Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leliana,
While I detest spying upon our own, I could not help but overhear a conversation between the Herald and Solas while we were camping in the Hinterlands, and thought you might find the some of it enlightening, especially concerning her attitudes towards us humans. You might want to pass on to Josephine that, in order to secure and maintain Falkyr's assistance to the Inquisition, that we should be sure to present ourselves in a favorable light. Apparently, her prior dealings with us "shemlen" have not been pleasant ones. 
Cassandra
--------------------------------------------------------------
Falkyr: I don't mean to pry, but....what exactly *are* you anyway? I thought you were Dalish, but you don't wear the vallaslin. But you don't talk or act like one of the flat ears in the city. 
Solas: Why does it matter?
Falkyr: I...don't know. You seem to get along fine with the shem.
Solas: And you don't?
Falkyr: They did this to me. *running her fingers over the furrowed scars running across her face*
Solas: Who? Cassandra? Leliana? Somehow I don't see them being that cruel.
Falkyr: No! Of course not! It was a Templar.
Solas: Cullen then?
Falkyr: *exasperated sigh* No, not him. I don't know his name or even what he looked like. He came to our clan with several others to hunt down a city elf boy who sought shelter with the Dalish. They called him "apostate" and demanded the Keeper hand him over. He refused. My parents had hidden the boy in our aravel and bade me keep him quiet, for we were of about the same age. It did not matter, they barged in and tried to take him. When I got in their way....the one pulled out his flail and started smashing everything between him and the boy, including me. The last thing I remember was hearing the boy screaming as he was dragged away.
Solas: I'm so sorry...
Falkyr: No...don't be. I used the anger...the hate...they awoke in me. It made me strong. I needed to be, so I could take my vengeance. I prayed to Fen'Harel every day to guide my steps. 
Solas: *faint, weary smile* And did He?
Falkyr: In a sort of strange, ironic way, perhaps. For the Keeper insisted that I accompany his Second to the Conclave so that I might observe and perhaps even speak of what happened to my clan at the hands of the Templars.
Solas: And now you are here. "The Blessed Herald of Andraste", sole survivor of the Conclave and potential savior of us all, Shem and People alike.
Falkyr: The Dread Wolf has a very strange sense of humor.
Solas: That He does....

Chapter Text

“So what you’re telling me is that you want me…a Dalish elf….to walk straight into a hostile shemlen city, the seat of the Chantry, and try to convince them that I’m the chosen Herald of a shem God and their savior?!”

Falkyr Lavellan stared across the table at the trio that had been deemed her “Inner Council” incredulously. She’d been expected to accept quite a lot over the past several days: that she’d survived an explosion that had decimated the Temple of Sacred Ashes and all within it, that somehow she’d acquired a magical “mark” that allowed her to close the fade rifts that had sprung up everywhere since then, and that this somehow made her the Blessed Herald of Andraste, even though it was the fault of that particular religion that her people were treated like slaves and savages. She raked one hand through her long nut-brown hair, causing it to look even more disheveled than usual. Despite all attempts by pretty much every other female in Haven, she stubbornly refused to let them "pretty her up". Let her appearance remind them that their glorious savior was one of those "savage wild elves that live in the forest".

“I agree. It also just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.”

Falkyr stared with unabashed surprise at Cullen. Now that she hadn’t expected: support from the blond Templar….or rather, ex-Templar. Despite the fact that he had treated her thusfar with nothing but courtesy, she still kept her distance from him as much as possible ever since he first mentioned that he had been a Templar. Common sense told her that they couldn't be all like the ones who attacked her clan, but the memory kept festering like an open sore that she couldn't help but pick at.

“She has a point. They say it’s just talk, but an angry mob can do you in just as easily as a blade. This is the Chantry, and though they usually do not partake in The Game, that does not make them any less dangerous.”

A small, victorious smirk tugged at the elf’s lips as Leliana’s delicately-accented voice chimed in at her defense as well. She felt an ever-increasing affinity with the Orlesian spymaster, especially ever since the day she came across her angrily questioning her god for what had happened. Blind faith, especially among Andrastians, is what caused a goodly portion of Thedas’ problems, in Falkyr’s opinion. If only more of its followers would question and doubt like her, maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

“I will go with her”, Cassandra spoke up from beside her and her heart sunk. Of course, provide a chaperone, a shem escort, and everything would be fine. No need to be scared or angry at a lone elf, pretending to be a Maker-sent prophet, brazenly walking the shining streets of the Holy city alone. Not with a Seeker at her side. Mother Giselle’s words echoed back in her mind, “Go and show them you are no demon to be feared.” So, on one hand, she needed to be The Blessed Herald of Holy Andraste, sent out of a rift in the Fade, marked by their Maker, to save them all from the Breach in the sky. But on the other hand, she needed to be just a humble elf, no one to fear, just here to help, oh holy clerics, please don’t hurt me.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that they had stopped talking and were all looking to her expectantly. What was the last thing they said? Oh yes, Cassandra had apparently won them over, “….when we are ready, we will see this through.” So the decision had been made…for her….again. Something in her finally snapped.

“No! Damnit, I am tired of being tugged around on a leash like some flat-eared Tevinter slave! Ever since I woke up in that cell, you…all of you….have been dragging me around to do your dirty work for you! ‘Herald, close this rift. Herald, go save the town. Herald, go talk to this chantry mother. Herald, go get us horses.’ And I’m not “The Herald”! I have a bloody name! And I wasn’t sent by your bloody god! You couldn’t care less about what I want! You just want to look to me to save you from the mess you put yourselves in! And, for all I care, I wish the Breach had swallowed the whole lot of you!”

She briefly caught a glimpse of four faces all caught in various expressions of shock as she turned on her heel and strode out of the chantry into the snowy evening.

Shem, bloody shem everywhere, was all that ran through her mind as she strode through Haven. At least they were giving her a wide berth. She supposed that was one advantage to the whole “Herald of Andraste” thing: no one wanted to get in the way of an angry messenger of their god.

She stopped by the tiny house that had been given to her only long enough to grab her bow and quiver before continuing on towards the gate. She was tired of four walls closing in and stifling her. She missed the solitude and quiet of the forest. As she passed through the gate, she paused, glancing in both directions. There were patches of trees surrounding the small town and its frozen lake, but little quiet to be found. To the left, craftsmen were building a trebuchet, the sounds of saws and hammers echoing through the cool air. To the right, a few soldiers were still getting in some practice swings before the sun’s last light faded from the horizon, their weapons thwacking dully against the practice dummies or the shields of their fellows.

Her shoulders sagged as she released a despondent sigh.

“Hey, you okay?”

She didn’t even have to turn to recognize the gravelly voice of the dwarf, Varric. It figured that he was the one person who didn’t buy into the whole “Herald of Andraste” thing, and so just saw her as a person who was angry and hurting. It helped temper her frustration a little to realize this.

“Not really. I just need….some time alone.”

“No problem. Just so you know, there’s a quiet patch of forest just past the bridge over there.”

She glanced down to see where he was gesturing and nodded, “Thanks Varric.”

“No problem.” She couldn’t help but smile a little as she heard the receding crunch of his boots in the snow as he headed back through the gate into town. As the sound faded, she turned and headed towards the bridge leading out of Haven and towards the valley.
                                                                                                                                                           ~oOo~

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat, perched in the high boughs of the pine tree. A part of her registered the fact that she was cold and wet from the ever-falling snow, while another part of her basked in the relative quiet and solitude that had eluded her since she had left her clan for the Conclave. Eyes closed, she leaned against the rough bark of the tree, gaining strength from its solidity and sharp, earthy scent.

“Da’assan?”

Had she dozed off? She hadn’t heard footsteps and….no one had called her “little arrow” since she was a child. Half-expecting to find a spirit floating nearby, she cautiously peered around the thick trunk of the tree, only to find Solas standing below, looking up at her with a faintly quizzical expression writ upon his sharp features.

“Garas quenathra?” Somehow speaking in Elven to another elf brought a small amount of comfort. It almost felt like home. Also, she still wasn’t sure what to make of the elven apostate. He was neither Dalish nor flat-ear, that much was certain. He looked, spoke and acted Dalish except for the lack of vallaslin and the obvious, yet puzzling, disdain he seemed to feel for her people.

“Ir lasa ghilan.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at his response. Of course, he was here to help.

“So, who sent you? Cassandra?” It had to be the Seeker. She wanted to get this aravel moving along, so their “Herald” could try to talk the clerics out of having this new Inquisition snuffed out before it even began. It reminded her of the mother of one of her childhood friends, who was always sending her older brother out to find her whenever she ran off in a snit. She supposed Cassandra…and perhaps the rest…now saw her as some petulant, rebellious child who needed to be reined in by her fellow elf.

“No...Varric. And, do you mind if I come up? It is rather awkward trying to talk to you from down here. Especially surrounded by….all this”, his nose wrinkled in mild distaste at the nug and fennec corpses littering the base of the tree, all impaled by a single arrow each. Falkyr thought it would probably not be prudent to tell him that each one of the small bodies had a name. That particular fennec was Cassandra, the one over there was Cullen, and the little nugs were Leliana and Josephine. It wasn’t right or fair to think of them like this. They had been nothing but courteous to her….at least once they discovered she was the key to closing the rifts. But it had been cathartic to take out her frustrations on the scurrying little creatures.

Falkyr watched, mildly impressed as the elven mage nimbly scaled the tree and settled onto a branch beside hers. “You are surprised that I can also climb a tree?”

“Yes…well, I don’t know. Obviously tree-climbing isn’t the sole providence of the Dalish, but you just didn’t seem like the tree climbing type, somehow.” She hated sometimes how she never seemed to know just how to talk to him. He had this certain air of nobility, like one of the Evanuris of the stories the Keeper would tell. But, at the same time, he possessed a sort of calm, humble serenity. She just couldn’t puzzle him out and it flustered her to no end.

He chuckled quietly as he folded his hands over one drawn-up knee. Gods, he just sat there like he was sitting on a plush divan in some noble’s villa, not on a snow-covered branch 20 feet in the air. “It’s not something I have occasion to do often, but I am capable if the need arises.”

“And I suppose the need arose in the form of a petulant Dalish girl who needs to be reminded of her ‘duty’ to the Inquisition?” She could not help the thread of bitterness that tinged the words.

“Not to the Inquisition, no.”

“Then…wh…?”

“To our People. Do you not see? The humans have not shown such respect to one of us for quite some time. This is your chance to change things for the better, to make the humans take notice. They see you, a Dalish elf, as being a messenger from their god!”

“But I’m not!”

“Do you think that matters to them? They will believe what they choose to believe, regardless of any protestations you may make. In fact, your humility makes it more believable, in their eyes.”

“But I don’t want this!” She knew that she was, once again, starting to sound like a spoilt child, throwing a tantrum, but the whole idea of her being some sort of Chosen One was so overwhelming. Add to that the fact that everyone seemed to rely on her for…well, everything.

“No one truly worthy of power ever wants it. It is only those who endlessly crave it who bring about the ruination of all. Do you not think that your gods sent this power to you because you are not one to use it lightly or for ill purpose?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure they exist any more than the shems' Maker. All I asked of them was to live my life quietly in solitude and to avenge myself on the Templars who attacked my clan. Not…this…”, the last word spat out with resentment at the faintly glowing mark on her left hand.

Silence filled the air between them for a long moment, only the faintest sounds of the village wafting upon the icy wind that rustled through the trees.

“You had said before that you had prayed to Fen’Harel for guidance.” He spoke this so softly that, at first, she thought she had imagined it.

“Yes?” She frowned slightly, wondering where his words were leading. An admonition against praying to a god that most of her people saw as evil?

“Do not forget that He is considered a trickster....cunning in His ways. Perhaps He has answered your prayers…just not as you imagined it. You are only seeing the beginning of the path, not the end or where it may lead. But you know that it is a path to power, for you, for the Dalish, and perhaps all elven-kind if you, as Varric might say, play your cards right. There is so much potential for you.” She could not help but be drawn by the intensity of emotion in his words and the confidence they drew from her.

“I’m no leader.”

“Not yet, but you have plenty of people around you who can help with that. Yes, they are shemlen, but do not discount their wisdom as well. Go on their missions, take their advice, and do with it what you think is best. Because, in the end, they are looking to you to lead them. Where you lead them and how you lead them is up to you.”

They sat in silence for a long while, while Falkyr mulled over his words, before another voice wafted up through the branches.

“Hey, Chuckles, you two aren’t frozen solid up there are you?”

With a shiver of branches and shower of snow that flurried down to cover the dwarf in a mantle of white, Falkyr leapt nimbly down from the tree, followed shortly by Solas. “Not yet!” She said, smiling as Varric brushed irritably at the snow covering his clothes.

“I see you’re in a better mood”, he commented as the elves swept past him towards the gates of Haven. “And what in the world are all these dead animals all about?!”

His only answer was a burst of laughter borne on the winter wind.