TDM #5

[calderaevents]

ARRIVAL

It happens in an instant. A heavy weight in your gut, a trembling of your limbs, the world spins and you barely have time to register that you're falling before you lose consciousness. And when you awaken, it's not where you were last. Dark, unadorned oak walls surround you in a tiny room, the only furniture the bed you are currently resting upon, and the bedside table with a folded piece of parchment resting atop it that simply reads:

“The Tavernkeeper is awaiting your arrival downstairs.”

As you exit you find others like yourself emerging from the surrounding rooms. You are indeed in a tavern, but there is no hustle and bustle one might think to hear in such a place. The only person down on the main floor is a humanoid figure wiping down the bar, who smiles when they see you. They're familiar, but not, and you can't quite place their face. For some reason, however, their presence is comforting and warm.

“Welcome, Visitor. I'm sure you have a lot of questions.”

And you most certainly do.

Due to popular demand, the starter tavern and the drinks provided are available to in game characters via a portal accessible only to those with a faction gem.

DRINK MENU

FLAMEFRUIT SANGRIA a deep red wine based punch with chunks of softly glowing fruit floating in it. A single serving makes you feel relaxed, social, and maybe even a little flirty.

MOLTEN MEAD Though the thick drink itself is room temperature, it bubbles sluggishly, and feels very warm going down. The bold flavor affects your mood. You feel very bold! Like you could do anything!

BESALT BRANDY a hopefully staple drink for the brewery, this liquor is smooth and rich with a peppery bite. Ironically after consuming it, you kinda want to bite someone! Not hard! Just a little nip and nibble!

THAT ASHY ESPRESSO a single potent shot of dark espresso swirled with a gold-tinged cream. Intense and bitter with a hint of caramelized sugar. You are now very awake, hyper, and excited.

PYROCLAST'S WHISKEYa glossy black whiskey that turns a vibrant glowing orange when swirled. You now breathe fire.

EMBERMARK WINE a rich, velvety, spiced wine that immediately makes one feel mellow and calm.

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

As the effects of your drink wear off, the Tavernkeeper speaks once more:

”It is time, my friends, for you to find your new homes.”

You are compelled to walk through the only door leading out of the tavern, finding yourself not outside, but in a deep black, seemingly endless room with five portals arranged in a circle. As the last of you leave and the door closes behind you, gone when you look back again and replaced with nothing but that black void, three of the portals illuminate:

The first portal is surrounded by an almost blinding light, prismatic rainbows shining brightly in the dewy air outside of the tavern. A soft breeze may gently caress you, pulling you toward it. The portal seems to lead to a city in the clouds, airships and winged beings of all sorts soaring through the skies. Of the little bits of visible land, much of it boasts giant waterfalls that look like clouds melting into the land below. The portal calls to those who crave independence and freedom; and especially to anyone that wishes to find the strong bond of a family not forged in blood.

The second portal is encircled by a fairy ring of spotted white capped mushrooms, the faint scent of damp stone and rich earth wafting from within the faint green glow. Peering inside, one can see a sprawling harbor city of gray hewn stone, a melting pot of humanoid beings going about their day, and beyond, rolling green farmland and cottages clustered in small villages. This portal is destined for those who crave stability and solid ground beneath their feet. A simple life, an adventurous one, and everything in between can be found within.

The last portal is adorned with shells and seaweed, the glow of blue around it catching on droplets cascading down the circular opening. Beyond it you see a city housed inside a massive bubble deep under the ocean, spiraling towers encrusted with coral, and a variety of different creatures mingling about the streets. Outside of that bubble, merfolk swim, a massive squid engulfs the view from the portal as it smoothly glides through the water, and schools of fish disperse as it passes. A sanctuary in the sea that calls to those with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to aid those in need. Or perhaps it is the mystery that beckons you - the lure of the unknown in the depths that bids you explore it.

---

Upon following the pull of the breeze through the first portal, you are thrust into the beauty of a lively city that goes by the name of Heaven's Bow. Much of this main city feels exactly as you would expect on a city below, but there are clouds surrounding every direction you look. The walls of buildings are made with light-colored limestone, and buildings are generally built up to heights made even more grandiose by their position in the sky.

The Skyfall Docks are the first thing you notice, boasting hundreds of airships sailing in and out across the clouds with shouts that accompany a typical port city. Just outside is a fantastic market with goods not only from the other regions of Caldera, but from what some shopkeepers claim are other worlds--items sold or left behind by Visitors. Almost anything can be found in the markets if one is willing to look hard enough. Transport to other locations throughout the sky and even to the land or sea can be found here.

If the docks are too lively for you, you may instead find yourself roaming the underbelly of Heaven's Bow and finding brothels and gambling parlors filled with the promise of pleasure and fortune. The guild house for the Sylphs can be found here as well, giving out quests and training to prospective adventurers and guards alike--though none of them seem concerned with the illicit activities that surround them. Perhaps the freedom the Sylphs boast of extends to what others may deem an undesirable activity.

But most curious of all, you find a shimmering opal gemstone in your hand. When placed anywhere on the body, it will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If it was the second portal that called to you, you will find yourself in the busy city of Grey Ward, with its cobblestone streets and sturdy grey stone buildings. You are in the heart of the city, the Glass Market, so named for the colorful stained glass windows of the surrounding buildings. The scent of cooking food and the sound of barkers fills the air; watchful guards keep an eye out for pickpockets and thieves, and citizens go about their day. From here, one can investigate the rest of the city: the Sundown Docks, where both sea and sky faring skips transport people and goods. The Soot Spire, home of inventors and engineers. The Hearthstill, the main residential area. The Downs, a smaller residential area for those with less means.

Outside the city walls, one can explore acres of farmlands to the east and west, or follow Terra’s Pass to the less settled areas, but take care. Past the Skyward Range, out in the smaller burrows and villages, the influence of the city guard diminishes quickly, and you’ll have to keep your wits about you. Bandits along the road are always a risk, and the wildlife are less controlled by regimented hunting.

In your hand is a gemstone, a brilliantly green emerald that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If the last portal beckoned you through it, you find yourself within that bubble covered city beneath the sea, the city of Salt Spire. Your ears pop with the change in pressure, and the smell of the salty sea fills your nostrils. All around you buildings made of dark stone encrusted with coral and seagrass tower high above your head, the backdrop outside the dome a deep blue, seemingly endless sea filled with fish and merfolk and all other manner of creature swimming through the water. You stand in the heart of it all, surrounded by people with gils on their necks and scales upon their vibrantly colored skin, all of whom seem intrigued by your arrival. You have many options of where to visit in the city under the sea, but where oh where will you go first?

The Salt Spire Library is right before you, an impossibly large building housing thousands upon thousands of books of all genres. Fiction, non-fiction, romance and mystery and all between. You may even find books from your world and others! Oddly enough though, no Calderan history books are to be found, and if you ask for them, the librarians and locals all choose to ignore your questions.

If scholarly pursuits aren't to your interest currently, perhaps a trip to Bluetide Market would be more your style? The marketplace is host to every manner of shop one might ever need: artisans of all varieties, apothecaries and healers in the Shimmer Quarter, the most in fashion undersea clothing shops, food stalls, and all between can be found in Bluetide. There are also the Tideshore and Fogbottom docks on either end of the city. The former allows transport to the surface via large, magical bubbles for those that cannot hold their breath or make the swim themselves yet. The latter allows people to venture further into the sea. Those without their underwater abilities are offered rebreathers for travel that last for four hours before needing to be replaced.

In your hand is a gemstone, a shining sapphire that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

IGNACIA'S CRADLE/EMBER VEIL

Months ago, a piece of land from Heaven’s Bow fell from the sky and scarred the land below, damaging a part of the city. From that chaos and ruin rose new life, a new ruler, and a new city: Ignacia’s Cradle. Just a short walk from the edge of Grey Ward, the gates of the city are guarded by two massive obsidian golems, and any who did not rise from the lava itself are warned at the entrance that to travel about the city will be most difficult, unless they have obtained a way to mitigate the extreme heat: be that with a charm, an ability, or a potion. The very streets themselves are paved in slabs of volcanic rock, tall spires of buildings constructed and shaped by rapidly cooled lava. The main method of travel are the mine carts, with tracks that wind through the spires ready to take one to almost any location.

Currently, the main feature of Ignacia’s Cradle is the Lava Flats, home of skilled smiths that use the extreme heat of the lava to melt the strongest metals and create unbreakable weapons, glassmakers and jewelers who fashion elaborate headpieces, rings, and amulets. These items are sold at the Ember Market on the outskirts of the Flats.

At the edge of the city lies the Ashfall Terrace, where a small farm using the rich volcanic ash and soil is in its infancy, as well as the Basalt Brewery where clever alchemists are researching ways to use the extreme heat to craft new and unique beverages that they are eager to find folk to test them out on.

---

The hot spring of Ignacia’s Cradle is a breathtaking anomaly located just beyond the Ashfall Terrace, tucked into a secluded crater formed by the celestial impact that gave rise to the city. Here, molten veins from the Lava Flats weave beneath the earth, heating a natural reservoir that bubbled to life amidst the chaos. The spring’s waters shimmer with an ethereal brilliance, hues of deep turquoise blending with molten gold and fiery orange, as though Heaven’s Bow itself left behind a fragment of its essence. Steam rises in curling wisps, carrying the tang of minerals and faint traces of sulfur.

The spring, known to locals as The Ember Veil, is both a sanctuary and a marvel of natural wonder. Its soothing waters are reputed to heal wounds and fortify the spirit, with the temperature kept in perfect balance by an intricate system of naturally formed vents and channels. The edges are lined with intricately carved obsidian benches, where patrons can soak their feet or meditate in the rising steam. Plants resistant to the intense conditions—vivid fire lilies and ash ferns—dot the perimeter, their resilience a symbol of life’s ability to flourish even in the harshest environments.

Sometimes, when two or more individuals share the waters, the spring creates a subtle connection between their minds, allowing memories to surface like ripples on its surface. These shared memories appear as glowing, translucent scenes that hover above the water, visible to all within the spring. Participants can relive moments from their lives, experiencing them through each other’s eyes, fostering profound empathy and understanding.

Another of the spring’s mystical properties occurs when bathers who enter the waters feeling drained, injured, or burdened by grief often find their vitality restored. The waters seem to draw out negative energies and emotions, replacing them with a warm, invigorating sensation that spreads through the body. In rare instances, the spring has been known to accelerate physical healing, mending minor injuries and soothing chronic aches, as though the magic itself is stitching the body back together.

A lesser-known but equally fascinating effect happens on particularly clear nights, when the moonlight reflects on the spring’s surface, some bathers report fleeting glimpses of potential futures. These visions are often cryptic, appearing as brief, dream-like flashes, but they have guided many to life-changing decisions. The alchemists of the Basalt Brewery believe this effect stems from residual cosmic energy, and they have begun experimenting with enhancing it through the addition of rare minerals and lunar elixirs.

RADIANT SUN

The day begins like no other, with the skies painted in hues of golden-pink as the Radiant Sun ascends. Its light spills over the world, warm and soft, caressing the land and filling every heart with a sense of peace. Beneath its glow, emotions of love and connection bloom like never before. Strangers exchange heartfelt smiles, old friends embrace as though no time has passed, and lovers find their feelings deepened, their bonds strengthened.

Even the air feels different—lighter, sweeter, as though the universe itself is celebrating. The songs of birds harmonize with the melodies of impromptu musicians who feel inspired by the sun’s radiance. Those with magical abilities sense their powers of healing and creation magnified, as if the sun itself lends its strength to their intentions. Long-held grudges seem to melt away under the sun’s tender gaze, replaced by tears of reconciliation and words of forgiveness.

The Radiant Sun touches every heart differently:

◾A widow finds peace as memories of her late spouse no longer bring sorrow but gratitude for the love they shared.
◾A timid youth finds the courage to confess their feelings to the person they’ve admired for so long.
◾A gruff warrior lets down their guard, laughing freely with their companions for the first time in years.

For a fleeting moment, the world feels as it should be—unified, harmonious, and drenched in love.

But as the day wanes and the Radiant Sun dips below the horizon, an unease begins to settle...

JEALOUS MOON

The golden light gives way to deep purples and silvers as the Jealous Moon rises, its glow pale and cold. Its light pierces the heart, not to warm it, but to expose the insecurities that lie buried within. Where love had flourished during the day, doubt begins to creep in.

Under the Jealous Moon’s influence, emotions twist and darken:

◾A once-reconciled pair of siblings argue over old grievances, as jealousy over perceived favoritism resurfaces.
◾A couple, who had spent the day lost in each other’s arms, now question each other’s loyalty and intentions.
◾A nobleman, inspired to be generous during the day, grows suspicious of those who received his gifts, fearing they may exploit his kindness.

The air grows heavy with tension, and the magic of the Radiant Sun fades, replaced by the sharp sting of distrust. The moon’s pale light seems to follow people like a judgmental gaze, amplifying every fear, insecurity, and lingering resentment.

Worse still, the night seems endless, as though time itself has bent beneath the weight of the Jealous Moon’s envious glow. For three long days and nights, the moon lingers high in the sky, its pale, piercing light casting a shadow over hearts and minds, amplifying discord and despair. Its power sows strife among even the closest bonds, driving some to dangerous extremes. Yet, when all seems lost, the scholars of the three factions unite their wisdom and uncover a glimmer of hope—a means to dispel the moon’s cruel influence. For those who have not yet succumbed to jealousy’s grip, there remains a chance to reclaim harmony, a chance for redemption before the damage becomes irreversible.

The solution lies not in complex rituals or rare relics but in the simplest and most instinctive actions: physical connection. To weaken the moon’s hold, people must embrace one another—offering a hug, a handshake, or even resting a hand on someone’s shoulder. These gestures of closeness disrupt the isolation and mistrust that the moon thrives upon. Sitting side by side or holding hands creates a barrier against its oppressive light, reminding the afflicted that they are not alone. Even small acts, like sharing warmth through proximity or clasping arms in solidarity, build a shield of connection that the moon cannot penetrate.

As these actions ripple through the night, the Jealous Moon’s light begins to dim, its sharp, cold glow softening until it fades from the sky entirely. The tension in the air lifts, replaced by a quiet calm that feels almost foreign after the chaos of the past three days. Slowly, the world seems to exhale, and the darkness that clung so tightly to the hearts of many begins to loosen its grip. People step back from the brink of despair, their minds clearing as if waking from a long, disorienting dream. Relationships strained by the moon’s influence begin to mend as apologies are exchanged, tears are shed, and bonds are reaffirmed.

ALL IS WELL(?)

With the Radiant Sun rising again, its golden-pink hues spilling across the horizon, life begins to return to normal. The birds resume their morning songs, markets reopen, and the hum of daily activity fills the air once more. Though traces of the moon’s influence linger in whispered memories, there is a collective sense of relief and gratitude among the people—gratitude for the light, for connection, and for a second chance to heal.

In the outskirts of Ignacia's Cradle, Aella and Terra, two of the three leaders of the factions, come together to address the gathered crowds. Together they assure the people that this celestial event was a rare anomaly, something never before recorded in the annals of history. They explain that while the Jealous Moon’s influence was unprecedented and deeply unsettling, it was a unique alignment of cosmic forces that is unlikely to occur again in their lifetimes—or ever.

The leaders thank the people for their resilience and compassion, emphasizing how their acts of unity—simple gestures of closeness and connection—proved stronger than the moon’s envy. They commend the scholars for their quick thinking and the Visitors for their role in guiding others through the chaos. Finally, they urge everyone to move forward, not in fear of what has passed, but with the knowledge that even in the darkest moments, their strength lies in the bonds they share.

QUESTBOARD

Settled in? Good. It's time to make your way to the Questboard located in every city in numerous, easy to access locations. That is, if you want to make any kind of impact on the world or just get some Bones for anything you might wish to purchase. Visitors are given a very small stipend in which to survive every month, but all it does is keep you fed and housed. These quests will assure you greater wealth, and they're the main reason you're here: each finished quest helps the Calderans fix their shattering world.

Quests can be accepted at the questboard via magically signed parchment upon the board. Just sign your name to accept and the paper will be whisked away... somewhere. You're not actually sure. Probably nothing to concern yourself with.

Once quests are completed, earned Bones will be dropped off at the character's residence by Bonita, the mysterious artisan who has supposedly handcrafted every Bone circulating in Caldera. Please do not speak to her, she startles easily.

*February will be the last month to complete quests for this rotation. New ones will go up on March 1st.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Caldera's fifth TDM! All characters awaken in a strange tavern with nothing save the clothes on their backs, all of their powers stripped, and a piece of parchment directing them downstairs to the Tavernkeeper. There is a thread of all questions answered by the Tavernkeeper here, and if you have more, feel free to ask there for what would be offered ICly.

For OOC questions, please direct themhere.

All locations are available to be explored! Ignacia's Cradle and Ember Veil have been added, along with details about the Violet Drop regarding the Cult of Triton.

The TDM is game canon and all completed quests can be carried over once accepted into the game.

Participation in the Radiant Sun/Jealous Moon effects is not mandatory.

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Comments

[arlathvhen]

Beleth does not come to anger easily--she used to simply be better at hiding it, but experience and life has rendered her a great deal more tranquil about matters. Annoyed or frustrated? Perhaps. Irked or irritated, at times. Rarely does her true anger get properly roused. But as she watches, her lips pull into a snarl that quite nearly mimics the one in Solas' memories.

She feels for Solas, yes, but more importantly, she feels for her People. The Dalish may doubt her for what she's done to her face, for what she's done with her heart, but they are hers. The pain of what has been inflicted upon them burns, with a rage that grips her heart. Beleth lashes out, her hands going through the water: one through Elgar'nan's head, and the other through Mythal's.

"Damn them both! They deserve each other." It's the greatest curse that Beleth can inflict upon them. Tyranny and Retribution, two sides of the same coin. She hated them both. "We shall not despair for want of variety! Variety!" Her voice is rising. She should calm down--even before her beloved, giving in to fury is not wise. But each part of the memory is a new treachery upon her.

"And no pain--Do you know, Vhenan, how we get the vallaslin?" Her hand raises, a finger tracing the path that green vines once carved across her face. "It is a mark of adulthood, and a test. You must prove you are worthy of it through the hunting of a beast. Then you choose the god you feel most close to," And it burns her to say it, voice trembling. "That you feel best represents the traits that you admire," The word is spat out, leaving a vile taste upon her tongue. "And when the needle hits, you can't cry out. If you make any noise while the needle carves your skin, then you have to stop. You can only start over when you show that you are worth the second try."

She hisses, and slaps the water where Elgar'nan's face was again. The only balm she has is that the man is dead now, though she had been unable to do it with her own hand. Lucky Rook. "They were not worth our devotion. None of them."

[goethbeforethefall]

At first he is as stunned as anyone might hope, at the rage in her. She is a reserved person, private by nature and only made moreso by her time as the Inquisitor. And yet, this, the truth of it that she surely knew, at least its meaning, is what rouses her to rage.

"Vhen—" His hands catch at hers, pull them away from her face, pull her closer— but her ire is too strong, her wrath beyond controlling, and he lets her go. He had not known.

He had not known, of the torture the Dalish inflicted on their own children, their children, in reverence for the gods. For Elgar'nan, ultimately, or for his vanity and posessiveness. He can blame her not at all. And he, hating that younger self, that fool who had barely objected... Could he have stopped it?

No. Even if he cannot resist worrying at the idea, they had decided it. They had already begun to—

"Vhenan," He says, when she seems to have paused for breath, struggling to find the words to say it. To apologize, for what can never be forgiven. To somehow free her from the outrage and pain of it, "I was once marked as well."

He shuts his mouth abruptly, appalled. That had not been what he had meant to say.

[arlathvhen]

The breath had only been a quick moment, as she gathered the threads of her anger and weave them into the right words. So many angry thoughts and feelings swirled inside her. How desperately her People had clung to what they knew of their past, and how persecuted they were for those scraps-- which had been so, so wrong.

All their devotion, their salvaging of what could be gathered, like trying to weave clothes out of the scraps of millennia old finery. Only to find the finery had been crafted out of the flesh and blood of other elves. She's ready to let Solas know her thoughts on the subject, his attempts to grab her ignored as she starts to get worked up into a fine hysteria. The hurt feels like it's rising from the marrow of her bones--

Then a single sentence, and she feels like the breath had been knocked out of her. Beleth turns to face him, notes that he's as surprised by the admission as she. The silence stretched between them for a beat, then two. Then Beleth moves through the water to her beloved's side, all anger put aside in the face of this injustice.

Her hand reaches up to slowly trace over his face, as though she could feel their remnants. There are none, of course. His had been removed as entirely as her own, as though the needle had never touched her skin. She still knows the general shape they must have taken, the careful, elegant branches.

"Mythal said something to you," She whispers quietly, and the fight has quite gone out of her now, regarding Solas in the sorrow she had felt for her own circumstances. "When we asked you to step aside from your plans. She insinuated--" The words die on her lips. They don't mean anything, coming from Beleth. Well, she had her own words to offer.

"She did not deserve your devotion, either. We are both free of her."

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas doesn't know what to say, shocked by his own admission, guilty and uncertain. He both craves and despises the idea of being pitied. Her fingers are cool and damp on his face, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head in a tiny, mute denial.

"She... was all I had. My first and only, for many years," He whispers, ashamed to be telling her all of this, who must surely resent the inevitable comparison. He cannot enjoy hurting her, but having said as much he has no power to say less, "She was everything."

It is a plea; to be understood, and not blamed, a cry for forgiveness that he does not deserve. These are old memories, and arguing with a reflection of the past could only yield pain. Yet it was to Mythal's compassion that he was still yoked; in the service of a people who now despised him, and fought bitterly to oppose him at every turn.

"You are free," the emphasis is gentle, but real. He reaches to mirror her touch, smoothing the pad of his thumb where once green ink flowed, "Your people... They do not understand what they do to their children. Perhaps the tradition will die, now that they may know. But you are free, and others will follow. I will break the chains of all who desire it."

[arlathvhen]

It's still not enough. She sees it in his posture, in the way he shakes his head, the look on his face. Mythal wove a fine collar around the throat of her wolf, and while his vallaslin may have been taken, Beleth doesn't know what can be done to free him from this service to a dead woman. Why can't she do it? Why can't she figure out the words to convince him?

Jealousy is an ugly, bitter thing, sunk like a rock into her stomach. But Solas tries to explain, and it cannot be easy for him. She can't hold him to blame for being collared, only herself, for her inability to free him, and for the one who put it there.

"She didn't deserve you." The words are repeated stubbornly. "She was not worth what you gave her. You deserve..." Her hands both cup his face, love and sorrow intermingled freely. Her beloved, the one she'd bound herself to, tragic and desperate for peace. She would figure it out. She would free him, no matter what it took. "...Everything."

He speaks of her people, and the anger has gone from her, but the hurt remains. It's built into her, inherited from her mother's body, same as her hair, and her grandmother before that. Generations that stretched from Solas' memories to connect to her own. "I don't know if they will." She admits to him, and suddenly feels exhausted, pulling her hands down, to wrap around his chest, fitting her head underneath his neatly. "It is the symbol of the Dalish, of the people who have stayed true to--" She stops then, pressing her face into him.

"I guess it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" The admission feels like a greater betrayal than any other they had accused her of. "None of it ever mattered. The gods we devoted ourselves to cared more about making sure we had a lovely variety of branding than they did of us."

[goethbeforethefall]

She comes to him at last, and he gathers her close. It is shockingly intimate, bare in the warm water, and he feels his entire back like an exposed nerve. But there is no-one else here, at this hour— and if he can bring her any comfort, or shelter from this...

Lavellan bows her head and he cards damp fingers through her hair while she mourns. Regret is a beast with teeth, sunk deep into his heart.

"I am sorry, Vhenan," He murmurs against her hair, "I never wished to hurt you, with this truth. I wish I could have shown you our empire's glories instead, the beauty and strength of it; there was so much of both. But I fear the cruelty is all I could see, by the end. If a lie could bring you comfort, I would give it to you. But I cannot."

[arlathvhen]

Pressed against him, she can take comfort in the solid, warm bulk of him, curling around her and against her in turn. She clings to him like he's the only thing stopping her from slipping into the water that curls around them, each breath deep and shuddering.

"Do not let this be one of your regrets," She tells him, voice muffled in his chest. She turns her face to the side, still leaning heavily against him. "It is not you who coined or committed the cruelty that hurts so much. You fought. You became Fen'Harel. And... you comfort me, even now. Like this. It helps more than I think I could ever explain, just having you here, and knowing that I'm not rendering myself a broken idol in your eyes."

How could she ever explain how much she appreciates that he looks at her and sees only Beleth, that she does not have to be always strong, above reproach, not to him.

Soft, violet eyes turn to look up at him. "Please, don't feel sorry for telling me the truth. It would hurt more to be lied to, for both of us." No one (well, maybe some people) would accuse Beleth of being an idiot. Solas lied. Usually by omission, and only if needed. But he never liked it.

[goethbeforethefall]

He has nothing to say to that. Instead, he simply holds her, quiet for a moment, looking inward for something that could help. Anything. But to find the words to heal a heart is no simple task, and in the end, he has only memory.

"On the day I first saw you without the Vallaslin, you were so beautiful that I could hardly speak," He whispers, mingling his breath in the crown of her hair, "I had thought myself so clever. But I looked upon you, freed, and I knew I was a fool. You were brilliant, more alive and real than anyone I have ever known."

And he had thought of her in a thousand terrible ways, in the privacy of his own mind. Lying, always, or hoping for a different truth, or simply... wishing he could erase his own faults and mistakes, in the false world they made together.

"I had loved you, and I had told myself that it was nothing, but your trust in me showed that the lie was not to call you my heart, but to deny that it was so. That... is why I left. It was kinder to break your heart then, than to continue to chain it to false promises, lies that I had no intention of honoring."

[arlathvhen]

She hums a little as he speaks, showing that she's listening, with her face pressed against his chest. It's a mixed bag of hurt and joy -- as things often are for them. The knowledge of his love, that he couldn't deny. The knowledge that he had tried to.

What if he had been able to do it?

But he hadn't. That's what matters, surely.

"Thank you for telling me." Not because it didn't hurt to hear, but--She'd just told him that he needed to be honest with her. That he shouldn't regret not lying to her. "I... would have gone with you. Even then." It's not, in her mind, a secret. Had she not begged him, when they met in the Crossroads, his secret finally revealed to her? And had she not made good on her intent all those years later, when his campaign was finally put to rest?

"Maybe I should be the one apologizing to you. I put you through so much, without even trying."

[goethbeforethefall]

"I am told, by reliable witnesses, that I do it to myself," Solas scoffs, halfway to a bitter laugh. Beleth not the least among those, of course, "If ever you have trespassed against me, know that you are forgiven, Vhenan."

He cannot think of any instance in which she might have ever done so, but that he invited it in the first place. It was his will that made them enemies, was it not? Her adamant refusal of the role was how they got here at all, with her lying in his arms, steaming water a cocoon of false safety all around.

"I know you would have followed me. That is why I could not permit it; I cannot destroy you with the monster I must become. There is nothing but death on that path; you must live."

[arlathvhen]

"I have made very few things easy for you. Even falling in love with you." The anchor, the mountain, her love for him, the events that cost her her arm, even the events that he had not witnessed yet--all of it weighed heavily on him. Burdened him. She was sure that he would not undo it, but--

She had a policy with Solas: That she didn't ask questions she didn't want to know the answers to. But it was, on occasion, very hard not to. He had tried not to love her. The knowledge sat like a pebble in her shoe.

But she had also told him not to lie.

"You are not a monster." This part, at least, is easy enough. She pulls her face away from his chest, to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I do not care if you do not believe what I have told you will come to pass, but I have seen it, and not even at your worst, are you a monster. You are what you have always been: A man doing what he thinks he must." Then another little kiss, and another. "We will walk together, Solas, and death will not come for either of us. The others think they have won, but it is us who are the ultimate victors, for we have each other, and time cannot touch us."

[goethbeforethefall]

He opens his mouth to protest, and she kisses him. She tells him that she does not care, that all his excuses are moot, that his grief and regrets are nothing to her. Each time, punctuated with a kiss, until he relents and silences her with one of his own in return.

No ephemeral, lighthearted caress, this: he is obligated to stroke one hand up into her hair, and by the other draw her close, just to keep balance.

"I have heard this tale before," Solas reminds her, tenderly, when it is done, "But I object. To love you is the easiest thing there is. It is frightening, how quickly, and how completely you came to possess me. I have lived a long and terrible life, Vhenan, and I know nothing of happiness. You must have patience with me."

[arlathvhen]

He is, indeed, successful at silencing her, and ending her campaign of spreading kisses over his face. Instead, she surges to him as he grasps her, hands clinging to his sides as she's kissed quite soundly. It is incredibly hard to argue with him when he does this, and she briefly contemplates the wisdom of shoving the discussion to the side and taking advantage of their undress and solitude.

But no, she needs to focus. What he's saying is important, and she will give it all due respect. So she looks up, still clinging to him, both expression and movement matching the idea that he is the rock she must hold to, lest she be swept away.

"It was easy for me, too. It surprised me--I have never felt this way for another, but my love for you sprang as easily and as naturally as a flower blooming in the sun, and made me feel just as alive. You have given me a happiness that I could never have imagined, and I will spend as much time as needed to ensure that the favor is returned. You deserve to have a soft, kind life, my heart."

[goethbeforethefall]

He has so much in him to say to that. Her forgiveness is an impossible temptation, no less than the water all around them, cradling and warm. But to imagine that he deserves it is absurd; he is responsible for the deaths of untold thousands, and plots the death of yet more in the process of making it right.

Solas takes a breath, meaning to say as much, but before he can speak—

'Awaken!'

Sileal's body was too weak and too strong all at once, and every part of it was agony. His limbs moved sluggishly, and then all at once, an ugly, ungainly flailing. If this was embodiment, it was terrible, the heavy, wet weight of it a cloying layer over every thought, every movement. Where once his mind flitted from thought to thought, or lingered lightly, it now seemed as thick and useless as his tongue.

'Awaken, my Pride!'

Pride? But no, he was not— and yet, he remembered. That final sinking horror, the way all had twisted in agony, out of alignment, as he forced himself over the threshold. It pained him still, a throbbing echo down in the soul of him. Was he truly no longer Wisdom? Was he lost now, even to himself? No, no, no, nononono, he was Sileal!

'Solas, I name you. Thrice I have called,'

Mythal. Oh, she would guide him though this, as she always had before. Mythal, benevolent and strong, visionary above all; had he not followed here here? Had she ever before taken him astray? Oh, but only if the body did not hurt so. Every movement was... so heavy. So tiring. It hurt. Every nerve and sinew fought him, and it hurt. He opened his eyes, and saw, bleary, the sharp and lovely face of Mythal looking down at him.

With mortal, physical eyes, he could see almost nothing of her essence. It was all wrong. What had he done? What had he made of himself?

'Mythal,' he croaked, a plea for mercy, though his voice be as uncoordinated as the rest of him.

'Be at ease, my Pride. All will be well. It takes some getting used to, you will find,' She said, smoothing one cool hand over his fevered brow. How good it felt! How soothing, and kind! Mythal would care for him, he knew. Mythal would never leave him...

The memory releases Solas with a gasp. He cannot speak, and instead only sinks lower in the water, curling his entire body forward at the remembered pain, shivering despite the heat. Oh. Oh! He had not thought of that moment in millenia.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth was already prepared for yet another round of Solas trying to deny that he's worth the gentleness and kindness that she wants for him, that he was horrible and awful, etc etc. And she was already prepared to employ tactical kisses to shut him up until he agreed with her. She had it all neatly planned out.

Then the waters shift, and she hears an unfortunately recognizable voice. Mythal. She took and she took and then when she was tired, she shed Solas like a garment that was no longer in season. Fool. Witch. Undeserving. As cruel as her bondmate, just gentler about it.

And Solas lurches, then Beleth pulls herself out of her thoughts to focus on him. Her arms are around him instantly, one gently rubbing his back, the other running over his face and head. She had planned to kiss him senseless, but she pivots--soft kisses, reigning gently over his face, then she cups his face, and presses a proper one to his lips. Again and again. She can't fix it, but she can soothe. She can comfort.

"Sileal. My heart. My love. I am so sorry. You gave so much. She didn't deserve you, Sileal." And for the second time in their brief period in the water, a second emotion that she usually keeps in reserve--tears burn in her eyes. It hurts, seeing her beloved in so much pain. Being so helpless. What could she do? She was powerless in the wake of Mythal's cruelty.

"I love you. I'm sorry. You deserved better. You deserved kindness. You deserved empathy." And his body--did it still pain him? It's hard to deny that Solas having a body was...something Beleth appreciated. How else could she hold him to her, as she did now? But--could he become a spirit again? Was it possible?

She doesn't know. So she continues to murmur gently to her dear heart, holding him close to her own.

[goethbeforethefall]

"Ir abelas," He says, quietly. Solas lifts his head slowly, blinking back the shades of old trauma, "I'm alright. I... imagine that if the waking-born could remember their birth, it would be no less terrible."

It is a weak observation, and a worse joke. But he cannot hear the agony in her voice and not seek to soothe it. And truly, he is alright— she calls him Wisdom and he closes his eyes on a sigh, and for once he cannot defend Mythal.

What a terrible thing, to have failed so utterly, and to know that nothing could ever have made you do otherwise. He should have told her no. He should have never taken on a body, never let himself be convinced, and twisted, and made some version of real that someone else defined. He'd known that it would happen, had seen the warning signs, and still gone forth, for the love of someone who, ultimately, should have known better than to ask. But how could he have done otherwise, when she asked it of him?

To know that one day he might very well look back on himself now, and think the same traitorous thoughts about Beleth.

Solas shudders and curls back in around her, like a child clinging to a toy, letting her soft reassurances wash over him, meaning almost nothing individually, and all together forming a litany of love.

"It was not always thus. There was so much of beauty and pleasure and joy, in the old world. I would rather show you Arlathan's glories, rather than my shame, and my regrets."

[arlathvhen]

"There is a reason that we don't forget it. That it takes long months for a mother to create a body. You had neither luxury." She does not sound soothed. How can she be? How can anyone watch their love be tortured, and not be brought to tears? How can they not long to reach into the memory, and rip out the offender's throat--

He would feel the same, if he saw her in such agony.

She holds him tighter, pressed to her as though she could protect him from the memories, from the remembered pain, from Mythal herself, if needed. Her hand rubs his back soothingly, and she tries, desperately, to think of how she could possibly amend this. Cole had managed to return, but it was different for him. He had not quite been not a spirit, and had somehow managed a body without lyrium.

She wishes, stupidly, that he were here. He'd know what to say.

"Would it make you feel better, if you told me? Or would it dredge up more unpleasant memories?" She doesn't want to know, if it means hurting him. Well--she does want to know, like any Dalish, any elf would, she suspects. Who would not want to see what it had looked like, when theirs was a glorious empire, not shades clinging to the past? But Solas has suffered so much, and there would be no more of it by her hands.

[goethbeforethefall]

"I wish to show you," He says, tender, meeting her uncertainty where it is. Damp and warm from the water, both hands come to cup her cheek, not to kiss but to simply bring her close, brow-to-brow, as if he could by mere proximity offer her the memories, "Artisans crafted gardens of flowers grown from starlight or captured lightning, or living diamond crystals, so that Mythal's nightly promenade sparkled like the night sky brought to earth for our pleasure. Spirits flitted everywhere, and were a part of every court, every conversation, every family.

"There were no abominations, no templars, no divisions between mages and non-mage; all had magic, and all who cared to develop the talent became skilled. The fade made even forms of physical flesh mutable, and we changed our appearances at a whim, to suit the fashion of the day, or personal fancy. I walked as a white wolf amongst the court, as often as a man, and delighted in a mutable form.

"There was no hurry, no fear of death; time always for beauty, song, and poetry, for passion and debate. I fear we were a messy, arrogant, decadant people, far worse than Orlais ever could dream to be... and yet...

"We were free."

[arlathvhen]

Well, she certainly wouldn't have objected to a kiss, but she moves at his behest, and dutifully closes her eyes when he begins speaking. She loved his stories, always, but there is something different about him not merely sharing a memory witnessed within the Fade, but a story from his own life, something beautiful that he had seen, and is now sharing with her.

And the picture that he paints her is beautiful.

She tries to picture it, thinks she has the basic idea, though she's sure it's even more beautiful in his memory. A place that was free, and glorious, where art and beauty were held above all, where you had time to think beyond survival. There is a yearning there, deep in her soul, that has possibly always been there, from the moment she took her first breath.

"I wish I had been there with you." Her voice is quiet, hands coming up to lay over Solas' own. "I wish I had seen these wonders with you. Walked by your side through the gardens. Created art with you. You could laugh at my terrible poetry, then lecture me on how to do it right."

[goethbeforethefall]

"Perhaps in dreams, you still may. Or perhaps the elven people shall live to build fresh wonders and rise anew," He murmurs, pulling her at last those few precious inches into a kiss. It is chaste and sweet and full of hope, rather than passion, "You will live to see it done, I promise."

Whatever is done, it will be done for her also. He cannot imagine what she would be, had death not stalked every moment of her life, even from her very first breath... But he would give anything, everything, to find out.

"I look forward to opportunity," He says, wry. What would be an insult from anyone else is fond on her lips, a gentle recognition and a welcome one, "Come. Let us go. I find myself weary hot water and visions of the past."

[arlathvhen]

Her eyes flutter closed again as Solas' lips press against her own, and she makes a soft humming noise of acknowledgement. "We both will see it. Maybe together, we can help guide them. Make sure they learn from old mistakes." If there's one thing that can be said for the Evanuris, it was that they had made it clear how not to go about doing things.

But it is time to leave, and Beleth nods in agreement, pulling away to step out of the hot springs. Then, like a sudden thought has gripped her, she looks over her shoulder at him, expression innocent. "Ah, but how will I manage to dry myself? It might prove quite challenging. Especially...certain areas." And with that, she turns back, heading out.

"I'm sure that I will figure it out, somehow."