Just finished Trespasser. This stupid egg will destroy me, I swear. HAS destroyed me for the past week or so.

So, obviously….Trespasser spoilers ahead (for those of you late to the party, like myself...stay away!).

I wrote this chapter to try to get over my Trespasser angst, but it was insufficient. As such, I think I'm gonna revamp my story to make it canon and compatible with Trespasser so I can sort out all these...feelings and such. I plan on uploading it all at once cause the plot bunnies are hopping again! Huzzah!

Alright...prequel time!

Amendments

A lone buzzard watched the wolf approach with mild interest.

It was a large wolf, black, and it travelled alone, padding along all but silently on carefully treading paws, its ears erect and head low to the ground as though on the hunt. It traversed the rubble and fallen trees with ease, stopping every so often to sniff the ground purposefully, creating a small cloud of disturbed soot with each intake of breath.

The vulture shifted uneasily as it watched the wolf's advance, readying to take flight. He had been guided here only a short time ago by his species' innate bond with death, but to his immense perplexion, no food was to be found in the destroyed valley. His fellows had long since left him to perch alone atop his charred pine tree, where he contemplated his next scavenging ground. It would certainly not be here, for all that remained of the Temple was a singed, exploded mess of stones, metal, and scorched human remains.

All of these things were all inedible.

The buzzard ruffled his feathers in his annoyance before adjusting his grip on the branch, changing his weight from one foot to the other. The burnt wood crumbled beneath his claws, rubbing ash and small splinters into the rough flesh. His lazy vulture eyes observed the wolf as it stopped again and sniffed the air, its long black nose pointed skyward. It resumed its trek after a shake of its ruff, its footfalls now urgent. Uneasy.

Unconcerned, the buzzard finally turned from the wolf to survey the mountainside.

It felt…wrong here. Like the green-tinted air itself were sick. A heavy breeze gently ruffled his feathers while bringing the scent of human intruders. An ancient fear sprung into his heart and he took off suddenly, the branch finally cracking. It gave way and tumbled noisily down the tree, carrying more dead branches with it until it became an avalanche of broken wood.

Solas looked up in alarm at the sound, his gait halted and his ears pointed forward. He watched the vulture swoop down from a cluster of dead pine trees before he caught an air current to carry him high above the mountainside.

He watched it for a moment longer before casting his mana out with a thought to ensure the vulture was no mage's familiar off to inform a master. The slowness of the touched mind assured him the creature was only a bird. One of his ears flicked backward and then forwards.

He returned his focus to the mission at hand.

Solas approached here, this place of destruction, in the form of a wolf, hoping that should his presence be discovered, he could remain an anonymous canine trespasser at this once holy ground.

For the Temple of Sacred Ashes was long since destroyed

Like the vulture, Solas could sense the sickness oozing from the mountain, although he knew its source: red lyrium.

And death.

The air positively hummed, heavily pregnant with his ancient magic and the scent of despair. No life lingered here, and even the buzzards neglected to stay.

As his wolf and magical senses were tuned to the vibrations of the world around him, he could feel the fear seeping up from the earth as well as carried on the wind. It was cloying, a poison. The wolf's body responded on instinct – the hairs on the back of his neck were erect as were his hackles as he stalked through the ruins. He moved cautiously, eyes widened and ears constantly twitching to assess for danger.

Solas, however, knew that he was safe.

As he walked through the remains, he couldn't help the pang of loss that caused his heart to ache. The scenery deteriorated the closer he moved toward the temple's center – at the outskirts, the only change indicating disaster was the transition from snowy grass to ash-covered rock. His wolf's nails clicked on the scorched stones beneath him whenever he was able to walk on paved, flat ground...which was not often. And it got worse.

The ash clung to his fur and caked his paws with magical muck as he carefully picked his footfalls through the rubble, sometimes having to climb over huge piles of rocks from where a ceiling had collapsed. He would stop and sniff the ground occasionally, but the soot was perverse and smelled horrible as it coated the inside of his keen nose. He sneezed wetly before he resumed his previous pace, only now he searched with his magic, instead.

He began to encounter intact bodies: bits of flesh in various stages of being whole and/or singed. And the smell….Fenedhis, the smell...the burnt flesh of people who were alive and well not a short time ago.

The air still occasionally crackled a spark as the residual magical fires died out.

Even though he had emotionally divorced himself from the fate of this world long ago, he couldn't hide his horror as he traversed past and around charred bits of human or elf, only recognizable as such due to their distance from the explosion to be spared instant incineration.

With disgust, he realized the ash he was breathing in and trodding through was not of fire, but of vaporized organic matter…people, desks, books…

He was breathing in the Conclave.

He quelled his sudden urge to retch as he continued his inspection.

Various forms knelt on the ground or against the wall – people preserved at the moment they died. Gaunt, hollowed skeletons or corpses lay scorched in piles as they clutched each other or huddled around what used to be tables and chairs. Weapon racks lay a crumbling ruin of rust, doors blown off hinges, entire walls blown to bits.

He could hear all of their screams in his mind.

He knew the blast would cause destruction…but this…

He put the thought from his mind and hardened his heart to focus on the task at hand…a time old ritual. The usual empathetic gloom didn't surface, however. The thrill of being so near his goal was exhilarating.

His pack quickened as he continued his search for the orb. His exhilaration was deflated by a growing concern: he had not yet sensed the orb's presence in the remains.

He had been following Corypheus for months...spying, watching, waiting...ready to swoop in and reclaim his orb the moment the Tevinter Magister was foolish enough to use it. For a time, Solas's annoyance at Corypheus's reticence to use the orb grew. He was impatient – had waited millennia for a plan and it was near fruition. He reminded himself coldly to be patient.

How he hated to rely upon others for assistance.

His restlessness eventually got the better of him and he became more proactive in his spying, even resorting to scrying and outright magical manipulation. His discovery of Corypheus's plans to sacrifice the Divine at the Temple of Sacred Ashes left him stunned before he laughed himself sick in contempt of the Magister's melodrama.

By sacrificing the Divine to enter the Fade, he was causing his "rise to godhood" directly through the death of the Maker's representative. Not only would this send the world into chaos, it deprived Thedas of one of its beacons of hope, a link that held them all together.

Melodramatic. Clever, but melodramatic. He could have found any sacrifice. He was content to allow the Magister's megalomania to be his downfall.

But utilizing the lyrium that pervaded the mountain beneath the Temple…that was brilliant. He had to admit this last fact begrudgingly as the poisoning of so much lyrium was a travesty in itself, but….brilliant. He was able to use the lyrium in the mountain itself to power his ritual.

As he crested another rise, his concern at his inability to sense the orb grew so much that he had to stop and stare down at the rest of the Temple while he formulated a plan in attempt to staunch his panic.

For where…where was his orb? Its magic didn't sing here as it should with him so close. He cast out his mana in all directions in search of it, but could only discern the lingering magic of the explosion.

It wasn't here.

Not only was it not here…Solas could not sense Corypheus's death in the wind. Could not find a corpse….not that there was much left to discover the further into the destroyed temple he went.

Could he have survived…was that even possible?

No….he must have just been obliterated. There's no way he could have survived. Nothing could have. The very mountain itself was blown apart, displaying its bloody lyrium to the world.

Then where is my orb!? Its magic should be blinding at this proximity. If he had not sensed it by this point…

Trepidation morphed his purposeful trot to a sprint as he began casting magic out desperately.

Nothing.

Wait….he stopped midstride and concentrated on a magical tendril, closing his eyes and attempting to silence his terrified heart as it thudded in his ears like a war drum.

There was….something. At the center, further in. It wasn't his orb, but it sang with his magic.

He ran.

It only took a minute of a wolf's sprint to reach the center of the chaos. His paws grinded to a halt in shock at what he saw, his eyes drawn upwards along ephemeral green coils to the Breach itself, directly overhead.

It swirled maliciously, ever widening, casting its green glow on the world. Here at the epicenter, the red lyrium spewed forth from the ground as giant crystals, covering the ground with thousands of fractured shards that illuminated the clearing a sinister crimson.

The whole scene was…eerily beautiful.

A few stunned moments later, he followed the magical tendrils back down to the ground where the Breach lay tethered to a hole to the Fade. A rift.

And beneath that rift…

A body. Near the epicenter of the explosion. Untouched.

Unmoving.

Dead, then, he dismissed and glanced away before his eyes snapped back to the body in a double take.

But, wait …why was there a body here? Even more so…why did it look unscathed?Everything around it was all but obliterated from the force of the explosion with no other signs anything had survived.

Something was wrong. It smelled of a trap, though he was unsure who might have set it. He cast his magic out in search of threats, but found no source of magic save that which emanated from the body and his own residual magic from the unlocking of his focus.

And the sickness of the red lyrium.

He felt his heart hammer in his chest as adrenaline coursed through his body. Still fearful of discovery, he decided to remain a wolf despite the problems the form created with using magic. He shook his ruff and approached the corpse, moving slowly with magic crackling constantly under his skin in his readiness to strike. His piercing yellow eyes never left the figure, nor did his assessing magic. He had to choose hit footfalls carefully to spare his paws abuse from the shards.

If this was a trap, he'd be ready.

When he was almost close enough to sniff it, he felt a sudden tug on his mana as green magic exploded outward from the corpse.

He stumbled backwards with a yelp, startled by the pain of the excessive light in his sensitive wolf's eyes. He cried and pawed instinctively at his eyes until he realized what accompanied the blast and stopped dead.

A female's shriek.

He shook himself, eyes watering and half blind.

The figure was now curled into a ball, screaming and rocking back and forth as green light radiated from her with with each loud crack.

Intuitively, Solas reached out with his mind and silenced the magic. The green light snuffed out instantly and the cries abated to a whimper of pain. Solas, realizing what had just transpired, stood dumbstruck.

She…what…

How did…

Solas sat back up on his haunches, dumbfounded as he shook his head to clear the blotches of color from his eyes.

What…that was a flare of MY magic…

Eyes still watering, he approached her as if in a trance, his feet carrying his body towards her without his mind's knowledge. In times of such mental shock, the wolf was his friend, his shelter. He regressed to his baser instincts when he walked the world on four paws, shrouded from the burden of his sorrow and rage.

And in this moment, shielded him from his consummate bewilderment.

The world was vague…surreal and disconnected to accompany the slight ringing in his ears. He ghosted over the ground on silent paws until she lay, still quivering, under his nose. He sneezed suddenly, clearing his nose and spraying her with lumpy black mucous, mussing her hair.

He sniffed her experimentally. It was a female, certainly, her pheromones indicating she was of young breeding age. She was also elven, for her scent sweeter than a human's. He sniffed at her red hair, causing some curls to shift and expose pointed ears, confirming her elven lineage. He could not see her face, however, and while she seemed unhurt physically, she curled in a fetal position, cradling her left arm.

As his shock began to wane with the thrill of intrigue and discovery, he began to assess her magically, gentle coils of magic ghosting over her skin and through her body, assessing her for injury and state of mind. He paused only when his mana stirred against hers. He grinned in spite of himself.

She was a mage. A powerful one, as well.

Intrigue emboldening him to forgo her privacy out of necessity, he dove into the well of her magic. Her pool of mana was chaotic, unorganized, signifying that she was untaught for the most part. But it was strong, wild, natural. An ancient magic flowed in her blood. It reminded him of the People.

But in her mana, he sensed a…division, as if part of her magic was segregated from her main reserves. He concentrated and indeed – there was an internal struggle…a battle across a dividing wall. He recognized his own magic on the other side of the wall, beating furiously against her's in its rage and power. He was confused, having never felt his magic externally before, let alone through another's magical energy. What was his magic doing in her...Then it hit him.

His Anchor.

She had his Anchor.

He was astonished. A mortal…his mind spat the word. His lips curled in a snarl in his outrage.

Why is she even here? How did she survive? How did this happen? His anger was brewing.

WHY DOES SHE HAVE MY ANCHOR!? His mind thundered. The trance and bewilderment of inspecting her evaporated as panic and rage roared forth from his heart at his predicament.

The Anchor exploded into life again at his intense anger, causing her to cry out. He cursed himself for his panic and he silenced it, again. It was harder to do this second time. He stared with piercing, unforgiving eyes at the woman as he paced back and forth in a line a short distance from her, his paws creating a furrow in the soot.

Finally he snarled at her, at a complete loss for what to do next. His plan failed and he was furious with himself, yet again, for his pride in thinking it infallible. He had failed the People. Again.

He needed to act quickly - the Anchor was now bleeding magic, gushing forth both his energy and energy from the Fade. His magic had built up for millennia and now it was spewing forth into the underserving air around her. If he didn't stop it soon, the magic would be useless to him, it's potential energy wasted as it consumed her.

If the magic bled out or she died before the recovery of his orb, all would be lost.

….I might be able to stabilize her with the orb. But it isn't here. I'll have to try to calm the Anchor before I can search for it. I should still have time before someone comes to investigate.

With great effort, he sat on his haunches and cleared his mind in preparation to meditate. It took great effort, but he eventually managed to beat back his frustration. Calm and clarity of thought descended as his ill will melted away.

He reached out with his mana to her well of magic and found it easily, yet again impressed with its depths. He carefully pushed his mana at the wall in her mind holding the Anchor at bay, attempting to communicate with himself. He recoiled from a magical slap to his mind, his mind flaring in irritation as his concentration broke. The Anchor almost hissed as it batted away his further attempts to calm it.

He gritted his teeth, resentful of the fact he needed to calm his own magic in the mind of a lesser elf, let alone at all. He cleared his mind, again.

It took several tries, but eventually the Anchor ceased its struggle against her magic and settled, retreating to a corner of her existence away from his touch. Her palm remained crackling green, but he staunched the flow of magic. It would not bleed as long as he was with her to calm it, at least for the moment. He would need to figure out a more permanent solution later.

At this moment, he knew only one thing: he needed the orb, and he needed that Anchor.

He only went as far from her as he dared in his search for his focus, but his wolf's eyes and nose confirmed what his magic already knew – the orb was not here. He returned to her, sullen and at loss of what to do.

It would be near impossible to achieve his purpose without either the Anchor in his palm or the orb in his hand. He was unsure what the Breach meant at this moment, only knew it was a tear in the sky, ragged and bleeding as it worsened. This was not what he had intended – this slow dissolving of the Veil would only tear their worlds apart.

The Anchor must be the key to undoing it…

And for all intents and purposes, the Anchor was now attached to this elf.

His wolf eye's narrowed at her in irritation, for he was certain there was no way to rip it from her now, and even if he were able to do so, he would need his orb to try. He dare not risk her life in attempt to claim in now.

And the orb was gone…. Where could it have gone?

Was it destroyed? No…I would have felt its loss. It's somewhere…He concentrated. There…I can feel it tickling the edges of my mind. It's just not here…

He could only hope that Corypheus or another of his followers had somehow survived and taken the artifact with them. Or it was picked up by some sort of wildlife and carried off, though this option seemed much less likely. If I acquire it again, then I might be able to remove the Anchor…or at least replicate the spell…and learn how they accomplished such a feat…

He shook himself. This was not a pressing matter at this second, for he still needed to figure out how to stabilize the Anchor: he could feel it consuming her, even with it momentarily calm. He glowered at the elven woman, wondering why she had not yet woken and if he should waken her to ask questions.

No…I don't want her to know me in this context if it can be helped. But she needed to be steadied. No matter what was to come, he needed her alive for as long as possible. He needed that Anchor. It had to be the key to fixing whatever Corypheus had done to the Veil.

I will have to take her with me…he eventually resigned. His displeasure manifested itself with a curl of his wolf's lips. He would keep her asleep until he could concoct a story about why she came to be with him and have magical mark on her hand that was connected with the giant hole in the sky.

For she was irreplaceable. She must be protected. Only he could ensure it. He couldn't trust anyone else.

He looked up at the Breach, into the Fade barely visible beyond. It continued its malevolent swirling, throwing off projectiles onto the terrified land below.

His frustration at his situation bubbled until it came to a head.

FUCK! The shemlen cursed reverberated in his brain. He began to pace again, circling her as he continued his debate.

His frustration had distracted him almost to the point where he would have been discovered. He stopped suddenly, paws itching when his proximity wards were triggered: someone had come to investigate.

Cursing himself for underestimating the time it'd take for others to investigate the explosion, he cast out his magic in annoyance to see who trespassed. Three humans and an elf. They were followed by a larger group of about twenty people. Ordinary scouts, most likely. None of them were a mage, so he probed their minds in search of their purpose.

They must be a scouting party investigating the explosion, only they were making a beeline for his location, which was…strange. Why wouldn't they be moving slowly and searching for survivors? He figured any normal person would be horrified, finding their feet heavy as they trudged through the wreckage. But, no – the entire company was heading straight for him.

Alarmed, he sifted through the feelings of horror and bewilderment of the soldiers, recognizing that these were good men, members of the new Inquisition.

And idea surfaced and, for the first time that morning, he grinned, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a wolf laugh.

He was momentarily torn about whether to set wards around her in case they proved to be hostile. While a mage wouldn't recognize the Anchor's magic, they would most certainly wonder why the woman had wards placed upon her when she went to a healer.

As such, he fled the scene, running to the edge of the destroyed clearing to wait to ensure the soot to settle to show no signs of disturbance.

It took the scouting party only a few minutes to reach the epicenter of the blast, the first four armored soldiers walking purposefully into view with their weapons drawn. They all audibly gasped when they caught sight of the Breach's tether the ground, their eyes rapidly following the magic skyward.

One male dropped his sword and weakly fell to his knees, making a sign against evil on his chest as he began to mutter prayers, rocking back and forth.

Solas rolled his eyes.

More of the expedition was funneling into the makeshift stony amphitheater. There was a shouted command and the group halted.

A stern-faced woman emerged at the front of the crowd, her jaw set like an iron vice, her eyes wide in anger. She had darker skin and short, black hair crowned with a small braid. With an air of command, she called forth a name and a male blonde elf appeared beside her with another man. They saluted the woman smartly before pointing and gesticulating wildly in the direction of the rift. The blonde elf spoke as he pointed.

"There! I saw her over there, Seeker! She was led out of the Fade by Andraste herself! We saw it! She was gold and glowing and was reaching for that woman on the ground!"

The woman nodded and drew her sword without speaking, motioning for two archers to follow her as she advanced toward the elven woman with barely contained fire in her eyes. Her sword was lowered, but the archers followed with arrows knocked.

Solas was ready to intervene at any moment.

When Seeker reached her, she nudged her with an armored boot. The elf groaned in response and curled up in an even tighter ball, not waking.

"She's alive!" The came the Seeker's surprise gasp. She knelt instantly and motioned for a healer from the larger group. The archers remained at her side, arrows at the ready and aimed at the unconscious elf.

The Seeker placed a hand on the elf's shoulder and pulled, rolling her onto her back. Her eyes widened in surprise before her brows furrowed.

"A Dalish?" Her voice was confused as she caught sight of the woman's vallaslin.

Solas was also surprised, for he could not see her face before. That would explain the ancient magic he felt flowing through her veins.

"Are there any clans nearby?" she asked, probably wondering if she were a local or a member of the Conclave. The healer had arrived and was assessing the elf for injuries.

"No, ma'am." An archer replied. The Seeker frowned.

"Leliana needs-" the Seeker began.

Solas felt another tug on his magic as the Anchor exploded into life and the woman screamed in pain, clutching at her left hand.

The soldiers and healer stumbled backwards in alarm and with a few chosen curses, weapons raised and ready. The soldiers who were exploring the periphery cried out, drawing their weapons as the rushed to the leader's aid.

Solas cursed and silenced the Anchor again, finding it to be much more difficult over the increased distance. It calmed, nonetheless. The magic was so unstable that it could be triggered even without his strong emotions…

This was not good.

The woman held up hand armored hand to calm her people. They looked doubtful, but she motioned them back to their exploration.

"I don't know this magic…" the Seeker said doubtfully under her breath as her gaze returned to the Dalish female. Fearfully.

"It's the same color as the sky, ma'am. Could that..." the archer to her right swallowed heavily before continuing, "Could that mean anything?" He watched the Seeker's gaze travel up to the Breach before returning to the mark on the girl's hand. Her expression darkened.

"It just might. I can make no sense of this. We need to take her back to Haven to have one of the mages assess her. I want some answers." Her words were harsh, her voice breaking only slightly. The Seeker finally lowered her sword and her companions relaxed. "Have the medics bring over their litter…we will have to carry her back." she finished, voice thick.

"Yes, ma'am."

An inquisition solider was scouting too closely to Solas for his liking. He slunk away unnoticed, paws silent. He would catch up with his Anchor along the road where he could follow the Inquisition company unseen.

He followed them to all the way back to their camp. His Anchor should be safe there, provided they did not martyr the woman who bore it. He was fairly sure they would not, for all of their answers would die with her.

If they accepted her, and if he could keep her alive…all was not lost. The Inquisition might be the force he needed to retrieve his orb, for if it was still with hostile forces….

And she would certainly have sway once they recognized her power.

And so it was that he shed his wolf's form and brazeningly sauntered through the gates of Haven to the disdainful and hostile glares of the shemlen. He stopped after the threshold and held out his hands in the universal gesture of "I come in peace" before allowing a guard to confiscate his staff and escort him to the Chantry.

He offered his services to the Inquisition, to the Seeker named Cassandra. She glared at his distrustfully, only accepting his offer of help when he casually mentioned he was an expert on the Fade. She had practically dragged him to the holding cell where they housed her and tasked him with keeping the elf alive until the Inquisition could have some answers.

And so for the next few days, Solas cared for her, this redheaded elf, her hand cradled in his lap as he "studied the secrets of the Anchor" while formulating a desperate plan. He smirked slightly at the ruse, knowing he just needed to keep his magic in tune with the Anchor in her, hoping that she would wake up before it killed her.

However, he knew that he could only ever buy her time. He had stabilized the mark, yes, but only just. Eventually, it would consume her utterly. He would have to remain close to her to calm the flares and keep her alive. Maybe closing the Breach would prevent further deterioration of his magic. Conveniently, the Inquisition's next goal was exactly that. And they hoped she was the key to it. They needed her.

And he needed her. Needed answers. These rifts…The Breach. His orb…

If they let her live and be a part of this Inquisition, he would ally with them. For now. He would watch her, ensure her safety, hope that he could persuade her to be his ally while he figured out a way to find his focus. A task that would prove difficult if he were unable to leave her to search.

He glowered in his frustration. He hated having to rely on others.

He would resume the familiar guise as a wandering mage. Aloof, as he always was. That was for the best. For these people mattered little – this world was only temporary. If all went according to plan, he would have the real one back in due time.

And she was his only hope.

Just then, Cassandra burst into the dungeon room and beckoned to him shortly.

"Solas…they need you at the pass. There's some sort of….magic. Demons are everywhere." Cassandra said curtly.

"Of course, Seeker." He said mildly as he rose, effectively masking is disdain at being given orders. He gave one last look at the Dalish female before following the Seeker from the room, hoping she would remain safe in the short time he was gone.

I was amazed Bioware made this romance even more angsty. I both love and hate it.

And it turns out we love the guy, the EGG that created the fucking Veil. Who indirectly causes all the main problems of Dragon Age universe…Demonic possession, the mage/Templar strife, mass elf enslavement, maybe even ARCHDEMONS. We still don't quite know why Solas has such a stick up his butt about Grey Wardens, although there are some theories.

Gonna go fix other chapters now. :)