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He pressed his hands against hers, willing the healing magic to ease the pain on her features, but he suspected it only mended little. There was no blood no bruises around the mark, just a perpetual fever and no signs of consciousness. The apothecary glared at him, suspiciously. His treatment of the charge was compulsory at best and Solas supressed the urge to glare back at the ignorant man. He did not know what a medical wonder he was presented with and he doubted he had the skill to do anything but make the situation worse with his attempts at blood letting. Blood letting! But move too aggressively and he would report back to Cassandra, their temporary truce shattered.
“Anything?” the apothecary urged. He was clearly uncomfortable in the cell, itching to get away from the damp and stony-faced guards.
“This is not something to be fixed in an instance” Solas growled, probing the fade around the little cell, hoping, again, for any sign of interaction any hint at what had to be done next. “You may wait outside if you do not wish to wait.”
The apothecary was torn between not wanting to bow to Solas’ will and his own desire to get away from both elves. He wished the prisoner no harm – Cassandra seemed awfully quick to come to a verdict, but he also hoped to be far away when people finally let their anger loose on someone. Finally, he grunted and left the apostate to his work.
Solas drew a chair closer, ready for another long vigil by the prisoner’s side. There had to be something he could use, some way to begin fixing this mess he had created. A moan from the elven girl drew his attention from her hand to her pained face. “Forgive me, lethallan, I did not intend for any of this to happen.” He said, in elvish, feeling not a little foolish, for what understanding would a Dalish elf extend towards him. He could not but pity her fate though, the mark still spreading steadily. And it was his fault. Not his first fault.
He closed his eyes to try a new approach. This near to the breach, he was sure to attract demons, but he felt assured in his ability to ward them off him and his charge should he have to. The fade might hold the answers he couldn’t glean from her prone, unconscious form.
---
He forcefully moved her hand towards the rift, willing her to mimic the intention behind the gesture. To his surprise, she caught on immediately and the mark sputtered to life, extending it’s buzzing green glow towards the rift and slowly mending the fabric of the veil to separate them from the familiar shapes of the fade. Her face showed not much of a reaction, no recognition of him or surprise at what she had just done, just a blank glance at her hand. Her body shook with adrenaline though and he released her hand to look around at the seeker and the dwarf. They were looking at her with barely concealed reverence and in that instant Solas felt he saw what the future held in store for this woman. He would not wish that kind of belief on anyone, nut it would be useful. Whatever she would choose to do with that power, it also held a key to fixing the world and making amend for his mistake.
---
Lavellan was watching the prisoner, smirking.
“It seems our conflict was accidental. But it cannot be repeated.” She tried to catch Dorian’s eye before she continued. “Take as many weapons as you can carry…” The silence was palpable. “You and your clan are exiled to Tevinter.”
A sideway glance told her that Solas appreciated the humour as well and she allowed herself to smile. It was odd; she had expected to feel conflicted or unsure, sitting in this chair. A random elven mage from a minor clan, passing judgement on the people around her, but instead, she felt oddly at peace with all decisions made that day. Alexius sent off to research magic for the inquisition, a clan of Avvar unleashed upon the imperium.
She feared the fringes of her moral compass, had spend the morning hardly being able to eat, yet when the decisions had to be made, there was no hesitation. Surely, this would not always be this easy, but she was grateful for the slow start.
Dorian, clearly moved by her decision to spare Alexius, but unwilling to dwell on it came up to her as soon as she rose from the throne to quip about the Avvar that were to be released upon his homeland. She could not help but clasp his arm. Out of all the Shemlen they had met, many she liked, but best of all this man, with his absurdities and charm and she was glad that she did not have to hurt him further today.
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Inquisitor, you surprise me. Goats for Tevinter, I say.”
“Humour is not normally my strong suit, it’s true” she said ruefully.
“You show promise. But we would not want you to outdo me either.” Dorian bowed as he retreated from the hall, steps much lighter then they were when he entered, at the very back of the hall, stern frown on his handsome face.
A little queue had formed behind the mage, and she resigned herself to further petitions.
---
Solas was painting their stories on his wall. In a way that felt like home, like her keeper painted on cave walls, but better. The Keepers’s paintings were like a child’s work to this. She felt ashamed that she hadn’t realized what Solas was creating before she got the report by Leliana and now she couldn’t stop looking. “This is really beautiful!” She kept saying and was surprised to see a slight blush on Solas cheeks. He seemed no less taken aback by his own embarrassment and busied himself cleaning off brushes and bowls from the earthy colours. “I can’t believe I didn’t really look around here, I am so sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry, it’s something I do when I am idle, and you, if you will recall, are rarely idle enough to look at the walls.”
He was right of course, the reason she hadn’t realized, just seen the flash of colour from the corner of her eyes, was because ever since they reached Skyhold she was up all day, either travelling far or trying to speed along the repairs. But she felt she really had missed out on something here.
“But what’s the use of being busy if I can’t take in any details anymore” she said with annoyance. “Details are important.”
He didn’t disagree, but just tilted his head and studied her face with curiosity. She felt a bit sheepish.
“They are beautiful, Solas.” she repeated. And with that she turned on her heels and went back to her work.
---
The thing that bothered Solas most about waking up, was that he couldn’t determine his own motivations well anymore. Feelings and reason couldn’t agree like they used to, his head and heart confused by the passing of long and lonely centuries. Every time he looked at her, the marks made him angry. There she was, no slave, not to a master or a god, but wearing the marks naturally as if it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t be selfish to want her to know; knowledge was a gift, wasn’t it? A gift her people had not wanted, but they couldn’t make that decision for her again, like they already did, marking her when she was just young enough to see appeal in it. Perhaps she even regretted them now, beautiful as they looked, but swearing her to a will not her own.
This train of thought bothered him more than he was comfortable with. Sometimes, like now, they were just trekking through the wilderness, every one of them lost in their own thoughts and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything but this little thing. The storm coast sky suited him well, dark and broody, long spells of rain and little talking among the company except to curse the perpetual storm.
No, it had to be selfish, like almost all the feelings that dominated when he was around her. She did not mind the vallaslin, had them too long to give them a second thought. Perhaps she was even proud? He wasn’t sure. Whenever Lavellan was asked about her beliefs, in the maker, Andraste or the elven gods, she just evaded the question very casually. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. And perhaps she didn’t either. Perhaps she deserved to be oblivious about the marks. They looked beautiful enough, giving her that exotic look that Josephine worked hard – and failed - to make work for her in high society.
Ahead, Lavellan walked beside Dorian, both of them looking almost comically despaired. The weather might suit him and his thoughts of a lost past and uncertain future well enough, but his companions obviously didn’t share the sentiment. Cassandra kept a stoic face, but her jaw was set and brows drawn in an angry frown.
“We should set camp soon” she said. “This blasted rain will not let up anytime soon.”
“Finally!” Dorian exclaimed. “This is not what I signed up for, you know.”
“What did you sign up for? I could use a reminder as well” Lavellan wiped the water from her eyes and pointed towards a outcrop of rocks that would give them shelter from rain and wind. “We should go up there, can’t camp long though, we have quite a way to go still.”
“Why, the glamour and heroics! I am wasted on this backwater, Maker forgotten, shitho-”
“We are here to save the world, a little rain is irrelevant.” Cassandra was having none of their banter, she was in quite a mood. They set the camp up in silence, no one willing to make more of an effort until they were in front of a warm fire, trying to wring the water out of their soaked clothes.
Selfish. He thought as he handed Lavellan a dry piece of cloth to wipe her face with. “Chin up, da’len.” He said, in elvish. She smiled at him and he looked away. Selfish.
“It’s impolite to speak a language no one else understands, you know.” Dorian said, as he wrapped himself in several blankets. “But if you said that you know a shortcut through the fade, I am all ears. Andraste’s flaming k-”
“Would you stop blaspheming, Dorian?”
“I would not, Seeker!” he retorted, but resigned himself to chewing on their dwindling rations and restoring his hair. It had been a long journey from skyhold and nothing awaited them but a certain fight, before they would rest in a proper bed again.
Solas looked out over the stormy coast. He respected Cassandra’s fervour even if he found it woefully misplaced. “Would you say it is blasphemy if one calls out to a god other than yours, but one with genuine belief?” he asked, curious. He immediately felt contrite, because he felt he already knew the answer and she clearly looked uncomfortable stating it outright, as unsure about Lavellan’s beliefs as he, but not one to hide her faith. “I would, but it’s different.” Cassandra said defiantly. “No offense, Inquisitor.”
“None taken whatsoever!” Lavellan said cheerfully. She seemed oblivious to the expectant silence that followed.
The only one that did not have a vested interest in the matter was not in a mood to play along. “Oh for the love of the maker, do just tell them whether or not you believe in the elven gods or the Maker! They are practically hanging on your lips whenever this comes up.”
Lavellan grinned. “You don’t care do you?”
Dorian just shrugged, clearly more concerned with getting warm and dry than matters of philosophical debate. Lavellan looked between Cassandra and Dorian. “I’m not being deliberately difficult, you know, but I feel that there is undue emphasis on my beliefs here when they really do not matter much for what we have to do. I don’t wish to offend anyone. I do not believe in any gods, elven or not.” Cassandra looked like she wanted to argue, but held her tongue, unhappy but respectful.
Solas allowed himself a smile, still facing the coast. She was indeed extraordinary. Perhaps she should know, if she could wear them and not believe, perhaps she would be glad if he offered her a choice. To keep them but to do so from a place of understanding, or to have him remove them. A gift, not entirely selfish, but resolving his distraction at the same time. Sometime soon.
---
It was hard not to feel alive again, with all these people around him, a little court in this ancient fortress with odd memories. The intrigues, the fighting and the companionship all worked together to distract him thoroughly from his path. He was not here to make friends, friends he would have to leave sooner or later, who did not know who he was. And yet he was here, sitting around the camp fire with Cole and Lavellan, telling them stories about the fade and feeling exhilaratingly not alone. Varric had nodded off beside them, wrapped up in his bedroll and snoring loudly.
“And the spirit was able to free itself at last, break the bonds and silently slip back into the fade. When the sun came up not one of the raiders was left and I had nothing more to fear of the wilds.” He finished, well aware that he was indulging is enjoyment of dramatic storytelling, voice hushed but clear.
Cole looked pleased as the story played to his interests. “That was a good story!” he exclaimed. Lavellan nodded, although she snorted as if to let him know that he was not fooling her, at least. “Yes, you should tell Varric that story sometime, it sounds right up his alley.” Her bright smile was betraying her words, however, she had thoroughly enjoyed the completely ridiculous tale and Solas felt the now familiar stirring of part of himself that he would not have thought still existed. It was extraordinary.
“You wound me, Inquisitor.”
She pulled a blanket around her shoulders, blinking happily at him. “I wish you would tell more truthful stories, hahren. You tell them all so seriously, I will not know when to trust them as sage advise and when you are turning into a more wizened Varric.” She had taken to calling him hahren whenever he called her by her title, but he doubted she felt the same mixture of emotions at his words.
He chuckled at the image that painted of him. “Are you really so sure that I’m not telling the truth then?”
She just shook her head and offered to refill his and Cole’s bowl with druffalo soup. It was a beautiful cool night, the moon looming large over their heads and the stars bright and distant. “I think you tell just enough of the truth to help me along and for that I am grateful” she said .