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“What!” he gasped, stumbling back a step and falling onto the ground.
The world before him – his dreamscape – was coming apart before him, faster than his eyes could keep up. The ruins he visited - the soft grass beneath his feet, the blue heavens littered with clouds, the streams - all faded into obscurity. All that he knew was being wisped away like smoke in the wind.
The scene crumbled into mere rubble to reform into indiscernible rock formations. They either were embedded into similarly rocky grounds or floated aimlessly in the air.
The gentle, clear stream he had visited many times in his youth with a number of past flames had polluted into a mucky substance with an equally ill colour. He watched as the stream reached the end of its line, towards a pillar of stone. He assumed, wrongly, that the water would stop flowing. He saw what he could only continue to believe was water stream upwards, defying his concept of order, and as the water reached the tip of this formation it dispersed into the air. Upon brief inspection he saw tiny droplets drench the surrounding rocks. Despite the water’s murky properties it continued to reflect the light of the world around him, his attention now consumed by the green abyss that drank the rest of his world.
His fingers dug into the ground, but he knew by now that the grass no longer cushioned his being. Instead dirt, rotting grass, and rock was all that he could perceive with his touch. The very ground appeared to bleed beneath his clawing fingertips.
Solas could not keep his gaze still; his eyes shifted everywhere
“The Fade,” he breathlessly whispered to himself. “The raw Fade."
Solas lightly laughed to himself. He couldn’t tell if he was exhilarated or frightened by the prospect he was now in the raw Fade. He knew that he should not be as excited as he was right now, but he couldn’t help it. He was in the raw Fade. If his mamae were here right now she would’ve undoubtedly reprimanded him for his carelessness, trusting a spirit.
“There’s no such thing as a nice spirit, da’len,” she would have said.
“I know what I am doing, mamae.” He haughtily rolled his eyes. She pursed her lips.
“One of these days, da’len, your pride will blind you and it will be your undoing.”
He let out another breathless laugh again. If only his mamae could see him now.
What felt like a lifetime ago he was talking with a wisdom spirit he had befriended that claimed to pre-date the fall of Arlathan, during the time The People reigned supreme. And now there was this new world before him, this abyss of possibilities and truths that beyond enraptured Solas.
If Solas was a lesser mage he would have succeeded in ignoring any other things not associated with this realm, but thankfully he was taught by the best. He felt a massive flux of magic surge behind him causing him to give it his undivided attention.
Before the mortal elf a figure revealed itself before him, drawing its form from the power of the Fade. The more it made itself tangible, the more Solas had to adjust his head to accommodate the great height of the spirit before him. The form unfurled itself from its magic cocoon, and Solas’s heart caught in his chest much like the breath in his throat. Suddenly, all the lore his mother had ever taught him about the Elvhen Gods came crashing back like a belated wave hitting a shoreline.
“He was said to typically roam between worlds and clans in the form of a wolf. Fur dark as ink, and thicker than any great bear in the Dales. His claws were fearsome, but what the gods and The People feared the most was his silver tongue. He was not named the Lord of Tricksters without reason after all. Without his cunning wit and eloquent speech, The Great Betrayal would never have occurred. Elders of clans would tremble narrating the crooked smile he wore that showed off his equally crooked teeth that could rip the flesh off of a man. We would not be surprised if he ever did, he never was too fond of us. But the wolf’s mouth was not the worst part of this being of his choice.”
The figure stretched its head upwards to bellow a howl that Solas was certain shook the Fade. It definitely attracted every malevolent spirit to his location. After its fearsome shout, it looked down at Solas. A mockery of the sun shone behind the creature's massive head, creating a halo effect. This being was divine and Solas was rendered speechless.
“The worst part of his existence was his eyes. They appeared benevolent and friendly, which the Gods fell for, thinking him a comrade. How wrong they were.”
“His eyes,” muttered Solas in horror. They opened in sets. One… two… three… four… and then a single fifth eye in the centre of its forehead, and they were all transfixed upon him, a mere elf. Is this the true form of Fen’Harel? Solas questioned.
“Yes,” it spoke for the first time, startling Solas more than the howl earlier. “My eyes.”
“Are you he? Are you truly Fen’Harel?” inquired Solas bluntly. He did not see much point in beating around the bush if he were to die soon.
“Yes.” It – he, Solas reprimanded himself – bowed its head in admittance.
“Why is it you look like this, then? I doubt the Gods would allow a demon among them, let alone among their ranks.” Fen’Harel merely huffed, but gave no other indication whether he was upset with Solas’s remark.
“Consider your adventures. Have you not needed to explore the lands to broaden your knowledge of the existing world and thereby unlock different realms within the Fade to reveal to you the past? Same concept for my current form. Did you think I jested when I claimed to be Fen’Harel?” he chuckled good-humouredly. “My form is an amalgamation of your concept of ‘The Dread Wolf’ and yourself.”
“Why me?” Fen’Harel tilted his head to the side slightly at the odd question.
“Recall our first meeting face-to-face. I had come to you bearing your visage because like I said, ‘we are alike you and I,’ Solas ‘The Prideful’. But we are more than our vice. We have the same ideals, feelings, and viewpoints regarding the world. You do not see yourself as an elf, yet you take it upon yourself to better their lives nonetheless. You see yourself as a humble revolutionary, as did I in my days of Arlathan. Solas, my friend, I see the world through the veil and it pains me to see The People reduced to these oppressed yet again.”
“Because of Tevinter, yes?” Fen’Harel shook is head.
“No.”
“No?”
“If you are willing my friend, I could tell you the truth of Arlathan. And after, you may decide if you wish to continue our friendship.”
Solas swallowed, practically salivating at the prospect of learning so much Elvhen lore. He knew the stories of Fen’Harel but Solas never believed in the Creators like most Elves. Despite his disbelief in the religion he found himself apprehensive of this spirit claiming to be Fen’Harel. However, their friendship had been beneficial and amicable thus far…
Solas weighed his options. One, listen to this spirit’s story and perhaps broaden his understanding of history; two, don’t listen to the spirit’s story and gain nothing.
It rarely hurts to listen. Trust is another matter entirely, reasoned Solas. He nodded at the supposed ‘Dread Wolf’.
“Alright, I’ll listen. But that is all I promise,” bargained Solas. Fen’Harel bowed his head again.
“That is all I ask.”
“Should we not perhaps vacate the area to discuss? There could be demons nearby.” The Wolf laughed.
“Do not worry. I assure you they will not come here as long as I preside over this area. Only the friends of Fen'Harel are allowed here.”