Chapter Text
He could leave. The Breach still loomed in the sky, but it had stopped expanding. That might suffice - after all, there was no true need for this world to fully heal. It would not last much longer anyway. And yet, he could not deny that he felt a certain obligation to help, to assist those that needed it. To rectify this mistake before rectifying the world. There also remained the matter of the orb, he did not, could not, believe it destroyed. Mythal would not suffer for his mistakes. He needed his power. He needed his foci.
Staying with the Inquisition would offer the most efficient way of reclaiming it. As an ‘elven hedge-mage’, it would be challenging to get close enough to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, with the Inquisitions forces having all but seized it. True, the site had already been scouted, but he was convinced that they had not been thorough enough. Certainly they were bound to find it, if they just kept looking. And once they finally did locate it, who would be better suited to examine it than their ‘elven Fade expert’? He was certain that they would deliver it straight into his hands. But he was still not certain if he should remain. After all, despite his assistance, despite having enabled this world to survive, he was still seen as an apostate, an elf, a lesser being. The threats of execution had ceased, but he knew that their view hadn’t changed. There was no doubt in his mind that they would lock him up in a tower, should that option become available again. Staying would mean potential danger, continuing to place himself at their mercy. At her mercy. The Dalish woman, Elgara, whose mark had transformed from proof of guilt, to a sign of divine intervention. Solas did not know if he should ridicule or pity the humans for mistaking even such a fraction of his power as a sign of their “holy” patron.
He supposed it didn’t matter. What did however, was how the woman would view and use her newly obtained influence. She had surprised him during their short interaction, true, but he still did not know her, did not know her intentions. And even the imitations, flawed as they were, seemed to have a certain depth to them, a face they showed, and a face they did not.
***
Elgara tightly hugs her jacket as she makes her way from the chantry, the cold mountain air whipping at her exposed face, sending her crimson hair dancing to its breath. She spots Solas near the Tavern and a smile forms on her lips as her eyes meet his.
“The chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.” he proclaims in a modulated tone, sneering inwardly.
To his amusement, she smirks, extending her arms in a gesture of grandeur as she walks over. “Sounds dashing! Am I riding in on a shining steed?”
His mouth tucks into a soft smile. “I would have suggested a Griffon. But sadly, they’re extinct.”
“What a shame.” She says, flicking her tongue and adds “Well, I guess I could always mount a Halla. -Then again, I’d really rather not be gutted by a mob of angry chantry fanatics.”
“Yes, that would be most unfortunate.” he remarks, the smile still dangling on his lips when he slightly tilts his head. “I take it you do not believe yourself chosen, then? Neither by Andraste, nor'', he made a short, barely noticeable pause, as his voice dropped "by 'your gods'?”
He curses himself. Once again, he has not managed to completely mask his condescending tone. If he would stay, then he will have to learn to tolerate her mentions of the Evanuris more passively. The thought alone makes his skin crawl.
To his relief, Elgara gives a short laugh. If he has offended her, she does not show it.
“Are you joking? Of course not!” she avows. “Just mere moments ago I was a prisoner, accused of mass murder and now I’m apparently some holy chantry figure. -There’s no telling what I‘ll be tomorrow.” She pauses, stroking her chin in mock-contemplation. “A bard perhaps?”
That earns her a light chuckle. “I suppose that would not be too farfetched, seeing as you were selected by your people to spy upon the divine’s meeting.”
“Oh, so I was a spy, huh?” She shoots him a playful look, but he doesn’t reciprocate, keeping his face devoid of emotion. She is not the only one able to tease.
“Presumably. For what other purpose would a Dalish have attended the conclave?”
She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they heard of my unmatched magical skills and invited me.’’
“Certainly. After all, the Chantry is known to praise those that honed their skills outside their constrictions." he counters.
"But maybe somebody owed me a favor. I could have retrieved a runaway Mabari.”
“Doubtful.”
“Or, perhaps I just really like to see people argue.”
He arches a brow, soft wrinkles forming on his forehead as she grins.
“What? It’s entertaining. The squabbles back home don’t even come close to shemlen politics.”
“Ah yes,” he retorts, his voice growing cold again “I suppose there would be a lack of arguments if most dismiss any deviating external opinions.” He sees no point in hiding his disdain, after all, the best lies are told with half-truths. There is a limit to how far the person he pretended to be can deviate from his actual self.
Elgara stifles a laugh and he is once again surprised by how little she seems to take offense. It goes against everything he knew of the Dalish.
“Oh, you have no idea. We certainly didn’t lack disagreements.” She admits “But watching elves argue over ironbark or the last slice of bread just somehow wasn’t as intriguing as watching Templars trying to justify the imprisonment of all mages.”
A smile plays once again at his lips. “Understandable.”
She grins, shifting her feet. “But yes, you were right,” she admitted. “I was a spy.”
“Shocking.”
“I know.” She states enthusiastically, gesturing wildly with her arms. “First Varric found out I’m Dalish, then you deduct that I was a spy. What’s next?” She gives a small gasp and sweeps one hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell me someone will discover that I don’t worship the maker, but the creators!”
“Yes, that would indeed be highly improbable.” Solas says dryly, and briefly glances at the blood writing on her forehead, before meeting her eyes again. “But joke as you wish, posturing is necessary.” He divulges, wanting to steer the conversation away from the Evanuris. “Belief is a curious and dangerous thing. Open to interpretation and yet so opposed to questioning. There are those who will take offence regardless of your actions. But there is no need to carelessly provoke. Be cautious.”
“Well, there goes my plan of branding everyone with vallaslin.” She says jokingly and immediately, something shifts between them.
Her remark struck a nerve, something she obviously couldn’t comprehend, but he can’t hold back the harsh and sharp undertone in his reply. “What a shame.”
Elgara's body visibly tightens. He has finally gone too far. “Bearing a vallaslin is an honor, tied to a sacred ritual. None of these shemlen would comprehend it, much less endure it.” she jeers.
Yes, if you deem it an ‘honor’ to be considered a slave.
She takes a calming breath before continuing. Solas did admire her levelness. “Look, I don’t know what happened when you ‘crossed-paths’ with the Dalish, but I didn’t think you’d be so opposed to elven culture.”
In his mind he laughs bitterly, screaming. “On the contrary.” he retorts, struggling to keep his face a placid, calculated mask. “But I do have little patience for the Dalish misguided rituals.”
She huffs, which only foments him further.
“They are little more than children, acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.”
“Oh but you know the truth, right?” she snaps, crossing her arms as her nails dig into her jacket.
“As a matter of fact I do.” he states and there is something so earnest, so hurt in his expression that seems to take some of the heat out her anger.
“How?” she asks simply.
Solas face becomes distant and there is a calculated pause before he speaks, his voice calm and controlled. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields, to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” he starts “I have experienced memories no other living being has ever seen.”
He looks at her, his eyes burning with a strange intensity. “That is how I have come to a deeper understanding of elven culture. That is how I know more than the mangling details the Dalish pass on as truth.”
She stares at him, visibly baffled by what he’s just told her. “Wait, hold on. You’re saying you fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins to explore the Fade?” she asks, dumbfounded. The full meaning of what he just told her only slowly beginning to sink in.
“Yes.” he states matter-of-factly.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “How are you not dead?”
A smile plays on the corner of his lips. “Well I do set wards. And if you let food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”
Elgara laughs, the sound cutting through the brisk air. “Usually?”
“Well there where a few… minor incidents. None worthy of note.”
“Is that so?” She smirks, shaking her head.
He could feel a soft heat creeping into his cheeks.
How was she able to elicit such a response?
Why had he implied his embarrassing encounter?
But Elgara is no longer thinking about the spiders. Her face is alight with excitement, with almost childlike wonder. “But by the creators, you are actually serious. You … that’s…” she starts, struggling to find words that would do her sentiments justice, “it’s... beyond amazing!” She exclaims, her eyes widening in excitement as her mind seems to conjure up wild images. “The things you must’ve experienced! What one could learn! Did you… You could actually see… ” she does not finish the sentence, her eyes becoming distant as she loses herself in thoughts.
Solas chuckles. “I did not expect my travels of the Fade would inspire such a level of enthusiasm.”
She blinks dazedly, as if waking from a dream, her head presumably still spinning with the possibilities, and shoots him a confused look. “What did you expect?” she asks bemused and crooks her head. “You’ve just claimed that you know more of our past than us Dalish - you know, the people who have dedicated their lives to recovering what was lost - because you have actually seen and experienced ancient memories. I have spent my entire life searching for more information, more bits and pieces of our lost knowledge.” She looks at him, intently. “So how did you think I was going to react?”
He keeps his expression blank, unreadable and yet there is something in his voice that betrays him. “Mock the Flat-Ear and his stories.”
“I would never call you Flat-Ear, your ears are way too pointy for that.” she reassures with a smirk and slightly leans against the Taverns facade. “As for mocking your stories, I suppose you’ll have to share some of them with me to see my reaction.”
At this, his mouth spreads into a full-fledged smile. “I shall take that under consideration.”
She grins, pleased to have elicited such a response. It was strange to smile – genuinely smile again. It was not something he had thought to do so soon.
Solas looks at her with an expression she is unable to place. He seems deeply pensive, somehow both focused on her and not fixated at all. So for a moment, they just stand there in silence as the icy wind picks up, sending snowflakes dancing around them as his skin prickles with heat.
“I will stay then. At least until the breach has been sealed.” he finally discloses.
“Really? Are you sure you want to stay that long?”
The remark takes Solas aback. It was not as though he had expected her to jump in delight, but some form of contentment did seem appropriate. After all, he does know more about her Mark than anybody else.
She bites her lip. “That came out completely wrong.” Elgara tries to mask her embarrassment with a small laugh. “Please don’t misunderstand, I more than appreciate all that you’ve done, I really do.” she says “And you have no idea how badly I want to hear about what you have discovered of our history, but…” She steps closer, a strange, grave, intensity suddenly burning in her eyes. He resists the urge to flinch as she places a hand on his shoulder and leans towards his ear.
Solas catches a sweet, honeyed scent as she speaks, her voice almost a whisper.
“Na isala vara. Dhrua em.”
He looks at her in confusion as she steps back, her face the picture of innocence. She flashes him another smile before turning on her heel, and then he just watches as she leaves, the wind gently playing with her crimson hair. A strange, foreboding sense of dread slowly starts to build inside him, spreading through his veins like poison, casting away the warmth with its icy embrace.
Just who was this woman that had come to acquire his mark?
*Na isala vara -You need to leave. Dhrua em. - Trust me