Chapter Text
Lana looked out to an open meadow that was lit with floating lights that danced in the air, wooden poles lining the clearing with green garlands covered in brightly-colored flowers that connected them. Lively music was being played and the sound lifted around her, feeling as though it were curling across her skin with the cool night air. There was a small crowd of people dancing in the center of the meadow, their laughter blending with the melody, while others stood toward the sides, clapping along with the music. The sky above was alight with a sea of stars, and something about the way they shone made her want to weep.
She walked toward the outer rim of the meadow and leaned against a tree, watching the way the dancers moved, their vibrant skirts and ribbons seeming to float around them, blending together like a painting. It was then that she noticed that she was also wearing similar clothing, dark emerald skirts cascading down her hips.
“Do you like it?” a voice said beside her, causing her to start.
She looked to her right and saw Fen’Harel leaning on the tree beside her, a glimmer of something indiscernible in his eyes, but she could sense something like playfulness emanating from him.
“Did you do this?” she asked, not able to help the smile that spread across her face.
“In a manner of speaking,” he said with a chuckle.
She noticed then that his usual plain tunic was gone, and instead he wore similar dark greens and rich golds – almost matching her, save the fur sash still across his chest. She wondered if it was a reminder for other people of who he was, or a reminder for himself. The melody shifted, becoming livelier and he held out his hand to her.
“Dance with me?” he asked.
Her cheeks heated, and she slipped her hand into his. He guided her away from the shadows of the trees and pulled her close as they joined the rest of the group. Her heart fluttered as they danced across the grass, his warm fingers curling tightly around her hands and waist.
He spun her around and pulled her back, and she swore they were closer now than they were before. She could feel his cool breath on her skin, and the scent of trees and herbs wrapped around her. Something about all of it felt so familiar, almost like she’d dreamt it up before.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
She blinked the thoughts away. “No,” she said. “No, this is nice, it’s just...”
He slowed. “Is something wrong?”
“There’s just something about it that feels familiar, somehow,” she said. “But I can’t remember why. There are so many things that I feel like I can remember but it’s mostly just images that don’t quite make sense or they just sort of… slip away. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“What is the nature of these memories?” he asked.
“I’m not even sure they’re memories,” she said. “They come to me in dreams sometimes, other times it’s just flashes of images." She tilted her head. "There are dreams that make me feel as though you and I have met before."
His hand at her waist tightened. "And what sorts of dreams are you having about me?" he asked with a hint of teasing humor.
Lana's heart leapt. "Well I- I only meant that you - It's just that-" she stopped, seeing that teasing humor grow into a smile. Lana huffed. "You're making fun of me, Dread Wolf."
"I would never do such a thing," he said, feigning offense. "I was merely inquiring about your dreams and my involvement in them."
She raised a brow. "If you're trying to pass it off as academic interest, your smirk is giving you away."
"And you are cleverly avoiding the question."
"Only because it's none of your business," she said.
"If I am the subject of your dreams, would that not imply that it is, in fact, my business?"
She rolled her eyes. "And here we were, having such a lovely time for once since I met you."
"Just the once?" he asked, his tone growing softer - more intimate.
"You seem rather interested in my opinion of you," she said with equal softness.
"Is it wrong to value your opinion?" he asked.
"Only when I assume that you have an ulterior motive."
He chuckled. "I have no ulterior motive in valuing your opinion, Lana."
She studied his face as though she could sense if he was lying but - she found that she believed him for once.
“I would, however, still like to hear about these dreams of yours,” Solas said.
Lana sighed. “I can hardly make sense of them,” she said. “In one of them, I was sitting by a fire with Deshanna, and my brother Taelan. But they were both different from what I remember.”
“Different how?”
“They had vallaslin,” she said. “But it’s probably just my imagination. In one of the flashes, even one of your sentinels was there.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Which one?” he asked.
“The one I met before,” she said. “The one with the dark hair. That’s what makes me think that it’s not really a memory. But I don’t even know where else it would have come from.”
“Were there any other flashes?” he asked.
She felt pinned beneath his gaze, and there was something almost nervous in his expression. Nervous and searching, as though attempting to alleviate some secret fear. “Why?”
He searched her eyes for a moment, a heaviness growing in his gaze. “Mere curiosity,” he said finally.
She wasn’t quite convinced, but she continued. “In another dream, I saw a dragon,” she said. “It was pearlescent and flying beneath a strange green sky. And then there was this strange figure who was telling me to remember, but…” she laughed. “Sorry, it was probably just a nightmare.”
But Fen’Harel wasn’t laughing. “Do you know who was speaking to you?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Their face is always hidden to me.”
“So you have seen them before?”
“Yes,” she said. “It doesn’t matter, though, it’s just a dream.”
“I do not think that is the case,” he said. “Dreams are often more powerful than you may think. After all, we are in one, now.”
She blinked. “What? You mean… this isn’t real?”
There was laughter in his eyes. “That is a matter for debate,” he said.
Lana tilted her head. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“It is nothing,” he said with a warm smile.
She raised a brow. “I thought we were being honest with each other, Dread Wolf.”
His smile faltered, and his hand loosened from hers. “Old memories,” he said. “Apologies.”
“Are you remembering her again?” she asked as her brows furrowed, feeling more concern than jealousy.
“Not in the way you might think,” he said. “Matters have… changed.”
“Changed?”
“Yes,” he replied. “More than I expected it to.”
Warmth grew between them and her heart thundered in her chest, his fingers tingling against her skin. “In… what way?” she asked, her voice softening.
“You are not what I expected you to be,” he said. “In many ways.”
She tilted her head to the side. “You’re being especially cryptic,” she said. He didn’t look at her, but she could see the pain behind his eyes. “Fen,” she said as she lifted her hand to touch his cheek.
His eyes met hers as her fingers brushed against his skin and she started to pull away, thinking it was a grave mistake, when his hand touched hers, holding it against his cheek.
“That… is not my name,” he said softly.
“What do you mean?”
“Fen’Harel was the title given to me, intended as an insult,” he said, “one that I bore as a badge of pride. A title to inspire hope in those who followed me, and fear in those who fought against me. But even as the war has long since ended, it is a name that only serves as a reminder of my failures - and the sacrifices that I made.”
“Like the woman you loved,” Lana said.
He released her hand. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“What were you called before?” she asked as she pulled her hand away. “Before the war?”
He paused for a moment, almost as though afraid to tell her. “Solas,” he said finally.
The name hit her in a way that made her falter. Solas. Something about it seemed… familiar somehow. Like something from a forgotten dream. “Solas,” she said softly. “It suits you.”
He chuckled. “I suppose it does.”
“So why do you let people continue calling you an insult?” she asked. “The war has been over for years - why do you keep wearing the mask?”
“Simplicity, I suppose,” he said. For a moment, she saw a crack in the mask he wore so well. “In truth, I had not expected to survive the war. When it was over, I saw little reason to change the minds of those who followed me, even after all those who opposed me were gone.”
“And you didn’t have anyone to go back to afterwards,” she surmised gently.
“No,” he replied. “The path I walked along was not made for companionship - it was one of the many costs of building a new world. Those I did keep in close company suffered fates that could have been prevented if they had not followed me.”
She could see it in his eyes then - that same howling loneliness that she’d felt so many nights while away from everyone and everything she’d loved, save Deshanna. But Fen - no, Solas - didn’t allow himself a single person, it seemed. Unless…
“Like Abelas,” she said out loud, then cursed herself immediately.
He nodded. “He was one of the ones I kept the closest,” he said.
“I know it will not bring him back,” she said, “but I’m sorry for what happened to him.”
“He gave his life for me just as readily as you were willing to give yours for your friend,” Solas said. “Even in my grief, I find it admirable.”
“But he was the only one you trusted to know you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
Lana frowned for a moment. “But you trust me enough with all of this?”
“Yes,” he said, his answer sounding almost like a vow.
For a moment she was quiet, but then, “I trust you too, Solas,” she said.
She didn’t know why, but it was the truth. She felt the trust in her bones, and the innermost recesses of her heart.
The air was still around them, and something stirred behind his eyes. His fingers lifted to brush a loose tendril of her hair back, and her stomach began to twist with nervousness. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands as his thumb brushed against her cheekbone. His eyes seemed to trace the curves of her features, his gaze landing on her lips before looking up into her eyes.
Sorrow grew in his eyes and his brows furrowed. His hand fell away and he took a step back. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t…” his jaw tightened. “Rest well.”
He started to turn away and she stepped forward, trying to catch him, and his form completely dissipated. Her hand dropped and she curled her arms around herself as she stood in the now-empty meadow, with only the light of fabricated stars to keep her company.
“So Pride has shown his hand at last,” a voice said behind her.
Lana looked over her shoulder and frowned as a dark figure stepped through the trees, a hood drawn over their face.
“It was believed that all had lost their memories, save the few who managed to cling to the reality of the old world,” the figure continued, “but it seems even the ones who sought its end still cling to the remnants.”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?” she asked, her voice carrying more strength than she expected it to.
The figure chuckled and stepped closer, removing their hood. Her brows furrowed as a… a man, she supposed, stood before her, his skin a sickly gray, face have-covered with a mask.
“You may call me the Architect,” the man said.
“The… Architect,” she says flatly. “You’re the one who’s been following me all this time?”
“I have merely been attempting to reach you,” the Architect explained. “It started with the orb to awaken the dreams. It is a slow process, you see.”
“A slow process? A process for what, exactly?”
“You must remember,” the Architect said. “Once you remember, the chain of events to unbind this world will unravel, but they cannot do so until you awaken the memories.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What memories are you talking about?” She stopped. “Wait, do you mean… my visions? All those images… they’re actually memories? My memories?”
“Some, yes,” the Architect said, walking around her. “But you are beginning to awaken the memories in others as well. Reality is ripping at the seams, and it must return to what it once was, or all will be lost.”
“Returned to what it was?” she asks, stepping forward. She considered for a moment. “That journal that I was given - it wasn’t some fanciful tale written by a madwoman, was it?”
“No,” the Architect said, folding his hands behind his back. “Mahariel was meant to bring the journal to you, as she and I discussed. She saw reason in my goal, and sought you out personally.”
Lana swallowed. “Why me?”
“Because you carry a deep connection with the one who can bring an end to the oncoming storm. But that matter is for another day,“ he said as he turned away, examining the now-empty meadow. “Remembering too quickly will do nothing but drive you to madness,” he continued, “Your memories will return as they need to, but you must focus on staying alive, and preparing for what must come after.”
“What must come after?” she asked.
“When the time comes, I will seek you out,” he said. He started to return to the trees, but he looked back. “Remember.” His voice carried like a whisper, carrying with it the strange tingle of magic as his form dissipated before her.
She looked around the empty space of her dream, the meadow now gone, and in its place a thick forest at night. There was a light ahead. A bonfire that bathed the area around it in its soft glow. She heard voices, and her feet started to move as she followed the sound.
Reaching the clearing, she found herself walking into the same encampment again - but this time it was larger, more full of people. Deshanna was still sitting by the fire, wearing the same vallaslin that she had been when Lana had dreamt of her last.
Deshanna waved Lana over, and she saw Taelan perk up beside her, along with everyone else. She bit her lip as she walked around the circle, her eyes looking over the faces of everyone else there. She slowed. Her father was there as well, along with her mother. Both of their faces were bright and cheerful, both bearing the vallaslin. Her eyes drifted around the fire, and she frowned. Eolas was here as well. What? Eolas looked up at her, his expression not cold, but familiar. There were other faces there, faces that she could remember, but could not remember their names. As her eyes continued, they landed on the face of the sentinel she had met.
His eyes watched hers carefully, and she blinked. He was the spitting image of her father.
“Lana,” a warm hand touched her shoulder and she jumped. Her mother looked at her, her eyes growing worried. Her mother continued to speak in a language she didn’t understand, but as she spoke, she could almost hear the meaning behind the words.
Come sit with us. You’ve been away for far too long.
She listened to the other voices around the fire, their words slowly becoming clearer, and her mind started to ache. She hissed as she clutched her forehead.
“El, what’s going on?” another hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up to see the sentinel looking down at her, concerned.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in whatever language it was they were speaking.
“I think she might have hit her head,” her mother said on the other side of her. “Saeris, go get her some water, I’ll get her to bed so she can rest.”
He left and Lana looked at her mother. “Who was that?” she asked.
Her mother frowned. “I think Deshanna should take a look at you.”
“No, no, mamae,” she said, her voice almost pleading. “None of this makes any sense. You shouldn’t have vallaslin - you left Arlathan. You’re no one’s slave. None of you are.”
“Slave?” her mother’s green eyes grew more worried. “No one is a slave here,” she said. “The Dalish are free.”
The word thrummed through her like the answer to a question she hadn’t even thought to ask.
“We are the last elvhen,” Deshanna said beside her. “Never again shall we submit.”
Lana took a step back from them, her mind flooding. She shirked away from her mother’s grasp.
“This is… just a dream. This isn’t…” Thoughts spun in her head as she backed away from them all.
Then came the cracking sound of thunder and a blinding emerald light split the sky open over her in a violent tempest of magic.
‘Wake up.’