[ everything in the beyond is memory, ness reasons, is susceptible to the whims and opinions of those who first observed the events. she has become comfortable with ambiguity, with complexity, with the tension between known and unknown.
one moment, i see heroic grey wardens lighting the fire... the next, i see an army overwhelmed.
and you can't tell which is real?
it is the fade. they are all real.
her friend remembers fear, and so the memory will be fearful. it's not any more real than any other way to remember it. it's not any more real than how someone else might remember it. it's not any more real than solasโ ]
He wouldn't, [ ness can't hold the words back, reason lost, ] why would he? We had an eluvian. We have it still.
[ she knows because she enters it often, stands in the crossroads and tries to last longer each time, hopes dimly, stupidly, desperately to be something more than what she is:
a dead root of a dying people.
violet eyes and branches of blood stare back at her, implacable, and death stands at her back. ever out of sight, just in the corner of her eye, no matter how quickly she turns. she faces her friend, miserable, arms around herself against the chill of truth. ]
Solas isn't like this, [ she pleads, ] he's warm. He's kind. Please, let him be as I remember him.
As she remembers him, a shadow of him passes between them, Ness and spirit. Indistinct around the edges, more memory than person. His movement only shifts once and briefly, like a flicker of the light, into the furious predatory stalk of someone planning to cut down the fools who bound and corrupted an old friend.
The shape of him lowers onto one knee beside the fire and puts a hand to the elf's shoulder. You will have to explain your logic to me, my friend, he says, and it's as exhausted and skeptical as it is warm and kind, but certainly an improvement to the dead man before him, whose casual defiance begins to melt away. ]
That is better,
[ the spirit says, half-sigh, drifting closer to that imagined memory with a kind of hunger. As she remembers him. As they remember him. The memory of him looks up toward her and more warmth bleeds in. ]
[ it's almost crueler, she realizes, she shouldn't have askedโto get what she wants and to know that she has to be the one to choose to relinquish it.
not yet, though. ]
I don't understand, [ she steps forward, toward the shadow and the spirit. neither react to her getting closer, and she crouches down to look at both of them more closely. ] He wouldn't do this. He couldn't.
[ couldn't he?
youโtortured and killed my friend!
the shadow in front of her flickers, unable to make up its mind. somewhere behind them, a fire crackles to life, and the smell of smoke and burning flesh permeates the scene. ashes fall on her shoulders, only to dissolve in fade-green indecision.
it's such an annoying way to learn this lesson. couldn't it be cassandra instead? dorian? someone else she'd respected, put on a pedestal, anyone butโ ]
Solas, [ ennaris whispers, small and mournful, ] what did you do, vhenan? Who are you?
[ the shadow reaches for the spirit's faceโhis hands burn with magic, and are open-palmed in peace, and hold a dagger, all at once. ]
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psls never die
one moment, i see heroic grey wardens lighting the fire... the next, i see an army overwhelmed.
and you can't tell which is real?
it is the fade. they are all real.
her friend remembers fear, and so the memory will be fearful. it's not any more real than any other way to remember it. it's not any more real than how someone else might remember it. it's not any more real than solasโ ]
He wouldn't, [ ness can't hold the words back, reason lost, ] why would he? We had an eluvian. We have it still.
[ she knows because she enters it often, stands in the crossroads and tries to last longer each time, hopes dimly, stupidly, desperately to be something more than what she is:
a dead root of a dying people.
violet eyes and branches of blood stare back at her, implacable, and death stands at her back. ever out of sight, just in the corner of her eye, no matter how quickly she turns. she faces her friend, miserable, arms around herself against the chill of truth. ]
Solas isn't like this, [ she pleads, ] he's warm. He's kind. Please, let him be as I remember him.
really testing that theory sorry
As she remembers him, a shadow of him passes between them, Ness and spirit. Indistinct around the edges, more memory than person. His movement only shifts once and briefly, like a flicker of the light, into the furious predatory stalk of someone planning to cut down the fools who bound and corrupted an old friend.
The shape of him lowers onto one knee beside the fire and puts a hand to the elf's shoulder. You will have to explain your logic to me, my friend, he says, and it's as exhausted and skeptical as it is warm and kind, but certainly an improvement to the dead man before him, whose casual defiance begins to melt away. ]
That is better,
[ the spirit says, half-sigh, drifting closer to that imagined memory with a kind of hunger. As she remembers him. As they remember him. The memory of him looks up toward her and more warmth bleeds in. ]
Maybe we can stay here.
no subject
not yet, though. ]
I don't understand, [ she steps forward, toward the shadow and the spirit. neither react to her getting closer, and she crouches down to look at both of them more closely. ] He wouldn't do this. He couldn't.
[ couldn't he?
youโtortured and killed my friend!
the shadow in front of her flickers, unable to make up its mind. somewhere behind them, a fire crackles to life, and the smell of smoke and burning flesh permeates the scene. ashes fall on her shoulders, only to dissolve in fade-green indecision.
it's such an annoying way to learn this lesson. couldn't it be cassandra instead? dorian? someone else she'd respected, put on a pedestal, anyone butโ ]
Solas, [ ennaris whispers, small and mournful, ] what did you do, vhenan? Who are you?
[ the shadow reaches for the spirit's faceโhis hands burn with magic, and are open-palmed in peace, and hold a dagger, all at once. ]