congrekate | dragon age au!

dragon age au!

The rumor mill is still going on as to why Jonathan Strange fled the circle to become an apostate mage. Some say that it's as simple as an argument with his former tutor. Others say that the man never really recovered from his actions in the Mage-Templar War. The most likely answer is that something snapped after the death of his beloved. The one thing everyone can agree on is that it's really a shame someone with such potential threw it all away. He could have easily made his way up the social ladder, working at a court somewhere!

To which Strange would respond that he was doing perfectly fine right now, thank you very much, even if he was currently living in a shack that leaked when it rained, he had not even half of the books he was used to, and he heard people whisper behind his back, calling him the 'mad mage of the Dales'. So be it. His plan was probably a bit mad to begin with: Jonathan Strange planned to summon a god.

Not just any god, of course. He had gone through the various pantheons, trying to find the perfect one to grant him what he wanted (power, mostly, a way to take the tools and trade of necromancy and make it more solid, to raise the dead instead of raising spirits.) And eventually, Strange settled on Fen'Harel. He could draw upon the power of the location of the Dales as well as his status as an outsider himself to appeal to the god. The ritual itself was the most complex part, but modified necromancy bindings and a few of his own additions should suffice.

And so, Strange performs the magic. And poor Solas is probably just damn confused as to what he sees when he's forcibly woken up from his nap. The shack is small, covered head to toe with knick-knacks and trinkets, some of magical significance, others not. Dried herbs cover a table and books cover almost any other flat surface. Good luck trying to find where Strange sleeps as the bed has also become storage space. The mage himself looks wild: a middle aged human with scruff and hair that looks like it hasn't seen a brush in years, clothes ragged and dirty. And he just regards Solas with sheer confusion.

"I thought the wolf part was literal."

This is an elf. This isn't a dog. Did he make a mistake in the summoning? And if he didn't summon a god, then who the hell did he summon?

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When Solas had entered his long sleep ages ago, drained of power and desperately needing to rest, he hadn't thought he would be torn from it with such abruptness. His abilities as a dreamer had allowed him to sustain life in the Fade and to wander almost unhindered. And now--

Now everything felt sharp with a harshness he loathed. He knew part of his troubles involved his powers not being fully rested and the Veil made it harder to draw from the Fade in the waking world. It was a reality he hadn't wanted to face just yet, when his power had yet to make a full recovery. His first act upon waking and finding himself unceremoniously dumped into the middle of a summoning ritual is to scowl as he stares down at himself. At least his armor he had fallen asleep in made the journey though he would have chosen something less likely to draw attention to himself if he had wandered out of his own free will.

Then there is the human. A mage by the looks of it, one powerful enough to summon him from his slumber. His narrowed eyes are redirected at Strange. So he was who Solas had to thank for being brought here far too early.

"The wolf part?" he repeats, voice sharp. "You wake me from my slumber and complain about a lack of wolves?"

Strange narrows his eyes as well, unconsciously mirroring Solas's expression as he looks the elf over. He looks so...plain! Granted, the armor's nice, oddly nice as a matter of fact, but everything else about the elf just seems so drab. Strange honestly has no idea what would happen when one summons a god, but he at least expected something a bit more flashy. This was the Dread Wolf, after all! Even if half of the myths were true, he should be more imposing than this person!

"I complain about a lack of wolves because I expected wolves. When one tries to call forth the Dread Wolf, wolves are to be expected." And he just straight up announced the fact that he was planning to summon a god. It's obvious that subtlety and keeping secrets are not arts that Strange has mastered terribly well. He resumes scowling, looking Solas over as if he expects the man to suddenly grow fangs and fur then and there or like someone waiting for a circus animal to do a particularly impressive trick.

"I don't know why the ritual picked you instead," he admits. Because obviously it's the ritual's fault and not Strange making a mistake in some of the calculations. "Unless, of course, you are Fen'Harel, though I highly doubt that."

Someone has yet to learn not to judge godly books by their cover.

Expected wolves? What did this damn human know about Fen'harel? Nothing besides the ridiculous stories the Dalish told, judging by the little he's said so far.

But if the man doesn't know who he is, or at least doesn't believe in the success of his ritual, then Solas isn't inclined to be upfront. The name Fen'harel carried far more baggage now than it did during his time, the meaning and nature of his actions skewed and altered to fit a perverted version of history. Why that mattered to a human however was what confused him.

"If you doubt your abilities so then why did you attempt a ritual of this magnitude?" he asks, dryly. His gaze scans the hut they're in, taking in the space with more care on this second look through. Now where did his focus end up?

"I don't doubt my abilities," Strange snaps back, looking over at Solas with a glare. If anything he has too much pride in them. Jonathan Strange is the sort of man who has trouble grasping the idea that he can't do something, that things aren't attainable even if he puts blood, sweat, and tears into it. "After all, the ritual worked, didn't it? You are summoned. The fault lies in the spell itself, not my application of it."

Because surely it isn't his fault that the spell messed up. No, it must be something in the framework, some sort of problem most likely with the naming. After all, he did manage to summon someone. It's just that Strange is certain this isn't the person he was looking for.

"Who are you anyway?"

"Solas," he answers plainly as if the man should already know. The mage did summon him after all though he supposes he's partially to blame for the confusion in not admitting the success of the ritual. It's a variant of magic he hasn't seen before and if he ends up here longer than he desires he would have a chance to study the glyphs properly.

Glyphs that seem to be restricting him. His brows furrow slightly as he finally is of enough mind to walk experimentally around in the summoning circle. Temporarily confined and missing a very important item. Had his focus been left behind?

"You only summoned myself?"

Solas. A name he doesn't recognize, but that doesn't really mean much, does it. Thedas is a large land with lots of people, of course he'd summon someone he doesn't recognize.

"That's correct. At least that part of the spell worked properly." It's obvious this is bothering Strange more than he wants to admit, as he turns his back on Solas for a moment to pick up a book off the floor. It's a book that would be found in a Circle library, though it's at least a few years out of date. Strange flips through the book to find some notations, reads it over, and lets out a small huff of annoyance.

"Here. Tell me what you do. That might explain why the spell brought you instead of its intended target." Fen'harel didn't have worshipers or devotees the way some other gods had, but maybe this man had a connection in a way Strange didn't expect.

He raises a brow at the demand and steps closer to the edge of the circle. There's some kind of barrier holding him here and his focus isn't in sight. With the early awakening he hadn't reached full power and the Veil made everything magical tricky. It would take time to adjust to the dampening of magic in the waking world.

Though it seemed mages found ways to exert far more than their share of power if this spell was an indication. An apostate by the looks of it. At least he wouldn't need to deal with the Circle unless the man had templars tracking him down. Was that why he wanted Fen'harel?

"A dreamer mage," he answers plainly. "Do you have a way to reverse this?" Or at least release him from the damn summoning circle.

Strange raises his hand, as if he's about to remove the summoning circle, before he pauses and actually thinks things through (shocker, I know). He hadn't left the summoning circle yet. That...was interesting. Strange's eyes dart from Solas, to the circle itself, to the book in his hand as he starts to put the pieces together.

"The barrier component of the spell was specifically constructed to target and hold individuals who went by the name Fen'harel--and I know that part works correctly. If you never used that name, you should be free to exist the circle yourself." Strange takes a few steps back, gesturing towards the door.

He's calling you out, Dread Wolf. Go ahead and leave, oh wait a moment you probably can't.

Well, there went that small hope.

His gaze remains focused on Strange rather than the summoning circle and he makes no move to go forward. No, he can't leave it. The man's spell had worked as intended much to Solas' annoyance and there was only so long he could hide that fact for.

"Exit and be far from where you tore me from," he replies, voice tight. This isn't the Thedas he wanted to wake up in, not yet.

Strange can't help it: he lets out a loud, triumphant laugh as he puts the pieces together. This was him! Dreamer mage his ass, this was Fen'Harel himself! Strange gives the elf a wild grin, tinged with madness, as he takes a few steps closer towards Solas, still grinning like a madman.

"You will soon be released. After all, I've no use keeping a god forever." This wasn't Tevinter, after all, and Strange prided himself on his more progressive values to begin with. No, the binding circle was just an unfortunate necessity. Maker knows the god would have just left otherwise. "I simply wish to ask a few questions and, depending on the outcome of said questions, possibly a favor."

That expression on the other man does little to relax him. Instead he tenses, his hands resting behind his back, and poised to move should he need to try to use the power he does have to tear out of the summoning circle. He had far too much to do without letting a human apostate get the better of him.

"Are you going to continue dragging this out?" he asks, voice growing more impatient the longer this goes on. If Strange had gone through all of this to ask questions then by all means, the man could ask away.

"I--" And then Strange pauses for a second as a realization sets in. He's done all this, done the research, created a binding spell, summoned a literal god, and just right now, just in this moment is when he realizes that it might all be for nothing. That the dead might stay dead and he's lost her forever.

He's can't let himself think that. He refuses to believe that's acceptable, he couldn't have done all this, come this far, just to hear that there aren't any options! So, Strange just pushes forward. "Spirits can mimic the dead--I've read so in various texts and performed some of that sort of magic via necromancy. But those spirits aren't the dead. Is there any way one can use the spirits to revive the dead, to bring someone once gone back to life?"

He's the Dread Wolf. He should know these things.

That's... That's the man's request? His demand for Fen'harel? There was much he could do back when he was at full power, but reviving the dead had never been one of them or the Veil never would have been necessary.

"You summoned what you believed to be an old, elvhen god of betrayal and trickery," he starts, speaking slowly to make sure Strange understands every ounce of how ridiculous this sounds, "to bring someone back from the dead."

And the man was insane enough to think it would work.

........shut up, Solas.

Strange briefly looks a bit flustered before the embarrassment fades away to anger. Yes, the plan sucks. Yes, it's a bit ridiculous. But dammit, what else could he do?

"I don't have any other options!" he explodes, giving Solas a glare. "I've researched spells both during my time in the Circle and after it. I've brewed and drunk all sorts of tonics to boost my magical power. I have done everything imaginable to learn the magic, to no avail. You are literally my last chance and I refuse--" His voice hitches a bit as an image of Arabella, of his beloved, flits into his mind. When Strange speaks again, it's a bit more subdued, though his words are still stern and his fist remains clenched. "I refuse to let her stay dead."

There's no movement from Solas as Strange goes off on his tirade. No, he's stared down far worse than a man undergoing intense loss. This is a pain no one could ease, only time. It was a fact Solas knew acutely. He's standing tall, infuriatingly so, as his gaze bores into the other man.

"You are entrusting Fen'harel with the resurrection of your love one?" he asks calmly, once it's clear Strange has finished. "Why do you believe I have control over life and death?"

Strange is trying to remain calm, trying to seem collected, but he's a tensely frayed nerve just waiting to go off. This elf's calm is...well, it's infuriating. Strange is a man of emotions, running passionate pretty much all the time, and butting up against this cool calm is driving him up the wall.

"I don't know if you do or don't! But what I do know is I'm out of options and you're the only one who I've managed to summon."

Strange's magic is powerful, but it's not yank a member of the elven pantheon from the Beyond levels of powerful.

"Even advice on what course of study to turn to next would work," he pleads. "And I know I'm not Daelish but just by doing this, I think I've paid more attention to you than they ever had." After all, most people forget Fen'harel.

That his calmness is causing Strange discomfort is a victory for him. This was how he would win this war between him and the flat-eared mage. One that openly mocks his reputation and brings in the Dalish as if that would hold weight.

He manages to hold back his scowl and shakes his head. Whatever magic this man held, it was powerful to bring him here, and he was not going to rise to the man's bait.

"There is little advice I can give from a cage," he says coldly. Or that he was willing to give.

"And there's little reason to believe you'll stay if I open the door to the cage," Strange responds, as if he's pointing out the obvious. He shoved Solas in a binding circle, after all. If he removed the enchantment then of course Solas would go, leaving Strange with absolutely nothing and no idea what to do next.

He looks over Solas, frown still on his face as he does so. "Perhaps a leash would be a good middle ground? It's appropriate for your title, after all."

Ha ha, it's a terrible dog joke.

No, the man was right. As soon as the binding circle was gone, Solas would be leaving. There's no reason for him to stay beyond that, a human's desire to revive and prolong the life of a loved one was of no interest to him.

The leash comment does earn Strange a scowl. "It would earn you no favors." In case Strange was under the impression that tormenting and insulting the summoned 'god' was in his best interest.

His foot traces the inner line of the circle holding him and he stares at the other man expectantly. Solas did not intend to offer any leeway in negotiations.

"Well then! You will not help me unless I let you free from the circle. I see no reason why you would help me if I freed you from the circle in the first place. You accept no alternative, so there's nothing either of us can do but wait until one of us changes their mind. And I have a feeling it won't be me."

This is bluster. As obvious from these conversations, Strange is not a patient sort of man. In a battle of stamina, it's obvious who's going to come out on top. Still, he's certainly haughty enough to think he'll outlast Solas in a battle of patience, as shown by the smug smile on his face.

Strange picks up a random book off the floor, stomps over to a chair in the hut, brushes off whatever papers or herbs were sitting on the chair and just sits down directly in it, directly in front of Solas, as he starts to flip through the book as if looking for a certain page. Passive aggressive reading is now a thing.

If that was how the man wanted to play this...

Solas shakes his head slightly and settles on the floor, cross-legged with his hands resting on his knees. If Strange wants to sit and angrily read then Solas will take the time to meditate. Venturing into the Fade was far too risky now and if there was one thing he had learned from the change over the years, entering the Fade on command for a Dreamer mage was easier with herbal aids. Ones he didn't have here.

He lets time pass in silence, content to passive aggressively meditate in return. It isn't until some time has gone by that he chooses to speak up again, eyes still closed and position unchanged.

"You have yet to share more than her name."

The war of passive aggression takes a pause as Strange looks up from his book. Ah. So he hasn't. Whoops.

"Her name is Arabella. She has dark brown hair, almost black. It lies in waves when she has it down, mostly because she wears it up all the time." Something in Strange starts to soften a bit. As he talks about his beloved, he becomes more relaxed, more obviously besotted, lost in the thought and the memory of Arabella. "She never failed to tell me what she thought of my decisions and never minced words around me, but she was kind and loving all the while--I wouldn't have fallen in love with her in the first place if it wasn't for that attitude."

It's obvious who the impulse control in this relationship was. Strange pauses for a moment, as the reality sets in. Who it was. Arabella had died, after all.

"She caught a chill one morning and died a day or so after."

It's a tense Solas picks up on. Her name is Arabella. Either this was recent or the man had failed to fully let go of the woman he lost. Solas had no leg to stand on in that regard with the way he had let his loss of Mythal triumph over all reason, but he had at least realized the woman was gone and nothing would bring her back.

There's no movement except for a raised brow.

"How long ago?"

"A few months," Strange simply answers.

So fairly recent and he hadn't fully let go of the woman he lost. And why should he? Necromancy regularly helped call forth spirits, he was certain he could find a way to use the rituals to call forth a specific spirit in question. The reconstruction of the body would admittedly be harder, but he was Jonathan Strange, a man who had summoned and bound a god. Of course he could do this!

What good was all this power if he couldn't use it to save her?

Recent enough. Solas is curious though not enough to invest his full energy into helping with a task he knows would be futile. Strange will get nowhere with his drive to bring back a loved one though Solas hopes the mage has tried more than 'summon a god of trickery and betrayal.'

"And you have her body preserved somewhere?" he asks. Or did the man intend to craft a new body should he be able to summon her from the void?

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