Solas was not prepared for the feeling of unadulterated fear that washed over him, as the two shards were reconnected.He's not seen Mythal in centuries; though he had relentlessly chased her vessels through the years.
He had stood before Andraste as Shartan. They had had a life together, and that life had ended in a bloodbath. He had stood before Flemeth as Solas, and he'd watched the pieces once again click together. Though Flemeth had also died in front of him.
It seemed that they were doomed, him to survive but watch her perish, and she to die.
Now, as he watched the swirling magics of Mythal's two sides—Justice and Vengeance—combat with one another before intertwining, he forgot how to breathe. It was as if his lungs forgot to draw air into them. He froze. What if the magic failed, and the shards rejected each other? Panic set in. Solas was so focused on the panic that he felt, that he didn't even realize the glimmer of magic had faded. And before him stood...
Mythal. A very nude Mythal. Clothing didn't survive the Veil, after all.
He inhaled forcefully, taking another startled breath as he stared at her. Dark brown eyes wandered over her form, lingering on the raised scars from where their daughter's dagger had connected with her mother's heart. His gaze wandered over her form, slowly, drinking the sight of her in. She was like a vision, a dream—how often he has dreamed of seeing her again.
So often that he'd whispered in Andraste's dreams, and she had called him the Maker because some part of her remembered that voice.
But now, she stood in front of him. In front of all of Skyhold. Sylvas members had come to see what the brilliant glint of magic, the massive amount of energy being released, was. And the Shadow of Mythal—the remaining Ko twin, a pair of twins that Mythal had raised from birth to serve and protect her—nudged his shoulder, breaking his attention from the Evanuris in front of him. His breathing stuttered, as he stared at the cloak that Kumiko held out to him.
He stared at it like he had no idea what to do with it.
Kumiko cleared her throat, and gestured towards the gathered members of the Sylvas. And Solas moved forward, numbly, slowly. He was reminded of the very first time Mythal had summoned him; except he had been the nude body standing before her. And he had been unashamed; a spirit knew no better. She had taught him how to act among the souls.
She was his everything, and he would destroy the world for her.
He had destroyed the world for her. Though destruction did not always mean the end, sometimes destruction meant change. Like the Veil being removed.
He held the cloak out to her, You... are here. He murmured the words, and heard the Shadow trying to disperse the other elves from the room. Eventually, the room was empty, and only the Dread Wolf and the Evanuris remained. Mytha. He breathed her name, still clutching the cloak in his hand.
Something different, the shadows in which she drifted sharpening, turning, twisting, the sensation of space around her flung outward, expanding, yanking her along with it. But there was too much emptiness, and for a moment, she cried out in terror as the insubstantial threads of what she was were pulled taut, too tight, thrumming from the strain. They would snap, and she knew that to have then snap would be to lose herself again. Terror. Anger. But right when she thought she could bear no more, more strands came, seeking like to like. And when they touched she felt the magic flow into her, from her, to her, all these lost, wayward strands twining together.
It happened quickly, the warmth becoming hotter, and hotter still, until the threads burned away. No longer needed, for something fragmented was made whole again. She was whole again.
It was a curious sensation to… open her eyes, something that she hadn’t done in centuries. Light. Sunlight. The sky vast and limitless above her, the blue almost too bright to look at. She did anyway. Then, curious, she looked down at her feet, smiling as her toes wiggled over the stones under her that were hot, nearly glowing. She was not burned though. Arms lifted, hands… hers… turning this way and that. Each of her fingers curled before going to touch at the scars over her heart. They were not fresh, no longer bloody, but the memory of it pained her, and so these ridges of raised flesh pained her.
Finally, she let her gaze travel to the one that stood before her, the one that she knew. Instinctively, always. The urge to stretch out was nearly overwhelming, but she refused to give in to it. I am here. Instead, she stretched out her hand and looked at him expectantly for his supplication. Feredir.
Solas' first instinct was to laugh. A quiet, breathless sound. The laughter seemed to rend itself from his throat, as she addressed him. He clutched the cloak tighter, taking a step forward—
—and another.
And as his bout of laughter quieted, he leaned to envelope her in the cloak. Simple, though it smelled of his scent. Welcome to this new world. He murmured, reaching with his now-freed hand to intertwine his fingers through her offered hands fingers.
I've waited, a very long time, to see you again. He'd refused to give her up; had chased every vessel, had chased every rumor. Had threatened the very fabric of the world they stood in, just to see her again.
He was thankful there was no-one left to witness him, as he slowly lowered himself to his knees, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, only when he was seated before her.
She remembered the feel of the wind on her skin, the touch of hair brushing over her back. It was all so new, still, raw, her senses blistered and full of her being given form once again. Fen’Harel. Shartan. Solas. She remembered him, in all the guises he’d come to her. Pieces of her. Feredir, she spoke warmly, gracing him with her smile as he knelt. I have waited a very long time to be seen again.
Now that he had shown his devotion, she did not require him on his knees any longer. A slight gesture and he was standing again. Mythal held out her hands once again, moving forward to close the distance between them. The cloak was too large, too long, but it didn’t matter as she enfolded him in her arms.
Tell me all that you’ve done, and all that you have left to do.
She indicated he should stand, and with the slightest gesture, he was on his feet once more. She pulled him for an embrace, and he buried his face against the side of her neck. Mytha, ir abelas. Ma vhenan, before we talk politics, let me just... His hands slipped around her, pulling her to him.
Solas pressed a kiss under her ear, as he hugged her tightly. Held her, proved to himself that she was real and this was not a dream. Though, his dreams had never been worthless; they'd connected them in various ways.
Eventually, his mouth found hers; the kiss was deep, full of longing and years apart. And as he broke it, to chuckle softly, he murmured, We should get you some clothes. Before we discuss politics.
Laughter, even as the warmth of him pressed to her was startling and almost painful against skin that still did not recall what it should do, what sensations and touch meant. She had been floating for so long, wrapped in nothing but shadows and fragmented memories… the sudden weight of her body, of having a body felt ungainly, cumbersome. She felt heavy.
But he was here and for that, she was grateful. Mythal laughed again as his face pushed into the side of her neck. The soft touch of his mouth to the skin there behind her ear was electric, a jolt running up her spine. She thrilled at it, at the lips that gradually found their way to hers.
Does this form distract you then, Feredir? she teased, pulling the cloak tighter around her. This cloak does not suffice? She eased them apart, though she didn’t pull away entirely. Hands, fingers lifted and she slowly mapped out the shape of his face. I have seen you in so many different places, in so many different forms. But this, she graced him with another smile, this is best. Where shall we find me some clothes then?
The world was not familiar yet, but she would make it so. And, when she was comfortable in her own skin once more, she would make it hers again.
Solas was gentle with her, well-aware of how it felt to go from floating to a new body. He'd been there, after all, with this form. His lips pulled into a wolfish grin, at her question. You're the best distraction in the world, Mytha. Even dressed, you will still distract me. It was a promise, and he wouldn't change this fact for anything in the world.
Eventually, she'd become less of a distraction. Eventually, when he was used to her existence... She's been in his dreams for so long, a part of why he wandered the Fade every night, and with the Veil down there was no Fade to wander. There had been no way to stay in touch with her, save for wearing the amulet that housed her shard around his neck, until Vela allowed him to remove the shard that she had.
Her hands raised, carefully stroking over his face, memorizing his features with her touch. And then she complimented him, and his grin only widened. Upstairs.
Solas guided her, up the spiral stairs, made from the interior of the tree that was Skyhold. It was just as she had given it to him, over 8,000 years ago. A bit more modern in style, but it was no longer a modernized building.
In the large room up-top, he'd laid out a soft-fabric dress, But if that doesn't suit you, I've prepared a wardrobe of choices. It'd been easy to guess her size; she was coming back in her original body, unlike him, who was placed into a new body upon resurrection.
Patient. His presence radiating calm, a deep stillness that soothed and quieted. Those qualities were what had drawn her to him in the first place. Mythal smiled, and allowed herself to be led ‘upstairs’.
She didn’t much care for the spiral staircase, but she understood that necessity and functionality rarely went together with what was aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps in time, they could shape the stone into something less… basic. For now, the rough hewn planks and framework would suffice for her as it did for the others. Still, it wouldn’t do to be seen as miserly or unappreciative. She could be gracious. She was alive again, was she not? And here once more, with someone that was most beloved to her.
Dark eyes ran over the cut and the shape of the dress, her steps measured and perfectly even as she approached the article of clothing. Slowly, she ran her fingertips over it, delighted to find how soft it was. It would feel quite nice over her skin. A sidelong glance, a brow arching in amusement. An entire wardrobe of choices? Mythal didn’t answer him immediately, turning away as she considered the dress.
Solas… she murmured instead, letting the syllables fill her mouth, roll over her tongue. She tasted the sounds. Solas, she said again, fixing her attention to her wolf as she did so. A curious choice of moniker, but I do not dislike it. The sudden smile that came to her face again was partially obscured as she tilted her chin down. Help me into this dress then. I don’t know what suits me and what does not anymore, so we will have to see.
Raised arms swept her hair back and over one shoulder as she let the cloak fall, hands returning to run over the soft, soft fabric once again. A dark, deep blue with white accents. Why do they put the buttons on the back? Surely it’s a design flaw…
Solas watched her, as she left him behind to approach the dress. He lingered by the stairs, appreciating the fact he was able to watch her walk away from him. He doesn't even realize she's saying his name. Not until she says it again.
Is it curious? Or perhaps it's true. He chuckled softly, as he finally moved towards her. Elvhen for arrogant, prideful... and I fear with you where you belong once more, he reached to pick the dress up. And as he carefully led one of her arms through the dress, and then the next, he smirked at her. [b]My arrogance might only grow worse.[/q]
His touch was careful, fingers gliding over her soft skin. Hmmm, the buttons are on the back because no-one has considered placing them on the front. He chuckled, moving to carefully button the dress. He took his time, humming quietly to her.
Why had no one thought to put the buttons on the front? That made utterly no sense whatsoever and she had to wonder if this was a symptom of a greater problem within the realms. Lack of common sense was dangerous enough with individuals— when it came to large groups… especially organized ones… well… action would be required.
She frowned then, even as she sighed softly. Perhaps her singular focus and her drive to act had contributed to her death… her inability to embrace the bigger picture, to delegate, to watch and see. Was that true? Or were they muddled musings in the hours after waking?
A slight gesture and she waved aside talk of a tailor. This suited her fine and she would… seem more accommodating, this way. Solas, tell me truthfully. Do you think my constant need to act is what contributed to my death? Be honest with me. I need to know so I do not open myself up to the same weaknesses as before. Still. As heavy as this sudden turn of conversation went, Mythal still desired to touch him, her hands lifting as she allowed her fingertips to map out the shape of his face, to know it once more.
Solas chuckled as she dismissed the idea of a tailor. His laughter faded in his throat, though, as she posed her question. Ah... Yes. I think if you had left the others alone, they would not have been keen to help Elgar'nan remove you from the picture. However, Elgar'nan would never have left you alone, my love.
He leaned into her touch, as her fingers wandered over the planes of his face. Solas' hands reached to cup her face, fingers drifting over the exceptionally soft skin of her cheeks. Elgar'nan would have killed you on his own, eventually... Likely after another refusal to wed. He murmured, and though this was a serious conversation, he brushed his fingers along the length of her ears, and flashed her a soft smile.
So no, you are not entirely at fault. Though Solas blamed himself for her death; believed if he had not been with their remaining daughter that day, he could have stopped it. And as his thoughts wandered to their daughters, he pursed his lips and sighed. She had a right to know.
Or perhaps she remembered...
Do you remember who laid the blow that took your life? Cautious, almost hopeful that her memory was gone, because it was not an event anyone should remember. But he was fearful she might hate their daughter, for what the girl did at the hands of Elgar'nan, the man who had stolen her away and turned her into a monster.
Without thinking, Mythal wrinkled her nose at his rather quick confirmation, slightly taken aback in a full display of annoyance. It happened before she remembered that such things were beneath her, smoothing out her face. It… stung, but she had asked for his honesty. And he’d given it. She tilted her head slightly then, her look turning quizzical. Why was she attempting anything but transparency and honesty here with him? He knew her. He’d know that his answer would not be easy for her to stomach, knew that it would irritate her, and yet he’d done as she asked regardless.
Her displeasure was short-lived anyway as she welcomed his touch, his reverence, smiling at his smile for her. She let this continue on for several heartbeats before a finger lifted, pressing to his lips. Do not speak his name so easily. He will hear. Elgar’nan was nothing if not persistent. I saw glimpses and fragments… does he walk Thedas once again? She needed to know. His presence meant that she would encounter him again, sooner rather than later. His addled mind would fixate on how this beyond simple refusal now. She’d insulted him in choosing her wolf and that would not stand.
The question though, caught her off guard. Eyes narrowing, she sifted through her own memories, and those half-formed, nebulous ones of those that carried her with them while she was fragmented, while she slumbered. There were faces, some clearer than others. One in particular, with lines that shone in the distinct silvery-white of lyrium. But there were no names, no context, nothing else that she could draw from.
I do not remember, she answered truthfully after a moment. But I saw the scar. A cruel, jagged thing for how small it was. I remember feeling… cold. Once again, her eyes narrowed. Why do you ask this, Feredir? Do they still live then? Do they serve him?
The look on her face confirmed that she hadn't liked his answer, and he just smirked at her, knowingly. He'd never lied to her; had never kept secrets from her. When it came to them, Solas was as truthful as possible, like someone had slipped him a truth potion.
Her finger to his lips earned a nip as he opened his mouth, biting the tip of her finger gently. She ordered him not to speak Elgar'nan's name and talked about her memories. And at her question, he nodded.
Yes, he's alive. He's... here, on Thedas. Solas spoke quietly, holding his breath as she thought about his question. About if she remembered—
Arithari, their youngest, he was uncertain if Mythal would remember her. Sometimes, being revived could do strange things to ones mind. But so could existing in shard form... He does not have her, not... currently. But she's scared to come home to me. I see her, every so often in the dreamscape. And moreoften than not the child ran from him.
She fears Elgar'nan will kill me, should she come home. And... she fears that I cannot love her, knowing what she did. He'd pieced it together from old dreams in the 'scape, memories. Flashes here and there.
He reached to cup Mythal's face in his hands. I do not blame Arithari. You should not blame her either. I don't think she... knew, who she was killing. Because Mythal had stayed away from their daughters; a necessity almost due to how hard Elgar'nan scrutnized everything about her.
We must forgive her. And we must bring her home. He didn't know if the girl still ran free, or if Elgar'nan had captured her finally. He'd not seen her in a while...
It did not go unnoticed, the smirk on her love’s face. Mythal enjoyed that expression occasionally, with varying degrees of satisfaction. Even now, when it was directed at her. She knew this was only because he was fully aware that she would not reprimand him, not when he answered her truthfully at her behest. Even if she had not, he would have done so regardless. He had always been honest with her, risking her displeasure in spite of their feelings for one another. She tilted her head slightly. Or was it because of their feelings for one another? She trusted him. Implicitly. Hm. It would likely not be so if she knew he was in the habit of only telling her what it was she wanted to hear.
Such strange thoughts!
But her look turned sly, as he nipped at her fingertip. A slight crook of said finger, catching the bottom edge of those front teeth. She sighed however, withdrawing her touch as she thought of things that she discovered that she didn’t quite want to think about. To try and remember. It frustrated her, to have to rely on someone else for the pieces she was missing, even someone so beloved. She gave a minute shake of her head, sitting down abruptly afterwards.
Elgar’nan was here. And alive. Then it was only a matter of time before he discovered her and… she could only imagine the lengths he would go to hurt her, to seize her, and then destroy her. A furrow appeared between her brows. Who is this woman to you? She must be precious for you to have spared her for my death. Her voice was sharper than usual, but her eyes were… sad. But he spoke of Arithari coming home. We.
They had to forgive her. They had to bring her home.
We had children? Mythal swallowed, shiting in her seat as his palms warmed her cheeks. Was I good to them? Or… or did he not allow me to be?
Mythal did not remember their children, and he pursed his lips as jealousy colored her features. It didn't reach her eyes, though. He could only imagine how confusing it must be, to hear things that were true and yet not remember for yourself.
We had two. Arithari, our youngest. Denaya, our eldest. Denaya works for the Sylvas. He spoke thoughtful of his word choice, fingers brushing across her cheeks as he studied his love.
You were... around, when they were very young. But as Elgar'nan took more notice of you, of us, you stayed away. The hope... was that he would never know our children existed. Solas sighed, and lowered his hands, until he could squeeze her shoulders.
Ari never got to know you. By the time she was born, Elgar'nan was after you and it was too dangerous. I told them about you, though. They heard stories... He sighed, and moved to sit next to her. After a moment to settle, he'd pull her onto his lap, and curl his arms around her middle.
One day, when she was young, Ari left my grove. I was gone, to attend something with you. And... Elgar'nan found her. It seems the children had been leaving the grove in my absence for a while, and he'd been watching. Unable to breach the grove's defenses, he had to wait for one of them to leave. That day, it'd been Ari. Danya had apologized profusely, a child's argument had run the girl from the grove, in a fit of anger.
I've not seen her since. At least, not in person. He rested his chin on Mythal's shoulder.
