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Wandhis was beginning to get used to life in Haven. When she was not away on trips or locked inside the Chantry having meetings, she helped troops and refugees with their wounds in the morning, then made some small contributions to the kitchen with herbs and spices, and finally participated in the distribution of meals. She tried to ignore all the looks and talks about her being “The Herald of Andraste”. People needed to eat, rest and heal. She wasn’t going to wait for “Andraste” to solve it with prayers.
Throughout the day, she saw everyone working and training tirelessly, including Solas, but somehow he always managed to find time to read and share her notes. She was watching him, and knew he was pretending not to notice. When she was working, he did the same. They started this little silent game, as if waiting for the other to get distracted and lose.
They went to the Hinterlands once, and helped each other with some chores there. They worked well together, actually. But they didn't talk much. At one point, when she passed the elf's cottage in the afternoon, Wandhis found the courage to go in and try to talk to the elf. "Excuse me?"
"Good afternoon." He greeted her politely, sitting in front of the table, immersed in countless different books. With a short wave, he beckoned her to sit across from him.
“Hi Solas.” She started walking towards him with small steps, then stopped. Decided to stay close to the door. There was something about him that she couldn't quite understand, like he was hiding something. But she also felt that way around half of the Inquisition.
"How can I help?" He tilted his head, curious. His posture was almost still, unlike the intensity in his eyes.
She decided to get straight to the point. “I would like to know your opinions on elven culture, if possible.”
And the response was quick and harsh.
“I thought you would be more interested in sharing your opinions on elven culture. You’re Dailish, are you not?”
Wandhis felt a flush going up her cheeks with anger, frowning, lifting her chin to show off the dailish tattoos on her face. She didn't understand what could have offended him to respond with such rudeness, but if it was a fight he was looking for, she wouldn't disappoint him.
“With great pride.” Her voice rose as she said the words. “We are the last descendants of the true elves, those who fell protecting Halamshiral! While humans did what they always do: They took possession of what wasn’t theirs.”
Solas moved the chair away from the table in front of her, just enough so that he could rest his elbows on it, and place the tips of his fingers together in front of his chest, his face the perfect mask of disapproval, while his voice dripped with acid.
“Oh. you are not entirely wrong this time. Perhaps we should celebrate the happy occasion of the Dailish remembering correctly! Perhaps planting a tree?”
This was too much for Wandhis. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, she almost growled in response. “Finedhis! I asked a simple question, and you insult me and m-!!!”
“Fenedhis.” Solas interrupted her, using a tone that was unusually both authoritative and calm, as he stood up from his chair slowly, approaching the elf with the fluidity of a river.
"What???" In less than two seconds he was in front of her, and she didn't know whether to feel fear, fury or fascination towards his figure, at once simple and sovereign.
“Your pronunciation is wrong. Just like your stories.” There was no longer a trace of acidity, bitterness, or even anger in her voice. He just stated a fact, harshly but directly. A little melancholic, even.
And she knew he spoke the truth.
But she wasn't going to give in that easily.
Even though she was several centimeters shorter than him, to the point of looking like a child with her tiny form, she didn't let herself be intimidated, imitating the tone of voice he had used, moving even closer until her nose almost touched the man's chin. "Oh, really? And how many clans have you helped with such knowledge, wise hahren?”
“Enough to be sure that such exaggerated pride leads only to destruction and disgrace.”
Bitterness. Pain. And yet, relentless determination. Wandhis noticed everything in Solas' expressions and words, and even though she was extremely curious to understand what exactly in his story would bring him these emotions now, or why the subject made him throw away his polite mask so easily, she still wasn't going to let it go.
She squinted, defying him, her voice low and firm. “I’m not seeing you helping our people with that attitude.”
“We’re not from the same people just because we both have pointed ears, da’len. Consider this your first lesson. And since you are at least asking, instead of simply judging, I’ll tell what I can.”
This line intrigued Wandhis. We’re not from the same people? What did he even mean by that???
Before she could answer, he was heading back to his chair, sitting and watching her as if ready for a life or death debate.
She didn't even know what to ask. For some reason, that man made her head spin.