Doom Upon All The World

Chapter 50: A Detrimental Mix

Things had been happening too quickly. Far too quickly. The days melded together. Everything was the same. Only the sky changed. Light, a glorious morning pink, then a beautiful midday blue, next a burnished, blazing orange, and finally a creeping midnight black. There was nothing any of them could do to take the worry away. The fright, the dread, the trepidation, it stayed with them. Solas began to see the effects wearing on Maeve more than ever. Nothing compared to this. Nothing. His heart ached all the time. He could not stop it for it was not his own pain. He could not console her, for she would not allow it.
These days, he rarely saw her. There was a knife in his gut upon every morning when he discovered her gone from their bed and every night when she refused to go with him to sleep. He did not know what to do. He did not know what he could do. There was nothing. Cassandra could not break through. She had tried. Lavellan was as stony and steeled as the week she sat alone in her chambers after Solas left her. She was broken and this time it was as if she could not be fixed. He felt the guilt, the overwhelming sense of utter self-blame and hatred. She was disgusted. With Gilderoy, with the world, with the Inquisition. It was everything.
But most of all she was rife with ugly repulsion for herself. Nothing could take that away. Only she can forgive herself and the likelihood of that was slim as she seemed incapable of even looking at herself in the mirror. She had trouble looking at anyone. The most difficult was Cullen though. He had lost more than any of them. His home, his work, his men, his sisters and now his brother. He was left with Cassandra and his prized child, not to mention the one on the way but his sorrow was still well written in his features. His hair was too long, his beard too scraggly, his eyes unbearably sunken.
All that remained of the man that they had known before was that loving smile that he was able to give his family. He had not spoken a word to Maeve since it happened. Solas could not determine why. It was thoughtless in his mind. How could he watch as Maeve tears herself apart over all of this and not say anything? In the recent days, his spirit seems to have lifted slightly. He roams about the fortress now. He stays with the children most of the time, sitting on the floor of their room, playing chess with Antony or watching his son lose to the ever clever Nicolynn. Cassandra is constantly at his side. Solas cannot tell if it is for reassurance or something more though.
When they are alone or sitting together watching the children, his hand rests no other place than over the minuscule curve of Cassandra's pregnant belly or in her own fine palm. She seems to be his source of strength, or perhaps it is the child growing inside of her. Solas can never tell. With the amount of grief fluttering through Skyhold, Solas has had much time to spend with the children. Particularly Julien and Mythalus. Julien is not quite old enough to begin learning but Mythalus must learn to contain his abilities. If he does not the repercussions could be detrimental.
They began only a few days after the discovery of Branson's body. Maeve wanted to be alone and Solas had no choice but to give her some space. The experience had been enlightening to say the least. Mythalus does not know how to direct his ability but he is beginning to understand how to hold it in. The last incident left the children's room a chilly mess but since then, since Gilderoy, there has been minimal damage done at all. He is in a good place to start training. Before he can learn how to use his talents though. He has to learn what they are, what they mean. Solas was skeptical at first about telling him about lyrium and how it works.
The last thing he needs is to be curious about how it might empower him. But Solas knows better than most how important having the necessary knowledge about something can protect a person from it. Thus he told Mythalus everything he knows about the drug-like substance. Mythalus did not seem concerned about the stuff until Solas began to warn him against it. Along with the physical training and endurance that he will have to go through, he will be educated about the history of mages and the textbook methodology behind how his abilities work. He cannot afford to leave anything out.
After going over lesson upon lesson about the mechanics of his talents, Solas took him out to the courtyard, Julien in tow and turned his attention to the dripping water from the roof of the tavern. Without much direction, he told his son to freeze the drops before they hit the grow. Mythalus did so without much effort and Solas smiled on proudly. After that, they did a number of exercises, none of which Mythalus struggled with. Julien was confused as to why he was there but he watched with wonder and curiosity as the young boy performed flawlessly.
There were a few occasions when Mythalus got bored with what they were doing. The meditation phase nearly put the child to sleep but Solas was glad to see that he was becoming more accustomed to his abilities, that they were no longer draining him. Solas was careful nonetheless and did not push him past any effort he knew he would not be able to sustain. Keiran and Morrigan watched on with skepticism and curiosity from afar. Their gazes are unnerving, nearly unbearable. Solas knows why they watched so intensely. It does not cease to unsettle him. He keeps his back to them still. Mythalus must not see the fear, the concern in him.
His father must have utter confidence in him. To do otherwise would only frighten him, and place doubt where there need be none. They had trained as such every other day since then. Each day Julien would watch and delve into his studies. Solas was amazed at his intelligence for a boy his age. On the days between, they'd just sit in the book room in the basement and Solas would teach them. Sometimes, the two would read while Solas spent his time attempting to pacify his worry about Maeve as well as Mythalus' odd mage situation. The other children had fallen behind in their training.
Of course, their studies were of no use to them. Physical endurance and combat training, that will keep them alive now. Nine months from now, they cannot know if they will be around to protect their children. Solas reminds himself of Gilderoy's deal. He'll give them a choice; join him or die. Solas cannot bear the thought. He cannot imagine the terrible things he will do to them, to his poor, sweet, headstrong Nicolynn, to his innocent, tender hearted little Mythalus. Gilderoy's threats of what he would have Solas do to them swirl regrettably in his mind and Solas squeezes his eyes shut, knowing Maeve will sense his uneasiness.
He puts it out as he gathers his books from the rotunda. Since the high capacity of infants seems to be increasing the rotunda is being remodeled to accommodate them. Having all of them in one area will make caring for them much easier. Whether Cassandra and Cullen will be wanting to keep their newborn away from them remains to be seen. If they do indeed fall to their fate, they will have very little time to cherish their child. Solas' heart clenches in his chest and he feels its intensity but he knows it is not his own pain. He turns around and finds her as he expected. Maeve stands, eyes red, skin pale, hair a mess, in the doorway.
Where she goes in the mornings, he knows not. It is clear she has been lying down though. She wears an oversized night shirt that Solas recognizes as his own and a loose-fitting pair of trousers. She does not meet his eyes with her own. Her gorgeous green irises avoid his. He moves towards her and takes his hands in his. Moving her to the couch with gentle kindness, he sits her down. He takes her hair in his hands and braids it, quickly twisting the strands with swift efficiency. Tying it off and draping it over her lean shoulders, he observes her. Her frail looking figure never once eluded to him that she was weak.
Now, it's different. Her shoulders are bony and thin, where they used to be soft and well rounded. Her features are sunken and she looks as if a pinprick might shatter her. His hands rest on her shoulders and he kisses the top of her head tenderly. Maeve closes her eyes and stiffens. "Stop thinking about it, Solas. Please." She asks of him in her soft, pleading tone. Solas does not respond. How she knew what he was thinking of he knows not. Perhaps she sensed it. His uneasiness, his concern, and worry, his dread. The deep-seated fear in his gut is palpable. Nothing can overcome it. His will claws at it, fights with it, attempts to tackle it to the ground but no matter how hard he tries, he still fears for her, for their children. Her hand covers his on her shoulder and Solas sighs. Still, she refuses to turn around. "I felt it, you know." She begins again. The ache is evident in her voice. She is wrought with pain and sorrow. Nothing can take it away. Oh, how he wishes he could. "When you thought about what Gilderoy said to you." She continues on, her voice a shaking, stuttering mess of words he can just barely make out. "I felt your insides churning at the thought, your heart squeezing itself inside your chest, your eyes shutting in reluctance, attempting to push the horrid feeling away. I saw the images in your head. I saw Gilderoy, standing over you. Shackled beside our daughter, you with the collar locked on and," She doesn't go on. Her voice falls and Solas has trouble keeping himself upright. He is lightheaded. He can feel her frailty leaking into him. She is deteriorating. It is likely that she has not eaten in a few days. She is dehydrated and hungry and sad. A detrimental mix. Solas moves so that he squats in front of her. His lyrium blue eyes gaze up into hers and he cocks a half-hearted smile. It is all he can do. His hands take hers and the chill in her skin is alarming. It is as if she has been out in the cold entirely bare. He brings the fire to his hands subtly and warms her icy palms. She still does not look him in the eyes. He brings his hand up and tilts her chin, forcing her eyes to be level with his. They dart away nonetheless and she still does not look at him. Solas does not try again. He simply goes back to warming her. "I am right here, Vhenan." He tells her in his deep, soft voice. She closes her green eyes and lowers her head again. She feels she does not deserve his affections and it only aids in pushing Solas farther away."The children are fine. I am fine. You are fine. We're all safe. You don't need to worry." He continues his soothing and realizes the tears that fall slowly down her pale cheeks. His ministrations don't help though. She only continues to fall further into her sorrow. A low, rumbling noise gurgles from her abdomen and Solas knows he was right about her not having eaten. "Maeve," He says her name like a feather light note of urgency. "Listen to me." He demands more carefully than he should. He is not sure how she will react to his orders but he must get her out of this. The first step would be to fix her physically diminished features. She will need her strength if they are to survive this. "We're going to go upstairs. I'm going to put you to bed and then I'm going to get you something to eat. You'll get cleaned up. I'll bring Nicolynn and Mythalus to see you and we will go for a walk." He explains tenderly. She has to take care of herself. Seeing as she has not, Solas will have to do it himself. Maeve only reacts to the point about their children. She looks up at him, shaking her head. "They feel as if they have not seen you in many a day. You must speak with them, be it however briefly." They sat there like that for a while. He just looked at her, and she at him. She met his eyes now. "Solas, I cannot do this. I cannot look at them knowing they will perish when these nine months are up. What can I do? How can I protect our sweet children when I, myself, cannot contain my unyielding sorrow?" She puts her hands on his upper arms, clinging to his thin shirt. Though she is upset he knows she can be brought out of this. He knows he can do it. He has to. 

He picks her up, taking her frail, bony, stick-like body in his arms and carries her with his arms under her knees and shoulders. He remembers the feeling of her body against his like this on the night Nicolynn was born, how frightfully she clung to him as he carried her to her chambers. It had been a miracle they'd made it back to Skyhold in time. Though she was terrified of what giving birth might bring she smiled at him still. He recalls the same feeling of her in his arms on the many a nights he carried her to their bed, setting her down most excitedly, ripping their clothes from one another, kissing her like there was nothing more important. In those moments there wasn't. Nothing compared to how eternal she was in his mind. Her body, her soul, her heart, it lived on prominent above all else in his mind. The only thing that could rival it was the place he held their children. But now, now things are different. He is not taking her to bed for either of those purposes. He is not looking to bed her in an attempt to cheer her. It would only make her sad. 

No, now what must be done is the saving of her life. He takes her like this up to her chambers and lays her down, a weeping mess, on their bed. He kisses the top of her head, squeezes her thin shoulder, and rushes from the room. 

When he returns with the plate of food he promised, the feeling of the room is wrong. He drops the plate the moment he reaches the door. It clatters to the ground but not before Solas is already up the stairs. He reaches the top and finds the room filled with the frightening aura he expected. Mythalus, sits over his mother, her head in his little lap, his hands trailing faint lines in her tears across her face. But Mythalus is different and Solas restrains the strangled cry in his throat. Mythalus' once beautifully green eyes glow with an unearthly lyrium blue. He puts his hand out as he takes a step further. "Mythalus," He gets the boys attention and immediately he begins to panic. He can see the fright in Solas' eyes and it only scares him. "Mythalus, move away from your mother." He demands sternly but with enough care in his voice not to make the little elf any more afraid. 

Mythalus shakes his curly haired head and lets his lyrium tears fall from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Father. I had to. I can help her. I can fix mommy." Solas' heart clenches as the words leave his son's mouth. The strangled, hurt sound of it brings his soul to a fork in the road. He must act but how? "Mythalus, only your mother can fix what ails her. It is her guilt, da'len, that wounds her. She must let it go, you cannot do that for her." He tries to explain, taking another step toward the bed, toward Mythalus, toward Maeve. The boy shakes his head again. "No. I can help. I can make the crying go away. I can make her forget." He insists. It is then that Solas realizes what he means to do. Solas takes another step as Mythalus places his hand on Maeve's shoulder. "Mythalus, No!" Solas shouts urgently. 

The room explodes in uncontained blue light.