Conjunction

Chapter 1 - The End

The massive, stinking corpse of the Archdemon lay at Solona Amell's feet, its narrow-pupiled eyes blank and staring. She stared back in incomprehension. Was it over? Had they actually killed it, and survived? Had Morrigan's ritual actually worked?

Alistair Theirin, Ferelden's newest king, stood blood-soaked and gasping for breath beside her on the top of Fort Drakon, gazing down at the dragon's dead eyes. His short blond hair was darkened by a mixture of sweat and blood and his face was streaked with the grimey remnants of the darkspawn he had slain during the fight. But as exhausted as he appeared, his eyes were bright with elation at their victory.

He let his sword and shield clatter to the ground. He knelt by the creature's head and wedged a dagger in its bloody jaw, grunted, and then stood up triumphantly with one of its large teeth grasped in his hand.

"A trophy!" he proclaimed, grinning at her widely. Then, laughing out loud, he grabbed her in a tight embrace and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

"We did it! Oh, Maker! Solona, we won!"

She smiled back at him and nodded. In a near whisper she replied, "Yes... I suppose we did."

She looked around to find Morrigan, but the witch was nowhere to be seen. There were nothing but corpses strewn around her, with far too few survivors, some standing in dazed wonder that it was over while others were bending to see to their injured and fallen comrades.

Where is she? Solona thought. She had more questions about the ritual the witch had performed in Redcliffe castle two nights prior, with Alistair's help. She had known agreeing to it was a huge risk, but if the details she had learned over the years about the Old Gods were true, it was a chance they had to take. And it had meant neither she nor Alistair would have to sacrifice their lives in order to see the end of the Archdemon.

If Morrigan was right about the Old Gods, we could end the Blights forever! She had to find her friend to be sure. If nothing else, she needed to know she hadn't pushed her lover into another woman's bed for no good reason. Alistair had adamantly refused to participate in the ritual at first - he despised Morrigan, she knew, which had made it all the harder for her. But she had finally convinced him to go through with it. He seemed to have forgiven her, at least, which was some small consolation.

She looked at Alistair again, her heart beginning to fill with despair. He was king now - or he would be officially following his coronation. What kind of place would she have in his life after today? What kind of place could she have? She was a mage. And in spite of the fact that she had urged him to accept his birthright... in spite of the fact that she had gathered the armies that had enabled them to break through the darkspawn horde... she would always be a mage. She could never be his queen, and didn't think she would want to fill that role anyway.

She refused to be relegated to "honored guest of the king," which was really only a more diplomatic way of calling her his mistress. She wouldn't hang around court fawning after him like an eager Mabari pup for the rest of her life. Not if there was more she could do to end the Blights that had plagued their world for centuries.

Dammit, where was Morrigan?

Glancing down at the massive dragon corpse, she started feeling light-headed. The adrenaline rush of the fight was subsiding and her body was finally making its hurts known to her. There was an excruciating searing across her chest that seemed to bore into her heart.

She turned to look at Alistair, but there were six of him, and she was confused by the look of panic in the dozen eyes looking back at her.

"Sol! You're hurt! Oh Maker!" she heard him exclaim, and all six Alistairs rushed to catch her as she felt her knees give out and the world faded away.

She was with Alistair in the tent they had shared for so long on their journey, until she had turned him into a King. They were making love.

It was slow and languorous at first; he was whispering in her ear how he loved her and would be with her always. His lovemaking became more urgent as he reached his peak. Then as he climaxed he began to howl inhumanly in ecstasy.

She felt him pull away and opened her eyes to see him. She beheld yellow slitted eyes in a wolf's face regarding her from where her lover had been.

The wolf's gaze held hers for a moment, and then his form began to grow and sleeken, soft white fur replaced by shiny white scales as the wolf became a high dragon. The dragon stretched its leathery wings and burst through the tent, soaring into the sky and trumpeting in exaltation as it ascended.

She awoke among soft pillows and silken bedsheets, motes of dust floating in late afternoon sunbeams that streamed through a nearby window. She stared groggily out the window for a few moments, still half in the dream. She thought the dreams would stop after the Archdemon was dead, but this last dream hadn't been like the nightmares she'd had since her Joining. It was like other dreams she'd been having as long as she could remember. Strange dreams about dragons that she had recently begun to believe were the Old Gods calling to her.

"You're awake, oh thank the Maker, you're okay," a rough voice spoke from nearby.

She turned to see Alistair's haggard face looking back at her with palpable relief showing in his eyes. He moved quickly from the chair he was in and sat beside her on the bed reaching up to gently caress her cheek.

"I was so afraid you would die. After all the trouble we went through to..." he trailed off then, glancing across the room where Wynne sat quietly reading in an overstuffed chair by the fireplace.

Solona followed his gaze and understood his hesitance to speak further about "all the trouble," meaning the ritual Morrigan had convinced them to assist her with. The ritual was something it would be unwise to speak of in mixed company. It had been blood magic, which was forbidden. Not to mention they had probably assisted Morrigan in impregnating herself with the soul of an Old God, and if that detail became common knowledge they were as good as dead.

But she was almost certain that Morrigan's ritual was a way to remove the darkspawn corruption from the soul of the Old God without killing it, and if there was a way to undo the darkspawn taint on a god, there must be a way to prevent it from happening in the first place.

"Alistair," she finally spoke, her voice dry and raspy. She coughed softly and winced as pain shot through her chest. She opened her eyes again to see Wynne bending towards the bed, holding a cup out to her.

"Here, drink this dear. You must be very thirsty."

Smiling weakly in gratitude, she took the cup and sipped, then sighed in relief as the wetness seeped down her parched throat.

"What happened?" she finally asked when she could speak again.

"You were injured... in the fight. I think it must have been the Archdemon from the size of the wound, too," Alistair explained, glancing briefly at her chest in evident wonder that she had survived.

She could feel the itching burn there of the partially healed wound and touched it gingerly.

"Ouch," she said, wincing.

Alistair said earnestly, "I was so scared you would die, Sol, after everything. I'm so happy you're going to be okay now."

He looked so wrecked it nearly broke her heart.

There was a sharp knock on the door and Wynne stepped over to open it to admit a steward with an urgent message for the King. Alistair's expression transformed before her eyes into something of grim determination as he told the man to wait. Something was very different about him now. Of course it should be - he was King now. But the quickness with which he had changed his bearing was new. He was made for this, she could tell. Anyone who wasn't would not have adapted so quickly. She wondered again what place she could possibly have here that would have any meaning to her. She couldn't just exist here for the sake of being near him, no matter the level of affection they had for each other.

Just then, a large, black Mabari hound padded over and hopped up onto the bed to greet his recently revived master with a sloppy lick across her face.

Solona laughed weakly, "Lusa! It's good to see you, too," she said, and scratched the dog's head affectionately. The big dog lay down next to her, resting his massive head in her lap.

"Now let me check your wound," Wynne said, shooting a pointed glance at Alistair, who looked back at her blankly.

"Alistair, I think she's trying to tell you to leave... I have to preserve my modesty you know," she said with a smirk as she attempted to leverage herself into a more upright position in the bed.

Understanding dawned on him finally.

"Oh! I'll … uh... I'll just be down the hall. I need to do some…things..." he trailed off as he stepped through the door after the steward and closed it behind him, face flushed.

Solona laughed, and then winced. "Ow."

"It was his sense of modesty I was hoping to preserve, anyway," Wynne said, matter-of-factly. "I don't think you have one to preserve."

She made no argument. "He's very Kingly now, isn't he?" she said, changing the subject. "It seems to suit him in a strange way."

"He is the son of King Maric," Wynne pointed out with a shrug as though that should explain everything. "There's no doubt he inherited some of the necessary traits from his father, but I think most of it he owes to you. I think your influence taught him more about leading than anything else could have."

Solona sighed and said, "It's just comforting to know that he's taking to it so easily. I was a little worried I had made the wrong decision, forcing him to accept the crown."

She'd been fiddling with the bandages across her chest when Wynne asked, "Do you want me to give you another round of healing, or do you feel strong enough to try yourself?"

Solona looked down at her chest and peeked beneath the bandages. The wound still stung, but she could tell it was at least half healed. She knew the older woman had done her best.

"I think I can handle it from here, if I can get a lyrium potion first."

"Here you go," Wynne said, handing her a small vial of opalescent blue liquid and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You always were the strongest of my students, even though you joined the Circle so late," Wynne said, with a mixture of pride and what sounded like regret in her voice. "You've far outpaced even me with your skill, you know."

"It's the application that matters. You should know that by now," Solona replied, tossing back the lyrium potion in one swallow. "Keeping mages locked up in a tower serves no one, least of all the mages." She gestured broadly in emphasis, and then winced at the motion. With smaller gestures she continued, "They need to be out there actually doing good with what they know for their knowledge to really be effective, not to mention it would help keep them sane. Practical application of magic strengthens the will. That's what Mal Hawke taught my cousins and me."

She continued quietly, her tone tinged with bitterness, "Sitting there stagnating in a stuffy tower at the mercy of the Templars just promotes... bad things. The entire concept is totally backwards."

Her eyes had a distant, haunted look.

"Well, you know what I think, anyway," Solona said. "We've had this conversation before."

Solona knew that Wynne was aware of some of her history prior to her joining the Circle, but she had never pried for details. She doubted the other woman knew the extent of what went on behind closed doors inside the Circle, however.

Wynne looked at her with concern. "Bad things? I know you were only there a few years, but surely your time at the tower had some good moments?"

Solona sat up to let Wynne unwrap her bandages and let out a sigh.

"I never really fit in there. I did find a friend or two, but it's difficult to relate to someone who has been cloistered their entire life. The mages at the circle have a very limited perspective of the world. And the templars have a very limited perspective of mages." She spoke the last few words sharply.

"I was an outsider. It was like everyone perceived me as a threat. Few of the other mages would associate with me, and the templars looked at me as though I were little more than an abomination. Like the outside world had already corrupted me somehow, and that it might be catching." And some of them had severely messed up ideas about how to deal with it, she thought, but preferred to push those memories from her mind.

The other woman, sensing the deterioration of her mood, thankfully changed the subject. "Well, your … uncle, was it? Judging from your skill when you joined us, he was an excellent teacher."

"Yeah," Solona said, smiling faintly at the recollection. "Uncle Mal definitely had strong opinions on magic."

She became lost to memory for several moments, wistfully recalling the years she had spent with the Hawkes. They had been the only family she had known for most of her life, since her father - an elven mage in Kirkwall - had spirited her away from the clutches of Kirkwall's Circle of Magi. She still missed the Hawkes sorely and wondered how her aunt and cousins had fared during the Blight.

"Solona, are you alright?" she heard Wynne ask softly. She finished unwrapping the bandages and stood to prepare fresh ones.

"What? Oh.. yes," Solona replied, snapping out of her reverie. "I was just thinking about the Hawkes. I hope they're okay."

"You lived with them in Lothering for a time, didn't you. Do you know if they made it out okay?"

"I lived with them most of my life," she said. "But if I know Garrett, they're probably safe in Kirkwall now. At least I know they'd left Lothering before the darkspawn horde ran it into the ground. They were gone by the time I got there after Ostagar, and Kirkwall is the first place he'd take them."

"Well, that is fortunate," Wynne said. Then the older woman ventured, "Are your parents still in Kirkwall? Will they be able to help them, do you think?"

"I don't know, really. Well, that's not true. I know my mother is dead - she killed herself after I was sent away. My father..." she hesitated, looking down at the blanket and teasing at a loose thread with her fingers. "My father was an elf mage. All I know about him really is that his name is Orsino and that he's the only reason I wasn't stuck in the Kirkwall Gallows my entire life. I don't know where he is now or even if he's still alive."

She glanced up at Wynne's sudden stillness and was startled at the expression of surprise she found on the woman's face.

"Orsino is your father?" Wynne asked in disbelief.

"As far as I know, yes. I don't know why the Hawkes would have lied to me about that, of all things. Why?" she replied, confused.

Wynne made an effort to regain her composure. "Orsino... Well, I've never met the man in person, but I know he and Irving exchange letters frequently." She paused, then continued, "Solona... Orsino is the First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle."

All she said was, "Oh," with a faint expression of surprise, and fell silent.

Wynne avoided pushing further. The conversation lulled for several moments as Wynne busied herself preparing the clean bandages.

Solona rested gingerly back on her pillow and looked down at her exposed chest. There was a long angry gash that ran diagonally across her chest from her collarbone to her sternum, ending just over her heart. She was a mess. She laid her hands across the wound and closed her eyes, letting her healing magic flow through her. She gradually felt the wound close and the stinging itch subside. When she was finally done, she looked up to see Wynne putting away the bandages she had just pulled out.

"Well, the elf blood explains why your magic is so strong, especially considering whose blood you have." Wynne commented, attempting to continue the conversation. "Orsino is an exceptionally gifted mage, by all accounts."

"Blood," Solona said in quiet contemplation as she covered her bare chest with her shift. "Yes, blood does seem to affect so many things so profoundly, doesn't it?"

Wynne looked back at her, worried, "I know that expression. I hope you aren't thinking of doing something dangerous. The Archdemon is dead now, thanks to you. You need to take some time to rest and recover."

"You're right. This is me resting and recovering," she said, teasing the other woman, and deliberately resting back on her pillows.

As Wynne was packing up her healing gear Solona abruptly asked, "Have you seen Morrigan?"

"Not since the three of you went into the tower," Wynne replied. "Well, the four of you I guess," she amended, looking at Lusa, who made a nondescript doggy noise back at her and then proceeded to start licking himself. "I didn't see her at the top when we got there, either, nor any sign of her," Wynne said, with a dubious look at the dog.

"That's strange," Solona said, even though she wasn't really surprised.

"Lusa," she directed at the dog who paused his activity to look up at her attentively. "Did Morrigan make it out of the tower alive at least?"

The dog cocked his head while he listened to her speak, then woofed softly in the affirmative. Then he hopped down from the bed and trotted to the window, sniffing the evening air. He sat by the window for a moment, and discerning nothing of value from the expedition came back and settled on the floor beside the bed with his head on his paws.

So Morrigan must be out there somewhere. Solona hoped she was okay. The two women had become close over the past year, discovering a kinship with each other that Solona had failed to find with other women her own age, particularly other mages. She had a hard time relating to the way many Fereldans seemed to cling to Chantry ideals, never having believed in them herself. It had surprised her that she and Alistair had become so close, considering his own background with the Chantry and his templar training. He had disarmed her with his self effacing wit and charm, and had shown her a tenderness that had been worlds apart from the treatment she had received at the hands of the templars that guarded the Ferelden Circle. She preferred to keep those earlier memories locked away. She was never returning to the Circle if she could help it.

When the older woman left, Solona sat brooding into the growing dusk. They had managed to defeat one Archdemon, true. But there was still the potential for another one to surface, even if it took hundreds of years to occur. If her research at the Circle had revealed anything it was that somehow there was a way to control the rise of the Archdemon, or even to stop it, and she believed Morrigan's ritual was further evidence of the possibility. She needed more information.

She thought of her dreams, then. Not the twisted nightmares she'd had since her Joining that signaled the Archdemon's progress, but the odd dreams she'd had since her childhood. Those dreams hadn't been so frightening, but were so similar to the tainted dreams that it caused her to wonder about their nature. There was the same sense of something calling to her, urging her into action, but not in a menacing overpowering way. They had more of a gentle urgency to them.

It had been at the Circle during their studies of the Old Gods that she began to suspect her dreams were related to those Old Gods, though she wasn't sure what their significance was. But the latest dream had left her with a particularly strong sense of urgency, and the wolf's sudden appearance had surprised and confused her. Were the Old Gods trying to tell her something? She wished Morrigan were here to talk to about it. She wondered again what had become of the witch after the battle.

There was the lingering issue of Alistair to deal with, as well. Her heart wrenched with sadness at the prospect of the conversation she knew she would have to have with him. The Archdemon was dead, and her old dreams had resumed calling her, urging her onward, though she knew not where. She just knew she needed to follow their call, wherever it led her.

Sensing something of her dark mood Lusa climbed back up on the bed and rested his large head on her lap again. Stroking him absently, she laid back on the pillows and closed her eyes. It would be better to rest for now. She could figure out what to do in the morning.

Next Chapter: In which Solona has an unexpected visitor.