Solas's cleared mind entered the Fade with ease. Finding her wouldn't be difficult... She bore his mark.
The formless paths of the Dreaming Realm took shape as the elvhen advanced. Solas ruled this place. The Fade was his friend. He didn't need to look to know where he was going. He moved without haste, letting the dream shape itself to his steps.
In the distance, he saw her: a small, visibly lost figure adrift in this realm. That was her.
He would take no risks. He assumed the form of a great, wild wolf, dark of fur, imposing in presence. He needed to know who she was. He wanted to peer into the very core of her essence. After all, this young woman carried immense power, his power, and Solas could not accept someone unworthy wielding it.
He, who had fought the tyrants of his age with the strength this thief now bore. He, who had struck down enemies with the might of Fen'Harel… now saw that same might in the hands of a Dalish girl. An elf who, by all appearances, had aligned herself with a corrupt tyrant like Corypheus, a mage Solas had intended to leave dead when he unlocked the Orb. And yet here she was, branded with the Anchor and Corypheus…
He knew nothing...
Yet.
The landscape shifted as the great grey wolf approached. No longer a shapeless expanse, but a forest bloomed, rich in vegetation. Around them, elven men and women, their faces tattooed, labored in servitude. Solas crafted this setting to observe her. He modeled it after the Dalish clans he had studied, but added the slavery of his time, a dark reminder that, even if the prisoner didn't know it, her people bore the marks of bondage with pride.
He, who had once seen those marks burn on the skin of the subjugated, now watched them worn as symbols of freedom. How bitterly ironic.
He did not want to be aggressive, not yet. So he chose to display the gentler face of oppression. Later, if needed, he could escalate the cruelty. Now, some elven servants washed dishes in the stream. Others scrubbed clothing. Others still spun thread, weaving clothes for masters long unseen. The calluses on their hands, the roughness of their skin, spoke of endless toil. None of them complained. Solas portrayed them submissive, resigned to their "fate"... though he despised the very idea that fate existed.
The Dalish prisoner looked around when the dream changed. He saw surprise in her gaze, but not fear. That meant she wandered the Dreaming Realm often. Unusual for the mages of this silent world. She observed, curious. Took a few measured steps back and sat down on a fallen log without concern. Yes. The wilds were home to her.
Now seated on the log, she turned her face side to side, absorbing every detail. She gave herself the time to understand.
Prudent. Intelligent.
Then, she stood and walked toward a group of three elves washing bowls. Her frame was small, like all elves of this era. Severed from the Fade, their bodies had shrunk fragile, sickly. Her dark hair flowed down to her waist, loose and wavy. Untamed. Something stirred in the wolf's chest. He knew the reason too well. But refused to analyze it.
He was still too shaken by the past year. He could not think of her. He must not.
The prisoner sat beside the elven servants on the damp ground. They looked at her, puzzled. She picked up a bowl and began helping them, without hesitation.
- Why are you cleaning all this? - she asked softly, yet continued to aid them.
Solas felt something strange inside.
She had joined the slaves without the slightest sense of shame. Instead of demanding answers or asserting dominance, she descended to their level, choosing conversation, equality. She wanted them to feel comfortable. Dignified. Not insulted.
The wolf's tail flicked without his permission. He sat on his haunches in the distance, aware she hadn't noticed him yet, and watched.
- We must clean all this for our masters - said one of the women, as if it were the most obvious truth. -It is our duty.
The prisoner made a small grimace of disapproval. Solas understood... She had never been enslaved.
Irony: the "prisoner of Cassandra" had lived in relative freedom among her people. Now, her body lay trapped in a cold cell.
Something stirred again within him. That rebellious spirit inside Solas wanted to break her chains and give her the freedom owed to all beings with a will of their own. But he couldn't. Not now. She was his alibi. And possibly Corypheus's agent.
- Your duty? - she repeated, looking at the servants. - Very well. Then I'll help.
She joined the work at once. There was no submission in her actions. Only compassion. The wolf tilted his head, still watching. This girl might one day be his enemy.
Time passed among the elves. The prisoner blended in with ease washing bowls, stacking them gently, repeating the task. Her hands weren't calloused or coarse. Only her right palm showed thickened skin, likely from holding a staff. No signs of hard labor. Unusual. Most Dalish, even the young, bore the marks of strenuous work. But not her. What kind of Dalish was she?
Still, the wolf watched…
Then he heard her begin to hum a soft melody in elvhen. The song worked as a charm: the servants began to move in rhythm, their burdens eased by her voice. Solas felt a pang of irritation.
This Dalish girl thinks suffering is soothed by song. How naive.
And yet… the slaves smiled. Relief softened their expressions. Something inside the Rebel Wolf stirred with warmth he had not asked for.
These slaves were spiritual entities, spirits summoned by Solas's will. They were his friends. His only friends. And she had made them happy.
The melody floated like a lullaby through the dream's shimmering light.
The wolf tilted his head.
He had seen many dreamers: some trapped in nightmares, others trying to twist the Fade to their desires. But she was different. She wasn't trying to control it. Or escape it. Nor did she surrender to chaos. She sang. And through her voice, she connected with the oppressed. She synchronized their pain, gave it rhythm and beauty. No longer duty. But joy. She had lifted their burdens. And that… was worth more than diamonds.
There was a strange beauty in her method. In the way her mind wove memories, not to change them, but to sustain them. To hold them gently. As if she believed (stubbornly) that pain should not be forgotten, but understood. Shared. So its weight could be carried together.
Inevitably (against his will) the memory of Great Mythal came to him. The wolf growled softly. He didn't want to think of her. And certainly not compare her to this wild Dalish girl.
The sound drew the prisoner's attention. She turned toward him, smiling, unafraid. The song did not falter.
Cassandra's prisoner had golden eyes, the color of the Sun, once common among the noble bloodlines of Solas's age. Unusual in Thedas. Even stranger was the violet hue ringing her irises. It reminded him of someone…
Another rarity.
That gaze held something ancient. Something from his time. But that was impossible.
She turned her focus back to the bowls. Her lashes were thick, framing almond shaped eyes of striking depth. She continued singing. Stayed with the others. Kept working.
This woman didn't seem like a servant of Corypheus.
Solas's agents had described the man as a tyrant, egotistical, megalomaniacal. She didn't seem the type to serve someone like that. But then… why?
When the bowls were clean, she rose and stopped singing. The elves smiled, thanked her. Then she turned and walked toward him. Unafraid.
Another surprise. She did not fear wolves.
That shouldn't surprise him. She was Dalish, after all. But the form he wore in the Fade (the form of the dread wolf) was not a friendly-looking creature.
He stood tall and bared his fangs, menacing. They were strangers. She needed to keep her distance.
She stopped. He saw sorrow in her eyes and wondered what it was that weighed on her. He shouldn't care. But she had surprised him.
- I hope you don't mind if I come closer - she whispered.
Her posture showed tension. She didn't fear beasts, but this wolf had just warned her off.
Then, her eyes fell to her left hand, the one that glowed green. She didn't know what was happening. She felt like a stranger in her own skin.
To her surprise, the beast approached and sniffed her palm. She let him.
- There's something strange in me, wolf - she confessed. - I don't remember what happened. And I don't know how to leave this place.
The wolf observed her. Solas understood that she was lost in the Fade.
For him, the spirits' speaker, a single sniff was enough. He sensed traces of a Fear spirit.
Her memories had been taken. She would remember nothing if she woke. Trying to extract information about the Conclave from her would be futile. Only by visiting the spirit's realm could the memories be retrieved, but such a mission had no purpose now.
More urgent was the expanding Breach. And for that… she would need to master the power of Fen'Harel on her hand.
The wolf wagged his tail. Solas had made his decision. He would bring her out of here.
The Dalish girl bearing Ghilan'nain's vallaslin smiled as the wolf accepted her presence. She crouched beside him, stroking his brow. He allowed it. Only because he needed to wake her.
She thought of the sea when she met his eyes.
- You have beautiful eyes, great wolf - she murmured.
Solas cursed himself... He had forgotten to change their color.
It was dangerous. She might associate this wolf with his elven form. The last time the Dalish recognized him, they had attacked.
And they paid the price for their insult.
But this one… was different. Her hand held power he coveted. She must trust him, never fear him. She would never know he was Fen'Harel.
The grey wolf turned and began to walk slowly, inviting her to follow. She did. And just as he was about to guide her out…
Solas opened his eyes in the waking world.
The Seeker stirred beside him. He had to leave. She could not find him inside the prisoner's mind.
He withdrew abruptly from the Fade and looked down at the sleeping girl. Still dreaming. Still lost.
- Rest, Dalish. I'll bring you back…
Moments later, the warrior stood at his side, her eyes tired and drowsy.
- Forgive me, Solas. I fell asleep.
- There is nothing to forgive, Seeker.
- Did you learn anything?
- No. I'll need more time to examine the prisoner.