return. He is my man - with all that comes with it. I will protect him however I must. I will slaughter an entire pantheon of false gods in his name if it promises us eternity. Do not fucking test me, Flemeth.”
“You care more for your man than you do for saving the world,” Flemeth observes, her expression softening into something mild.
“Saving Solas saves the world.”
“Convenient, for he is also your lover. Consider this: it was not simply greed and unending life that prompted my kin to bind themselves to dragons. Discover the truth and you will understand what you need, child.”
Flemeth’s tendency to speak in riddles strains her already stretched patience, leaving her liable to snap. “Or you could tell me?”
“I push history. I do not make it. Embark on your quest for revenge and I will hold my vigil in Thedas.”
“You live because of my intervention. Had I not saved the orb Solas would have killed you.”
Flemeth gives her a nod of the head, acknowledging her point. “In return you receive my counsel, granting you a chance to bring about a better end for your lover. Once your mission is complete, you will bring him home to the Fade?”
“Yes, I will bring him back to the home you tore him from, and he will not need to raise a hand in violence ever again if he does not wish to do so,” she says, glaring at Flemeth, whose mouth upturns into a sideways smirk different from any expression she’s seen on the woman’s face before now and she finds herself feeling small; an ant at the base of a redwood tree.
“Such fury, little one. You know what is at stake and that, sometimes, in order to emerge victorious, one must make ugly decisions. How angry you are at me for hurting Solas, yet you fail to consider my own perspective. That I was forced to send my people to die horrible deaths for centuries while Solas remained in the Fade, watching and reflecting. I did what I must to serve my people and when he took form, I discovered I needed the wolf as much as the wisdom he spoke. Should I have allowed my people to fall to avoid hurting his feelings? How about Elgar’nan - would you have preferred I let him take the throne unopposed and unchecked? Solas took form in a world far uglier than the wisdom he reflected in the Fade and he knows as well as I that sometimes unfortunate decisions are all that remain.”
“You could have left him as he was! Let him remain a spirit instead of forcing him to take form.”
“I needed him and had I not done as I did, you would not have the man you burned your world to the ground for.”
She wouldn’t have known what she could have had if Solas remained as he once was, content in his home in the Fade. “He’d have been safe. He wouldn’t know the hurt he knows now. He deserves better than you!”
“Vilify me if it gives you comfort. People more important than you are have thrown venom my way,” Flemeth says, nose upturned, “but remember that Solas is my friend and I offer my aid to help, not hurt him. The Forgotten Ones were the first blood mages. Discover why they turned to the power of flesh and you will understand the power of the dragons my kin bound.”
With that, Flemeth turns to leave and she does not stop her but does call out to her. “Will you visit again?”
“Once you’ve pieced together that which I have provided today, our lessons will begin.”
“Lessons?”
“Give Solas my best,” Flemeth says, offering a wave of her hand before turning around the corner and disappearing from sight.
For a long while she stares at Solas’ scrying tree, still-silent without the dagger, pondering what the significance of the Forgotten Ones being blood mages could possibly have been.