#the discussions with Solas do leave me with a bad after taste

[titenoute]

About Veilguard.

So far, the feeling I get from how the lore is handled, how the characters are depicted and the fact Varric, who's NOT part of the adventure (so far at least, idk if he will later) YET is narrating the story....Reminds me of a very old headcanon that DA2's storytelling was strange and a bit over the top BECAUSE Varric was the one telling it. So yeah personally, that's how I'm going to view DAV's story. Or, if prefer a sadder take, Varric is currently dying of his wound and this is his fever dream before he dies. (Of course, this could simply be a case of 'bland storytelling' I am very aware. But a revelation happened in the game that was just....So weirdly linked to Varric and so over the top that I couldn't help but )

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Frogs and Blue Birds

Did I seriously just write this? I did, and I am THRIVING. 

Have Fane being soft, Cole being the muffin he is, and Solas nearly having a stroke. Enjoy!

Warning: References/Implied/Depictions of Child Abuse

Pairing: Solavellan (Male Lavellan/Solas)

Word count: (Shhh..)

***

“Do you know who the Inquisitor is with, Cole?”, Solas asked the spirit as they walked through the encampment, idly noticing how much more comfortable the refugees seemed to be with their minor assistance. It was comforting knowing these people had been afforded some peace after everything they had endured, even if it was fleeting.

“Yes.”, Cole responded bluntly, never pausing in his gait, even as blue eyes hazed over slightly with a wave of thoughts not the spirit’s own. “Firm hands grip my wrist. Pulling, tugging, insistent until it falls from my grasp. A boot crushes, twists as the little morsel becomes the earth. A sneer, a bitter laugh as Father slaps my already bruised cheek. ‘I’m hungry’ his stomach echoes as dead eyes stare at the abused ground before cool loneliness wraps him like a wet blanket. ‘I’m hungry..”, Cole spoke cryptically, but slowly, head down turned to watch his feet as they walked.

Solas frowned at Cole’s words. Was he talking about Fane? Or someone else?

“Who are you listening to, Cole?”, Solas asked calmly for clarification, resisting the urge to walk faster, even as the thought of Fane potentially being in trouble plagued his mind. 

Cole shook his head before coming to a complete stop by a ruined wall, peeking around the corner before looking up at Solas with somber blue eyes.

“Tall, big, scary, but somehow safe. Long legs kneel down to my height, eyes like the color of frogs that hopped along the river by our old home as they look at me. ‘The Inquisitor!’ his frightened mind cries, but memories of warnings and fear flit, flutter, fly away as a small smile forms, a large, warm hand reaching out to him, but no stinging heat comes against my cheek. Carefully, gingerly, not too fast as gentle words fill me with unknown warmth, ‘Let’s get you something to eat.’”, Cole rattled off once more, a small smile forming on his face. “He observed the hurt before I heard it, and he wanted to help.” Cole stepped away from the wall to motion for Solas. “Look.”

Solas stared at Cole for several moments before slowly going to the spot indicated by a gentle hand. Before he could peer around the edge, he heard Fane’s normally deep voice speaking in a measured, caring tone.

“Eat, child. No harm will come of it.”

“But, Father said--”, a child’s meek voice coming forth next. 

“Hush.”, a soft consoling whisper warping a normally harsh voice. “Nothing will happen from a few bites of bread and meat. You need to eat, so eat.” 

“W..What if-?”, more fear causing hesitance. 

“While I’m here, he won’t lay a finger upon you.”, a deep growl akin to how his dragon used to utter the sound piercing the still air. “So, relax and eat.”

That exchange had Solas blinking, peeking around the corner fully now to stare wide eyed at the sight displayed before him. What he saw made his heart and soul melt like sweet, sweet sugar. 

Fane was currently seated upon a half buried log, his elbows resting upon his muscles thighs as emerald eyes shone with delicate gold from where they were currently watching a small child, who was seated on the ground next to one of his calves. The child appeared to be no more than ten, perhaps eleven at the most, and from the sight of pointed ears, it was obvious the young boy was an elf. However, and his heart broke at this, the boy also appeared to be..a victim of a far too firm hand as light and dark bruises lined fair skin. Solas now understood what Cole had been speaking of before, the compassionate spirit had been listening in on the child’s pain, not Fane’s. 

“He wanted to help.”, Cole’s voice was a whisper next to him, the young man watching the display like he was with a happy spark in icy blue eyes.

Solas smiled gently as he continued to watch the child and Fane, the young boy beginning to nimble at the food before he dug into it like a person starved. All the while, Fane merely observed with a calm expression, but a sad smile as the child ate. It was a sad, but precious sight. It was a dragon doing what it was intended to do, but tempered with the spirit of mortality. It was wonderful in its bittersweet duality.

“I see..”, Solas murmured softly in response to Cole’s statement before leaning against the wall a bit more. “And do you believe he has, Cole?”

He saw Cole nod with a smile from his peripheral. “The pain is still there, but he made it less sharp with his eyes. The child likes his eyes. They remind him of frogs and daisies. He wants to know how they mixed.”

He chuckled as Cole’s usual wording. “Is that so?”, he said under his breath before continuing with a more fond tone. “I am glad to hear that. Truly.” 

It warmed Solas’s heart to know that a child could see past Fane’s outward appearance, and feel safe. No person was safer than when shielded by wings of ice and ebony, after all. 

He watched Fane gently drop another wrapped package into the boy’s lap. The child’s eyes went wide once more as they turned up to Fane’s calm, caring ones. Solas smiled even warmer as he knew exactly what was in that neatly wrapped box. He had been with Fane when the man had bought it in Val Royeaux, having made a stop there for supplies on their way to the Emerald Graves. The exchange between him and Fane had been the usual, of course.

***

“Sweet tooth bothering you, vhenan?”, he had teased Fane with a knowing smile as he had walked up to where the Elvhen dragon had just finished purchasing the source of Solas’s comment.

“Says the one who was practically salivating when we passed the first time around.”, Fane had bit back with a scoff, but a gentle smile. “But, no to your question. I just felt like buying some since we were here. Never know when a treat could come in handy. Anyway, you want one?”

“I would not be..offended if you gifted me with one.”, he had replied sheepishly, attempting to hide his more than piqued interest to the box’s contents.

“You’re seriously worse with these things than I am, you know that?”, Fane had accused, having opened the box carefully.

“Do not be ridiculous. I enjoy these as much as I enjoy most things; with reserved enthusiasm.”, he had deflected as Fane had handed him the offering.

“Don’t lie. Because I already got confirmation from your discussion with Blackwall when we were crossing the border.” He remembered the look of smugness on Fane’s face as he had called Solas out on his bluff. 

Solas had nearly dropped his gift from Fane’s words as he had tried to keep a straight face. “You were..listening to that conversation?”

“I listen to everything you guys say. Just because I don’t interact with it doesn’t mean I don’t hear it. Some of the shit you all spew is downright embarrassing.”, Fane had stated with amusement before his dragon had shut the pleasant box from his seeking eyes. “Also, you had a thing for sweets back in Arlathan, too. Usually anything with vanilla or strawberry. You’re impartial to chocolate, especially if it’s dark because the bitterness leaves a bad taste in your mouth. White is mediocre, which I don’t get because it’s like vanilla, but maybe it’s too sweet. While semisweet is the one you indulge in. Cakes are your favorite, but you do settle for something simpler if the craving is strong enough.”

“How do you--? Never mind.”, he had dismissed his own question with an exasperated sigh, knowing full well how Fane knew of his particular tastes. “You will keep this between us, yes?”

“Maybe. Haven’t decided.”, Fane had shrugged before turning from him with a grace that most would not acquaint with his size.

“Aterian.”, he had warned, having felt a bit of panic rise as Fane had begun to walk away with a dismissive flick of his hand. “A most insufferable dragon, you are. Why do I even bother?”, he had grumbled out before sighing in defeat, soon having followed after Fane to walk beside his dragon once more to continue their mandatory shopping, but not before slipping the little secret into his mouth.

***

The lightness of the memory had Solas sighing contentedly before he heard the child’s curious, awe inspired voice from beyond.

“What’s this?”, the child asked around a bit of bread he was still chewing on. 

He heard Fane chuckle fondly before a large hand came down to brush away a bit of dirt on the boy’s face, making sure to be light with his touch so as not to scare the traumatized boy. His dragon took his hand away with a saddened smile when the boy did indeed flinch involuntarily. 

“A reward.”, Fane answered the boy’s question simply, opting to keep his hands where they were now. 

“A reward? For what?”, the boy asked before beginning to unravel the package.

“For continuing to endure even when it seems to be too much. Be proud of that, child.”, Fane told the young elf, a tender smile gracing his dragon’s features.

The little boy seemed confused by Fane’s words, but that was replaced with unbridled excitement at the contents within the package. Solas felt his heart tighten with affection at the sight of such joy and innocence. 

A treat could come in handy, indeed. He thought on Fane’s words from days before with fondness. As ever, his dragon was keen, even when not meaning to be.

“This is like those cakes in Val Royeaux!”, the boy exclaimed, bouncing with excitement. 

“The very same.”, Fane said around a quiet chuckle, seeming genuinely happy for once. 

“I can really have it? These are ex..expen..sive, right?”, the child managed to get out the word with a sense of accomplishment. 

He watched Fane shake his head with a reassuring smile. “Doesn’t matter. Money has a place, but I rarely give it much thought. I buy what I like.”

“The Inquisitor likes cake?!”, an incredulous shout coming from the once meek child.

The sound of a strained, but gentle laugh had Solas’s legs nearly buckling from how lovely the sound was to him. This was too much. Too much..

“Indeed he does. That’s a secret, however. Keep it for me?”, Fane said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

The boy nodded energetically with a wide smile. “I can do that! Oh! And..M..Ma s..ser..”

“Ma serannas.”, Fane finished the Elvhen easily for the child--the sound of it nearly making Solas dissolve yet again--before motioning to his mouth. “Repeat after me. ‘Ma’”

“Ma. Ma.”, the boy reiterated diligently, even if the single syllable was a tad too harsh, seemingly determined. 

Fane shook his head gently, lowering himself onto the ground to look the child in the eyes firmly, but caringly. “Softer. Like you just let out a little sigh. Ma.”, emerald eyes watching the thinking boy patiently.

“Ma.”, the boy repeated a bit better, eyes blazing with excitement and the want for approval.

“Excellent. A natural, you are.”, Fane praised with a proud smile before he proceeded to teach the boy the next word. “Se. ran. nas. Break it apart. Feel the rhythm of the words in your head before giving them a voice.”

The child nodded with rapt attention before delicate brows furrowed in concentration. “Se..”

“Good. Next. Ran.”

“Ran..”

“Softer.”, Fane instructed patiently.

“Ran..nas..”

Fane smiled with pride, nodding with approval before holding up a finger. “Now combine them. It’ll sound a bit different. Let it flow. Ma serannas.”, the Elvhen fluid and concise as it fell. 

“Ma sera..nnas. Ma serannas. Ma serannas!”, the boy exclaimed energetically as the words finally took better form. “Did I do it?!”

“You did.”, Fane said with a single nod, chuckling as the boy continued to utter the singular phrase with pride. “Just keep at it and it’ll be second nature to you.”

Joy filled eyes turned back to Fane’s proud ones before soft wonder made the boy’s face pinch in thought. Solas tilted his head at the look. Another question it would seem?

“Where did you learn elven, Inquisitor? You’re Dalish, but Father says it’s a..dead language, even to them?”, the child asked Fane with a curiosity only a child could possess.

“Not dead. Just..forgotten. I learned some from the Dalish, but most of it was from a dear, dear friend of mine. He taught me how I just taught you, but..in a different circumstance.”, Fane explained calmly and with affection, unaware that the source of his affection was watching tenderly from afar, before chuckling, picking at his leather gloves idly. “Honestly, he’s better than me at it. I used to hate hearing it, let alone speaking it.”

The child rose up on his knees to level Fane with a petulant glare. His dragon met it with a shocked, but somewhat amused look. This couldn’t be real with how pure it was. Surely not.

“You’re plenty good! You taught me that word, right? That just shows you’re good at it!”, the child rallied behind Fane with exuberance and stubbornness. 

Fane blinked at the child’s outburst before letting out a soft laugh, motioning for the boy to seat himself back down on the ground. The boy listened to the silent request easily, but still glared up at the dragon.

Fane chuckled fondly. “Well, if you feel that strongly about it then I guess I have to agree, huh?”

“Yup!”

“Then I concede. Now, eat the rest of your food.”

“Okay!”

Solas had to look away as a feeling of warmth and affection nearly made him want to pass out from that endearing display, turning from the corner to rest his back and the back of his head against the cool stone wall. His heart couldn’t take this..this utter display of vulnerability and domesticity. It was like rays of the sun on a chilly day, their gentle heat causing him to close his eyes and slip into a calming sleep. He had never realized Fane would be good with children, but now he saw that that was an ignorant assessment. Fane would definitely be good with children with how firm, but calm he could be outside of the stress of duty and free of the rage towards a world full of corruption. He guided with a gentle, but stern hand, spoke with an even, but accepting tone, understood levels of emotions, and the effect they had upon a young, impressionable mind. He had all the makings of a--

“I think he would make a good father, too.”, Cole blurted out quietly, finishing his train of thought easily. 

Solas blanched at the spirit’s bluntness before clearing his throat harshly. Calm, calm. He couldn’t let his flustered demeanor show around anyone other than Fane. It was far too inviting for the others to latch onto. The last time such innocent, but annoying banter had occurred was when Fane had given him a short kiss before their parties had split up to survey an area. The two of them hadn’t really thought much of the complications that small display would conjure, so used to simply indulging whenever the moment took them, so suffice it to say, it had been..troublesome. 

Sera had barely survived by the end of it, Solas, perhaps, having hurled a few too many boulders the woman’s way--all accidentally, of course--when a snarky comment about ‘snogging’ or ‘elven glory’ had been made. Varric and Dorian, he had heard, had nearly been met with the same end from Fane’s great sword or boot when comments about ‘cracking Solas’s cool exterior’ had been uttered one too many times. Blackwall, when paired with Sera, had teased endlessly, even as Solas had responded with varying levels of ‘no’ until he had been ‘forced’ to summon a tiny wisp of magic to silence the Warden. Fane had mentioned that both Cassandra and Vivienne had taken turns gently lecturing the dragon about potential repercussions of their relationship to which the man had responded with ‘Your concern doesn’t concern me. Shove off.’. Bull had ‘kindly’ attempted to give him some ‘pointers’ which resulted in Solas nearly wanting to tear the Veil down right then and there before he opted on taking his frustration out on an innocent patch of foliage. The smell of burning leaves still made him gag to this day. 

Thankfully, neither Fane nor he had to deal with Mhairi as his dragon’s sister had decided to remain at Skyhold to help train some new apprentices that had arrived from a mage cell. Solas already knew how much Mhairi did not agree with their relationship, and that was mainly because of him himself. So, it had been a blessing among curses when he hadn’t had to deal with icy glares and pointed questions about intentions.

All in all, it had not been a productive day, and that had been when Fane and he had decided to be a bit more discreet and reserved with their affections when in public, but perhaps it was too late for discretion. It wasn’t that they were ashamed, per say, but having private matters treated like they were a mere joke was demeaning to the nature of their relationship--any relationship, honestly. Solas knew there was no ill will behind most of the light jabs, but it was still exasperating enough to keep their want to show affection at bay in daylight. Sadly, not everyone understood the background behind their devotion, so it was a sacrifice they had to pay for continued secrecy. However, hiding from Cole was nigh impossible when it came to those specific feelings because of how potent they were. Cole never meant harm when voicing him or Fane’s thoughts, and would stop if either of them asked. In this moment though, the spirit’s words were most welcome with how pure and understanding they were.

“I am sure he would be happy to hear that from you, Cole. There are not many people who see past his anger enough to realize that..”, he said with a somber tone as he watched Cole go back to the corner to continue watching. 

“You do. Why doesn’t everybody?”, Cole asked absently, but sadly. “Even his sister gets scared sometimes. He can see it, and it hurts him..”

“The Inquisitor and I’s situation is..complicated, Cole. It is a long, long story..”, he explained, trying to keep the will to divulge away. “And concerning Mhairi’s behaviour..”, he sighed with a shake of his head. “..that is something she and Fane must reconcile on their own. It is not our place to interfere, even though we could.”

“His father is to blame, though. It wasn’t his fault. He was only trying to protect her..”

“It is hard to explain that to someone who was made to believe it was their fault, even if they know the reason behind why they chose to subject themselves to the deed in the first place..”, an ember of anger making itself known at the thought of Fane’s asp of a father before he sighed deeply. “Again, it is a complicated matter that Fane must sort out in time. We can only continue to support him from a respectable distance, and let him know he has a place to go when it becomes too much..”

Cole looked down at his feet, frown deepening from his words before looking back up to watch Fane show the curious, happy child the Anchor. The dragon made sure to keep the child from getting too handsy with the foreign magic, but it appeared Fane was patiently answering energetic questions surrounding it, an occasional twitch of an eyebrow the only indication that the focusing of magic in abused veins was causing discomfort. Solas had to keep himself firmly rooted to the ground as the desire to calm that pain surged through him, making him clench a fist before letting it go lax.

I will release you of this burden one day, ma’isenatha. Just hold on for a while longer.. He thought sorrowfully, but placated himself with the knowledge that one day Fane would not have to endure such painful magic any longer.

“His pain is loud, even when it’s masked. Clawing, scraping, bleeding as it tries to find purchase on a shore so slippery with sand. He hides it behind anger, rage, fury because it is easier to wash away the pain with spite because tears only make it hurt more.., Cole spoke quietly, words slowing down upon the last few before a frown worked its way on a sorrowful face. “Blades cause pain, hands heal the hurt. He wants to be the hand, but a blade is always placed in it instead. He’s afraid he’d be a bad father because he never had one that cared enough to not use a blade himself. He was never taught how to guide, only how to break, to kill, to survive..”, an even deeper frown of despair marring Cole’s visage. “..His father never loved him. He only broke him.. ‘No crying, no screaming, no telling anyone’. Words upon words that leash me, even if I am no longer bound to the table..’You’re just like your father..’ Her words sting, cut, dig like the jagged knife as rage overflows. ‘I will never be like that monster!’, he cries even if he doubts his own words. ‘..Will I? Will I use the blade more than the hand?’..” 

Those words were a frigid stab to Solas’s heart with how much anguish they held. Did Fane truly believe he would make a terrible parent? It was true that Fane’s past abuse warped his nature further, breeding anger and spite, but it hadn’t warped it entirely. His dragon knew more about how to guide and educate than Solas himself did. He knew Fane would never do what his ‘father’ had done. Not in a million years. In his heart, Solas knew Fane would be the most caring of fathers. The exchanges between him and the young boy was proof of that, and this child was a stranger to the wary man. So, Fane most certainly knew how to show love and understanding unlike his monstrous father. His dragon had not deserved to be roused from slumber only to be used, tortured, and discarded like a broken tool, to have such horrible, festering insecurities such as this. Abuse was not hereditary, and for Fane to believe it was, was upsetting to him, especially since they both knew Fane was not biologically tied to the man now. But perhaps that made it worse because Fane had been lied to as well as having his caring nature betrayed with false hopes of acceptance and love. It was a sorrowful, anguished thought, but that didn’t mean Fane was incapable of succeeding where his ‘father’ had failed. If anything, his heart would thrive in the challenging role of being a parent.

“Vhenan.. Any child would be filled with joy to have you as their father. I know I would be filled with it if I witnessed such a sight as the one before me on a daily basis..”, Solas said under his breath wistfully as he gazed up at the twilight shrouded sky, taking in the soft rose golds and tints of purple as night closed in. They reminded him of Fane’s golden flecks in the morning, and how his love would sometimes point out how Solas’s eyes harbored that specific shade of purple.  

“He thinks you’d be a better one.”, Cole told him suddenly.

Solas blinked at those words, shifting his gaze downwards once more to see Cole watching him with his normal calm, but curious gaze. Fane..thought he would be a good..father? Truly?

“He does, does he?”, Solas questioned slowly, turning his gaze downwards to the verdant grass beneath his feet as doubt, but also a feeling of tender warmth cloaked his body through his clothing. “You have..heard this, I am guessing?”, shifting his gaze upwards momentarily to see if Cole was still watching him. 

Cole nodded vigorously, the brim of his hand wobbling with the effect before he stopped with a wider smile. It would seem the kindly spirit liked the memory of Fane’s thoughts. That was..reassuring, for some reason.

“Warm, soft, gentle as delicate hands soothe the ache from jagged metal without an ounce of magic, whispering soothing words that once caused bile to rise because of the memories they bore. ‘Ar lath ma’. The words a whisper, a promise, a prayer as the sky stares back at me with all the patience one could offer. Never expecting, never rushing, never forcing with a firm hand. He guides, he teaches, he cares. ‘What would he be like with a child? One with eyes like his and hair like mine? He would be perfect, caring, soft, firm. He would be happy. I want him to be happy.” A hope, a fear, another desire. ‘I cannot wish for more. I have already wished for enough. This is enough. Enough..’”, Cole finished with a wistful whisper before fixing him with a calm stare once more.

Solas could feel the air leave his lungs as Cole’s words sank into his mind, warmth beginning to spread across his cheeks from a blush born of sheepishness, but also..happiness. Fane..believed he would be a good father. What’s more, his dragon wanted a child--a child embodying them. While such a thing could never truly be, it was heartwarming enough to know Fane even thought of such tender ideas, that he cared so deeply for him that a mere dream was an aspiration. His heart felt like it was about to burst from the thought himself. Deep down, Solas had always wondered what parenthood would be like, but his path did not allow such charming dreams to take shape, but maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance when everything was..done. If he--if they survived. But those fears were for another day, even if they were always on the doorstep, waiting for entry.

“I..”, he began, but could only let out an airy chuckle as a small, but loving smile bloomed on his lips. “Thank you, Cole. I appreciate you sharing that with me. It is..warming, if nothing else.”, he told the curious spirit, slowly starting to pull away from the wall he was braced against, even as his legs shook slightly. 

“I hope it helps. He doesn’t like it when you talk about yourself badly. Just like you don’t like it when he calls himself a ‘sin’..”, Cole said with a small frown. 

“I know he doesn’t. But it is not so easy to strip away dark shadows from their hallowed corners. For either of us..”, Solas responded with a small frown of his own, familiar guilt poking at him like a tiny needle. 

“Do you love him, Solas?”, Cole asked within the next moment, jarringly so.

Solas froze at Cole’s question before sighing fondly. Cole was becoming keener and keener with each passing day, and more direct, too. He was unsure if he should fear or bask in those developments of the compassionate spirit, but for now, he would leave it be for a simple, but heavy truth. One that was not weighted down with shadows and guilt, but was pure and definite in its reverence and devotion.

“I do.”, Solas said tenderly and without shame before letting his eyes slip shut to feel the tingling sensation of warmth cascade down his body. “More than my heart can bear sometimes.”, he added before reopening his eyes to look back at Cole, motioning to the direction they had come from. “Come. Let us head back. The others will want to know where the Inquisitor is, especially Mhairi. I imagine she is beside herself with worry.” 

As much as Solas wished to stay and continue to observe, this was Fane’s moment to be himself, to embrace a side he didn’t feel safe showing any other time, and he would not spurn his dragon’s want for such gentle happiness. Not when the world already did so without restraint. No--he would let Fane rest, if only for the time being. Perhaps he would ask after the scene tonight when Fane returned, but no sooner.

“Okay.”, Cole agreed to his request easily before looking down, seeming to think about something with the way another frown worked onto his pale face.

“Cole?”, Solas asked curiously, turning the spirit more fully as concern flooded his mind. “Is something wrong? Are you in any kind of distress?”, usual worry for Cole pushing through as shrouded blue eyes turned misty with emotions and thoughts before they cleared in the next moment.

Cole looked up from where he was staring at his feet before shaking his head with a smile. “No. I was just thinking that there should be more dragons. Ones with eyes of blue birds and lavender.”

Solas blinked in shock, watching as Cole practically skipped past him with a quiet hum. What had..just happened?

“More..dragons? Blue birds and--”, he trailed off quietly before figuring out the double meaning behind those words with a dawning revelation. “O..Oh..”, he stuttered out as even more heat made him flush. 

Solas knew that Cole likely knew what Fane was, but that hadn’t been the message behind the spirit’s words. Cole was saying that he would like to see..a child--Fane’s child. With Solas’s eyes. Such a thought should not make him feel so hopeful, but yet it did in its absurdity, but pureness. This evening was full of surprises and revelations, apparently. 

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a shaky sigh before glancing back to where Fane was still currently engaging with the young boy, a wistful look in emerald as a usually indifferent face bore a calm smile. The sight of Fane gingerly summoning a wisp of silvery blue along his unmarked arm with scales reminiscent of when he was dragon, and the child clapping their hands together in awe had Solas sinking down to the ground, pressing his back against the wall once more to gently thump the back of his head a few times. He couldn’t stand, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe with how much longing sang in his heart like a flock of dusky nightingales. 

“I wish for more dragons as well, Cole.”, Solas admitted to the empty air, Cole long since wandered off before he shut his eyes once more. “However, I wish for ones with eyes like frogs and daisies..”

***

Am I crying at my own writing? Maybe. I’ll never tell! *curls up on the ground*

[scottishvix]

The One Chapter 4: The One Who Will Live On

Cullen gets to grips with this strange new girl that’s dropped into his world.

Since Tumblr seems to be making posts with external links unsearchable, if you’d prefer to read it on AO3, you can find the link to my AO3 page in the sidebar. My Tumblr masterpost is here. As of today, that masterpost will also contain the link to my Spotify playlist for this story. Read on to find out why...

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the blurriness from my vision. I should have gone to bed hours ago, but there was too much to do. We were still trying to calculate the supplies that had survived the destruction of the Temple, make a count of who had been killed in the initial explosion and who had been killed in the fighting until Lady Trevelyan–now being acclaimed by the people as the Herald of Andraste–had stabilised the Breach. And I should make a start on the letters of condolence to the families of our soldiers.

Deciding that maybe a walk would do to clear my head, I left my tent and decided to do a circuit of the town. Maybe the people would take some comfort from seeing the leadership of the Inquisition present and moving among them. I had barely come through the gates when Varric called me over.

“Curly, you met with Oracle earlier. I couldn’t get anything from the Seeker. How did it go?”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra had mentioned that Varric had taken immediately to the shy woman from another world. Having seen the way he was with Merrill in Kirkwall it didn’t surprise me. Varric seemed to be a better big brother to the misfits he gathered around him than Bartrand had ever been to him.

“I mean,” he said sounding exasperated, “is she going to be shipped off to Val Royeaux as a scapegoat for this mess? The Seeker was pretty quick to jump on her earlier and the kid’s obviously terrified.” He squinted at me. “You can’t possibly think she’s the genius behind all this.”

“Nothing’s been decided yet. We’re meeting again tomorrow.” I decided to throw him a bone. “Her story is pretty… unbelievable. But no, I don’t think she had anything to do with the destruction of the Conclave. Either she’s a very good actress, or she’s genuinely traumatised. And it hasn’t been examined yet, but the stuff she’s wearing seems to back her story up.”

Varric seemed to relax. “Good. Is her story as wild as the one people are telling around here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been a little busy to listen to gossip.” Tiredness made me sharper than I had intended, but Varric let it slide over him.

“They say that Andraste brought her from another world to sing prophecies for her.”

That floored me. “Sing prophecies for Andraste?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “That hut hasn’t been silent since the Seeker brought her back from your little interrogation. Come on.”

“It wasn’t an interrogation,” I protested. But I followed the dwarf, unable to suppress my curiosity. Approaching the cabin she and the unconscious Herald were housed in I nodded to the guards stationed there. I was about to speak to them when I heard the voice floating out the crack under the door.

“I have run through the fields of pain and sighs.

I have fought to see the other side.”

Images flooded through my head. Images of her being beaten, shouted at, threatened, and finally stabbed by a slim man with long brown hair and cold, black eyes. I wondered why hearing her sing of suffering caused me to imagine what her husband had done to her so vividly.

“I am the one, who can recount what we’ve lost.

I am the one, who will live on.”

She held the last note for a spellbinding moment before silence overtook us all. It lasted only a moment before she began again with a new tune.

“Time stood still for a while,

Your hand was holding mine.

The stars that shine in your eyes,

Don’t let them go by.”

I looked at the guards. “Has she been singing for long?” I asked.

“All night,” one answered, confirming Varric’s assertion. “Some make no sense, but several mentioned the Breach, there was one about the Grey Wardens and another about the Nightingale. They…” he hesitated. “They make us see things, Ser. Pictures in our head.”

“You see now why people are calling her the Prophet of Andraste?” Varric asked, drawing me away again. “They know she predicted we’d find the scouts alive on the mountain path and that she knew we’d be facing a pride demon at the Breach. Then they hear her singing those songs and they imagine they see things. I don’t think they’d stand for having her executed.”

“Thank you, Varric. We needed to know that.” I hesitated. Obviously I couldn’t tell him what we had discussed in the Council. But it might be useful to find out what he knew. “Cassandra mentioned that you had spent the most time with Lady McKichan on the way to and from the Temple. What did she tell you?”

Varric squinted at me. Then he seemed to decide he could trust me. “Not much. Honestly, Curly, I learned more from what she didn’t say. She was frightened and completely out of her depth. But she was used to being frightened. She spoke up when she knew something that would be helpful, but otherwise she wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible. And she seemed to expect that shouting would lead to someone hitting her.” It was as serious as I had ever seen the dwarf. “Someone has tried to beat the spirit out of that kid. And they nearly succeeded. If I didn’t know better, I would say she’d been a slave at some point.”

I nodded. “Not a slave,” I confirmed. “But she has been beaten.” I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I promise that whatever happens tomorrow I’ll make sure she’s treated gently.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “You know, you’re not half bad, Curly.”

Sister Leliana, Ambassador Montilyet, and I assembled in what Leliana insisted on calling ‘The War Room’ early the next morning. As I expected, the Nightingale had already heard the rumours being bandied about the camp naming our two prisoners the Herald and the Prophet of Andraste.

“We simply cannot accuse them of the destruction of the Conclave now. The people will not stand for it,” Josephine commented, echoing Varric’s assertion of the previous night.

“No,” Leliana agreed. “And Lady Trevelyan’s ability to close the rifts and seal the Breach itself make her irreplaceable. But we must still investigate Lady McKichan’s origins. The story she told us is fantastic but she believes it. Unless Solas’ examinations reveal something else I think we must accept it.”

“She wasn’t acting last night,” I told them. “And having seen that wound you will never convince me that she shouldn’t be dead. I can’t think of any magic strong enough to have saved her.”

“You are sure?” Josephine asked. “It couldn’t be managed by a strong spirit healer?”

I shook my head. “I have known two powerful spirit healers. Neither Wynne nor Anders would have been able to save someone with a wound like that. Even if she hadn’t bled out instantly, the damage to the heart would be too extensive.”

“Cassandra is supervising Solas’ examination of her as we speak. We will know more after.” Leliana’s certainty was final and we moved onto other urgent matters.

It was half an hour later when a soft knock on the door yielded those answers. The bald elf laid down the folded bundle of clothes and inclined his head respectfully before addressing me. “Seeker Pentaghast informed me you believed Lady Lily’s scar indicated a fatal wound?” I nodded. I may be trying to modify my opinion of mages, but open apostates still made me nervous. “You were correct. The size, angle, and depth of the scar mean the wound should undoubtedly have been fatal. I know of no magic that would have been able to act quickly enough to save her. She is a walking miracle.”

“And her clothes?” I expected the question from Leliana but it was Josephine who asked.

He shook his head. “The tunic she called a ‘jumper’ was wool and could have come from anywhere. The rest were of materials I have never seen. And while I can profess no knowledge of such matters, Lady Cassandra informed me that the… undergarments were like nothing she had ever seen.”

I was sure I flushed. Solas had begun extracting small items from the bundle and laying them on the table. “I removed these items from the pockets of her coat after leaving her. I have not asked her about any of them. I believed you would want to examine them first. Again, the materials involved are not to be found anywhere in Thedas. I believe she is telling the truth when she says she came from another world on the other side of the Veil.”

We all gazed curiously at the items before us. Leliana picked up a bright pink pouch filled with small, apparently edible bites. She nibbled the edge off one and declared it bad tasting but not poisonous. Then Josephine picked up a small cream tube the size of her thumb, removed the lid, and sniffed delicately. “Vanilla!” she exclaimed in some surprise. I could make nothing of the two differently sized rectangles, one of which had a small rope ending in coiled hooks attached, but the small red thing seemed to be an unusual kind of whistle. Pressing the button on one end of the short, thick metal tube yielded a light at the other. Doing the same with the thinner metal tube revealed a blunted point that left a smear of ink when I drew it lightly over a fingertip.

“You should perhaps also be made aware that Chancellor Roderick is outside preaching their guilt and demanding that the people help him seize them so they can be taken to Val Royeaux for trial.”

I sighed. As far as I could tell the Chancellor seemed to have been determined to cause trouble ever since the Temple exploded.

“Is anyone listening to him?” Leliana asked.

“Very few,” Solas admitted. “The Herald and the Prophet are seen as greater servants of your god. Most people seem to think the Chancellor is trying to test their faith.”

“Good luck to him with that,” I muttered.

Leliana glared at me before turning back to the mage. “There is one more thing. Cassandra told me you mentioned Lady McKichan’s connection to the Fade was in some way unusual. Can you explain that?”

He shook his head. “She is connected to the Fade, for all she claims it does not exist in her world. Perhaps the Veil is thicker, less permeable.”

“What does that mean for us?” I asked. The safety of the people of Haven was my responsibility. If Lily’s presence put them in danger… “Is she more likely to draw demons?”

“Less likely, I would say,” the elf replied. “I cannot guess what effect it will have. Though she is not a mage she is likely to have powers that are not otherwise present here or in her own world.”

“Such as the images people see when she sings?” Josephine had been quiet for a while.

“Exactly. I do not believe she is consciously projecting them, though she could if she wanted to.”

Josephine considered. “If she could use those powers to show people what we face then she could be useful in persuading people to our cause…”

“I would still like to test this ability,” Leliana was as cautious as always. “Without experiencing it ourselves I would be reluctant to-“

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Cassandra escorted Lily into the room. She looked little better than she had last night, though the dull wool dress that had obviously been borrowed from a servant was cleaner. She was pale and her dark hair hung in slightly frizzy curtains that shadowed her face as she kept her eyes on the floor. Her posture reminded me of a woman who had lived in Honnleath when I was a child. I had once asked my mother why she never looked up. Her husband is not a kind man she had told me. It had been years before I understood what that meant.

“Good morning, my lady,” I said gently. “I trust you slept well?”

She looked up, in surprise. “Well, thank you, Commander.” The dark shadows under her grey eyes gave the lie to her words. Probably she had as little sleep as I did. But the shy smile gave a hint of the pretty woman I thought she must be when you stripped away her fears and insecurity.

Then she noticed the objects on the table. “My phone!” she cried and swept up the palm sized rectangular object. “Please let them still be on there. Please!” she muttered desperately to herself. The black emptiness that had taken up most of one side came to full life and colour beneath her fingers. She tapped and swiped them as quick as instinct in patterns that were too fast to follow. Suddenly she let out a mingled gasp of relief and grief, fingers stilling to take in what was on the object. “Tha gaol agam ort,” she murmured soft and regretful. The words had an elven lilt to them, but the sibilance and hard consonants told me they weren’t words that had ever been heard in Ferelden before.

Cassandra slid the object from the woman’s numb fingers and laid it on the table before us. The blackness had been replaced by an image that could have been a painting had it not been so lifelike. Lily was kneeling in some grass with one dog pressing itself into her side and another resting its front paws on her arm so it could stand to lick her face. She was laughing and looked so carefree. As pretty as I had thought she would be.

She reached down and touched her fingers to the dogs’ faces, whispering those strange words again. I did not need to know them to know what they meant. She loved those dogs and she grieved them. “I’m sorry,” she said softly to the table. “Bear and Mischief are… were my only family. I’ll never see them again, will I?”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Leliana softly touched Lily’s shoulder. She flinched but did not move away. “But probably not. We have more questions for you.”

She swallowed hard, still staring at the picture of her dogs. “What would you like to know?”

Solas was the one to step to the fore. “There have been some interesting phenomena around you, Lady Lily.”

“Not a lady,” she replied automatically before looking up, though I noticed she looked at everyone but the elf. “What phenomena? Not just the knowing the future?”

Solas ignored that she had ignored him. “A demonstration is needed. You know many songs, Lily?” A nod. “Can you think of one that would make no sense to us, but that brings a strong image to your head?”

“Yes. Yes, I have one.” She picked up the object she had called a phone. “You want to hear it?”

“I want you to sing it,” he replied.

“Okay,” she nodded and began to swipe and tap again. “Okay, but it’s easier with the music. It must be on here somewhere. It’s Emma’s ringtone. Ah!”

Another tap and there was noise coming from the rectangle. Music of some kind, but I was certain no one on Thedas had ever heard music like that. I couldn’t even fathom the instruments that would make such notes. Lily’s eyes closed and her head bobbed and foot tapped in time with the rhythm. She began to sing as another woman’s voice piped the same words out of the phone.

“Hang with me in my MMO,

So many places we can go-o.

You’ll never see my actual face.

Our love, our love will be in virtual space.

I’m craving to emote with you,

So many animations I can do-o.

Be anything you want me to be.

Come on, come on and share a potion with me.”

“Enough!” Cassandra’s voice sounded strained. A tap of her finger and Lily had stopped the strange music. “Who was that woman?”

“What woman?” Lily sounded confused. “The singer?”

“Describe her please, Lady Cassandra.”

“Slim, pale skin, red curling hair,” Cassandra began before Solas cut her off.

“Sister Leliana, what was she carrying?”

“A fake mage staff,” Leliana replies without hesitation. “White staff, black and gold grip, green orb at the top.”

“Commander, what was she wearing?”

I recalled the image of the woman who had been dancing in my head a moment before. “A white dress with an obscenely short skirt. A red corset over it and gold trimmings.”

Lily had been growing paler and paler. “Felicia Day? You all saw Felicia Day in her Codex costume? This?” She dropped the phone back on the table. The bottom half of the image now had strange symbols and moving writing. The top half had a picture, the most prominent part of which was the woman I had seen dancing.

“Yes,” Josephine replied. “When you sang, I could see her dancing, as if I was remembering something I had seen before.”

Lily swayed as if lightheaded. Cassandra caught her arm and guided her into a chair but it was my eyes she sought out. “Am I a mage now? I always played a mage. Is that how this works?” There was real fear in her eyes. Did she think that if she was a mage, I would harm her?

I crouched to meet her eye. “There is no magic in you, my lady. You are not a mage. This is unlike anything I have ever seen.”

Her eyes slid closed in relief. “Thank you, mo gaisgeach.” Her eyes flicked open in fright again. Whatever that last phrase had meant, it wasn’t meant to slip out. Her eyes begged me not to ask what it meant. I didn’t. She was worried enough already.

Solas interrupted whatever pleading her eyes were doing. “I believe it has something to do with the different connection your world has to the Fade. It gives you abilities which are not found here, but anyone coming from your world to Thedas would have.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, taking deep calming breaths. While Lily composed herself, Leliana dismissed Solas, though she asked him to remain close, and we were left alone with her again. She seemed calm again, but how many more shocks could she take?

Josephine seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “My lady, you know the people are calling Lady Trevelyan the ‘Herald of Andraste’?”

She smiled softly to her knees. “They’ve started that already? She’ll hate it, but it’s good for the Inquisition. The Chantry will declare you heretics. You know that, right? If they haven’t already. And I’m still not a lady. Never have been, never will be.”

“They are calling you the ‘Prophet of Andraste.’”

As predicted the result was explosive shock. “Thalla ‘s cagainn bruis! You’re not serious? Mhac na galla!” I hoped those phrases were as colourful as they sounded. “I’m not meant to be any part of this!”

“You are, whether you want to be or not.” Leliana was blunt and to the point. “You are here and the people have heard you sing and seen visions when you do. They know you have predicted things before they happen. They have decided that is who you are.”

“But it isn’t. I’m not what they think I am. I’m not a hero.” The tears were coming again. “I’m just a mouse.”

“You are more than a mouse, my lady,” I told her. “By saving the scouts on the mountain pass and warning of the pride demon, you have already helped.” I looked up at the others, met each of the women’s eyes in turn. “We are agreed that she stays? Not as a prisoner, but as a member of the Inquisition?” They all nodded. “Will you stay with us, my lady?”

Her smile was sad as she met my eyes. “I have nowhere else to go.” She made to stand and I held out my hand for her. “Tapadh leat.” She flushed. “I mean, thank you.”

Josephine was scribbling again. “We will find you some more clothes and necessaries. Are you content to continue sharing the cabin you were in last night with Lady Trevelyan?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Leliana was more interested in the business at hand. “Is there anything you can tell us now that will be of use?”

She thought. “Eve will be awake in… two days, I think. By that time, the Chantry will definitely have declared the Inquisition heretical, Chancellor Roderick will still be spewing venom and driving the Commander up the wall, and you may have received an invite for the Herald to go to the Crossroads in the Hinterlands to meet with Mother Giselle.” That seemed to give her pause. “Cach, I hope that doesn’t mean she’ll want to see me as well. The fighting there is horrific.” She shook it off. “Regardless, you will get that invite at some point, so it’s probably a good idea to send Lace Harding out to do as much scouting as she can before Eve and her team arrive.” Josephine and Leliana had both been taking notes but Leliana looked up, startled at the mention of Lead-Scout Harding. Honestly, I hadn’t even known her first name until now.

She looked around again, wary. “I said I would warn about anything that would harm innocents. So I need to let you know that Haven isn’t-“

Her words cut off abruptly and her hands clawed at her throat, as if there were invisible hands strangling her. She pitched forward and I had to dive to catch her as she fell. Cassandra lunged out the door bellowing for Solas as I lowered us to the ground. Her face was darkening and her lips turning blue. Solas was at my side, pale green light flowing from his hands. “She is being magically silenced.” The elf seemed to have lost some of his composure, the words coming out frantic. “This is too powerful; I can’t counter it.” Suddenly her throat was released and she let out a hoarse rasping gasp.

I could only hold her as she wheezed and coughed, clutching at my arm as if it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

“Lie still, Lily.” Solas had regained his calm, and his voice was soothing. “I’m going to try and take the pain away.” She nodded, lying as still as she could while her chest heaved to draw in as much air as possible. He held his hands up near her throat and she flinched. Solas paused. “I promise I will not hurt you.” She nodded again. I could feel the push and pull of his magic as the healing flowed into her, watched as her breathing eased and became less hoarse sounding.

When Solas stood, he addressed the whole room. “I assume Lady Lily was attempting to impart some sort of information or warning?” At Leliana’s inclined head he continued. “Someone, I assume whoever brought her here, does not want her to give you that information. This was not a true attempt on her life, but a warning. I would not pursue this line of questioning.”

“Why that?” I could feel her trembling and her voice was weak, but it was enough to have Solas turn. “I was able to give plenty of other information. Why that one thing that could save so many lives?”

“I do not know. But I would not risk trying to speak of it again.”

She nodded again and gave a small smile as she sat up. “Ma serannas, Solas.”

I hadn’t seen him look so startled before. “You speak Elvhen?”

Lily looked a little stronger now. “A few words and phrases. I’m good at picking up languages.” She gave a small smile. “Usually the curses or terms of endearment, but it’s only polite to thank you in your own tongue.”

Solas nodded and returned the smile. “You are welcome, Lily.” He looked up as I helped Lily to her feet again. “I would advise she is allowed to rest.”

The meeting broke up then, Cassandra again escorting Lily back to her new quarters. I couldn’t help but wonder how she would fit into life in Haven. She was so fragile, timid. Even thanking him she hadn’t been able to meet Solas’ eyes. But there was a strength and determination there, too. She wanted to help. And what warning was she so upset about not being able to give?

Tha gaol agam ort - I love you

mo gaisgeach - my hero

Thalla ‘s cagainn bruis - Away and chew a brush (STFU and clean your mouth out)

Tapadh leat - Thank you

Cach - Shit

[juniper-tree]

Wind and flame, 2 - Rooting

Rating: this chapter is rated G for general audiences & gardening, but the full work is rated Explicit

Dragon Age: Inquisition - Cullen x Female Lavellan

Link to AO3 - thanks for reading!

Summary: Inquisitor Finn Lavellan takes some time to herself in the courtyard garden, reflecting on her attraction to a certain human military commander, and all the reasons why—despite what her mind and body want to tell her—it just isn't a good idea.  Solas enjoys the garden, too, as well as some weighty discussion with Finn.

**

Late day sun slanted into the courtyard garden and the surrounding stone walls seemed to echo the light, casting a dusky glow in one corner, a sharp, glaring beam in another.  The garden had good light for much of the day, unlike the Skyhold thoroughfares, dim even at midday, with muddy, puddled ground which never seemed to dry.  Finn had made time today to look over the garden, even scheduled it with Josephine, who insisted that Adan and Elan were more than capable of anything garden-related, and wouldn't it be preferable to instead prepare for her dinner with the new Arlessa of Edgehall?  Finn politely requested some time alone now, so she might be prevented from screaming for it later.  Josephine relented.

And here, though the courtyard was a popular spot, she was mostly left alone.  She could crawl around in the beds, plucking ripe berries here or a green shoot there, tasting, sniffing, hands in the dirt.  She wasn't sure what it said about her that she felt most like herself truffling behind a bush like a wild nug.

Though it was probably not the image of the Inquisitor that made it into the recruiting pamphlets, no one here seemed to make much of her on hands and knees, digging, planting, scraping out seeds, sampling leaves.  She was sure most chalked it up to her being Dalish.  Gardening is a typical enough hobby, but her style was not the gloved, tool-laden, decorative sort.  This was a working garden, and though it was beautiful, it was meant to produce, to be used.  It was also her goal to keep it as wild as possible.  No elegantly pruned bushes or neat little beds of flowers that fit just so.  Leggy wildflowers leaned into the narrow dirt paths, fruit-laden vines worked their way into and around and through the stone walls, and the whole courtyard buzzed with life.

She relished being able to see the progression of the plants, day to day, or week to week, if she could stay at Skyhold that long.  In the past, she'd left her gardens behind, only an occasional visitor.  Clans traveled by nature, and by necessity, but many had their set routes.  Clan Lavellan typically followed a path which, if mapped, would look like a lumpy figure eight, circling the rural settlements of the east Free Marches, sometimes dipping into the shoreline cities.  They had marked valleys and stone-wrapped glens which were good places to settle for a few months, usually empty, with clean water and large enough to house them for a while.  Finn had her own map, marking their herb stores along the route, where wild fruit and herbs were best foraged and encouraged, and the gardens they planted, then left.  Later, the clan would harvest from an earlier planting, at another point on the route.  That the crop bounty could be taken by anyone who found it, beast or human—well, that was part of the point.  They took with them what they needed and the rest was free.  They didn't count on needing what they couldn't carry.  When they returned, they used what was still there and planted again.

So with just one garden, Finn was making the most of it.  She'd considered taking advantage of the light on the stairways and battlements—no obstructions there, just full sun, and even if the wind was chilly there were plenty of herbs that could take it—but she thought they'd better remain unobstructed.  For military purposes.  Certainly the Commander would probably prefer they remain clear of overflowing herb pots.

The thought of him stopped her midway through knocking clumps of reddish clay from a tangled root ball.  Outside their war room discussions, she hadn't spoken with Commander Cullen in a few weeks.  Not since she'd visited him that night with herbs, and wine, to suss out what was the reason for his headaches.  And other intentions slightly beyond her role as a healer.

Once she found him there, tired and harried, no end in sight to his long day, she'd thought to stay longer, to share the wine with him.  To perhaps see his pale cheeks flush, maybe get a genuine, hearty laugh out of him.  Maybe more.

But as they talked, she grew nervous, hesitant.  More than once since this whole thing began, she'd wanted to make her feelings... more obvious.  She'd been intrigued with him since the first time he smiled at her in that dusty chantry back room in Haven.  Put plainly, she wanted him, in a way she'd never wanted anyone before.  She genuinely hoped she wasn't as expressive as she feared, because every time she had a chance to just look at him, it stirred something in her.  Something fiery, without reason, that she feared she couldn't control.

Frustrated, she slapped her hand hard against the root ball she held.  Dusty soil freed itself from the roots in a cloud, making her cough.

Thenel had stressed to her, in the early days of her apprenticeship, that to be a healer, you had to look at people with detachment.  Finn had been a healer now for almost fifteen years, totaling up her apprenticeship under Thenel, the clan healer, and working alongside him now.  He was the age her father might have been.  He was handsome and strong, and dedicated.  And in those early days, she found herself distracted by him, in ways that had nothing to do with her education.

Once she had journeyed with him to another clan, for a healer's trade, to share herbs and salves.  Their trip wasn't very long—a few days' trek south to a valley where Clan Sabrae was camped.  The second night grew suddenly cold, and they huddled together around their fire.

As he held her near, she had a sudden fit of nerves, and her face reddened.  "Are you so cold, da'len?" he asked gruffly.  He could obviously feel her shaking.

She looked up at him, his face so close.  "No, I'm all right," she said, looking into his eyes, hoping for something to shift between them.

He studied her for a moment, seemed to map her face.  Then his eyes hardened with amusement.  "You look as if you want me to kiss you," he said, laughing.  The blood drained from her face, and he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I helped deliver you, you know," he said, warmly, "back when I was the apprentice.  Just after, you got this terrible rash on your bottom.  Your mother had to salve it every day, and I had to examine you.  Thoroughly."

She sat stone silent, wishing she could fall asleep and pretend this conversation never happened.  But Thenel had pressed on.  "This is actually a valuable lesson for you, Little Finn.  As a healer, you deal with people differently. You can't always choose the type of relationship you have with them," he said.  "Once you've studied the way bodies work and how to mend them, you see things with a different eye.  It's not always pleasant.  For example, when I see you, sometimes I can only think about your puffy, red baby backside."

"Oh, creators," she had sighed, and covered her face with her hands.

But he was right.  He was always right.  And she made great strides in her detachment.  Though it may have been detrimental to her personal life, she knew she'd made the right choice to walk Vir Atish'an.  To help those who needed it.  She didn't yet know what was ailing Cullen, but she knew he needed her help more than her desire.

Of course, there was also the matter of him being human.

Lavellan was a large clan, near a hundred elves traveling together.  That made them an unmissable target if you were looking for one, which forced the clan to contend with humans on a more regular basis than most of the other Dalish.  They traded with them, offered their services and sometimes worked in settlements and even cities, if it struck them as beneficial.

There had been some flirtations among the younger, unbound ones and the human merchants.  They'd been snuffed out.  Not forcefully, but firmly.  A Bad Idea.  The old saws repeated themselves.  They don't respect us.  They'll just use you.  The children won't even look elvhen.  Finn accepted this without much question.  Her dealings with humans had been absolutely neutral.  After the Conclave, when she really had no choice but to stay and deal with this... thing, and this strange power inside her, the humans she got to know were friendly.  Moral.  Good.  Sincere.  She liked them.  But no human had ever made her feel the way Cullen did.    

Talking with him, those long distracting, conversations they'd had crunching through the hard snow at Haven, she'd wanted to dig into his mind, his past, find the thing she knew she would find, get him to say the thing she knew he would say, that would make her dislike him.  Something about elves, something about his religion, or hers, something just so utterly, obliviously human that she could say to herself, There you go, Finn, now move on and stop thinking about the pretty human.   It never happened.

She asked and asked, more personal—more intrusive, really—than she'd been with anyone else in this Inquisition.  There wasn't much he wouldn't answer, he opened himself to nearly anything she asked.  But when her questions turned to the Blight, he closed up and pulled away, grew small, as though the mere idea was like an animal who'd bitten him, and he was wary.  She didn't press, but whatever it was made her want to comfort him like a hurt child.  Then she would see him leading a drill, sweat beading on his brow and near that scar on his lip, and she wanted other things.

Finn had always been thankful for her coolness, her ability to stay detached. That she'd reached 33 years without a serious attachment was, undoubtedly, a consequence of that.  But Cullen was testing it.  She wanted to be icy around him, but instead she was dry kindling to his fire.  She had to admit, he'd done nothing to stoke that flame.  Nothing but be himself.  Unfortunately, that was all it took.

What he had done is be gentle.  She had more than an inkling that he shared at least some of her thoughts about the two of them.  Thank the creators, he’d never acted on them.  He wasn't cool or detached, his feelings were often plain to see, but he could control himself.  Seeing him react to her, and then pull back, close up, made her want to do the same.  For both their sakes.  She just wasn't sure how long she could match his composure.    

A shadow settled above her, shading her work.  "Lethallan," a soft voice said.

Turning on her knees, she found Solas standing in her light.  She blinked up at him.  "Lethallin," she replied.  She clapped the dirt from her hands and, removing the scarf from her neck, wiped the sweat from her forehead.  Shaking thoughts of the Commander from her mind, she smiled up at him.  "And what are you up to this afternoon?"

Solas held his hands behind his back, observing the surroundings, eyes narrowed in the bright sun, his pale skin shining.  He smiled back.  "Enjoying the garden, like everyone else."  He brought his hands up to shade his eyes and moved toward a bench near the bed where Finn was digging.  "The work you and the apothecaries have done here is marvelous."  He sat, lowering himself into the shade.

"Thank you."  The constant visitors made it obvious that this was a well-loved part of their odd mountain fortress, but it was still nice to hear.

"What is this plant you're engrossed in?" he asked.

"Mountain heaven."  She plucked a ruffled purple flower from the shrub and handed it to him.  "The leaves make a lovely sweet tea.  Would you like some?"

He shook his head, grimacing.  "No, thank you, I do not care for tea."

She gave him a disgusted frown, a look she'd picked up from Cassandra.

He sighed, bringing the flower to his nose and closing his eyes as he sniffed.  "May I enjoy simply being around these plants, and forego ingesting them?"

"I suppose," she said, turning back to her plant, brushing loose dirt from a shallow root.

He sat quietly, stroking the soft leaves of a low patch of wild grass, seemingly content to stay despite her judgment.  She liked Solas, though they butted heads on almost every issue, from something as innocuous as tea to what he thought of her Dalish culture.  She sensed he liked her as well.  She was often the only person willing to entertain his stories of the Fade, something that genuinely interested her, having no magical abilities herself.  And she was intrigued that he, an apostate, and an elf, was so comfortable around humans.  She could only imagine that in his shoes she'd have crawled into the nearest hole to hide.  But he volunteered himself, had become invaluable.  She considered him very brave.

Finn carefully picked at the dirt surrounding the roots and began easing them up from the ground, readying to cut them for propagation.  She glanced at Solas, sitting quietly in an easy meditation.  "I have an odd question for you, Solas," she said.

"From you, those are my favorite kind," he said warmly.

"When you meet spirits in the Fade," she began, "the ones you get to know, I mean... are they human?"

"They are spirits," he answered, slightly confused.

"I mean, do they appear to you as human?  Like Cole?  Or as an elf, perhaps, because you're an elf?"

He looked into the distance.  "They have various guises.  Some are completely formless, only something I can sense, while others are very much a recognizable shape.  Many appear as human or elf.  I'm not positive they take my form into consideration when they choose theirs."  He turned to her.  "But it's an interesting idea."

"Which do you prefer?"

He narrowed his eyes, trying to head off her train of thought.  He did that, often moving far ahead of anywhere she intended to go.  "I have no preference."

She thought for a moment, trying herself to understand what she was asking, why she was asking it.  She turned back to her shrub roots.  "I know you don't see yourself as elvhen, so to speak, though I can't really see why, I must admit," she trailed off, almost talking to herself.  Her fingers wrapped under a tightly bound root, snapping little shoots away from the ground.  "Do you have any issue with humans?"

She didn't look up but heard him laugh softly to himself.  "Not really.  I know the Dalish seem to resent them, as some reminder of what was stolen from them, their ancient heritage," he said in a mock-serious tone.  Despite herself she had to admit that sounded a bit like her Keeper.  "But--" he began, and stopped his thought from finishing aloud.  "But that can't be the whole truth.  So to answer what you didn't ask, I see the Dalish fears about humans as silly propaganda."

Glancing toward him, she saw him spinning the flower in his hand while he looked at her, his eyes challenging her to argue.  She accepted.  "What about elves in the alienages?  Do you think they're silly to fear humans?"  Under the bush she snapped more rootlings from the ground, ripping up a long dark string.  "You know we Dalish do deal with humans regularly.  We don't just sit in the woods weaving baskets or whatever people seem to think."

"I think there's reason to fear anyone who threatens you, or has harmed you.  But there's even better reason to find a path which breaks the hold that fear has placed on you."

"What do you mean, break the hold?  An elf uprising?" she asked, grinning.  "That doesn't sound like you."

He shook his head, looking past her at the garden.  "I cannot say.  Only that I, like anyone else, see the problem, but not yet the solution."  He turned to her.  "Perhaps Andraste's Herald could help to alleviate some of these tensions," he said with a mischievous smirk.

She gave him what she hoped was a withering look.  "Surely you, of all the people here, aren't going to make me a prophetess for a god I don't even follow?"

"And what god do you follow?"  He leaned back, arms crossed.

"None," she shrugged.

"Ah.  But is that not the mark of Sylaise upon you?"

She wiped her hands on her breeches.  "I can't speak for any other Dalish, as much as you want me to," she said, and he smiled at that.  "But I've never been religious about the creators.  It's cultural.  I don't worship them.  I don't pray to them.  I don't know that they exist or ever did.  They're a pretty metaphor to explain how we choose to live."  She felt her heart beat a bit faster, realizing she'd never quite said this aloud to anyone.

Solas nodded.  "An intriguing answer.  You've surprised me."

She rolled her eyes, not sure if he ever knew how condescending he sounded.  But she wasn't offended, just a good-natured annoyance.  It felt... familial.  It reminded her of home, of her clan.  "Since you seem to know everything," she teased, "I'll take that as a compliment."

He laughed.  "Well, I do know this.  You are most drawn to what you can feel, and smell, and hold in your hands.  What you directly experience.  But there is more out there, if you are willing to look."

Finn was quiet, conceding his point on both counts.

He stood up into the sunlight, holding the flower, reaching for the bush.  "Do you mind if I take another?" he asked.  "This color is fascinating.  I'd like to try to replicate it in paint."

"Of course not, as long as you show me your results."

"Naturally," he said.

She sat back on her feet.  "What about you?" she asked, looking up at him.  The low sun glinted off his head and shined through the tips of his ears, glowing them red.  "Has your Fade walking made you too jaded to believe in gods?"

He squinted into the sun.  "Perhaps?  I'm not much interested in gods."

"You not interested in something?  Now you've surprised me."

He shook his head, laughing.  "I am like you," he said.  "I am interested in what I experience, though my experiences are quite different.  And if I meet a god, you will be the first to know."

She sighed.  He was impossible.

"I meant it earlier, about Andraste's Herald," he said.  "It could be a very good thing."

She blinked, her mind reeling a bit at hearing that again.  "Commander Cullen told me the exact same thing," she said.

His eyebrows raised.  "And that is also intriguing," he said, smiling slowly, clearly thinking.  "He is a man of great faith.  Perhaps he can see the larger hand in this."

Now she really was surprised.  "You mean the Maker?"

"I'm always open to new ideas.  So should you be."  He sniffed his flowers and just slightly bowed to her, smiling.  "Good afternoon, Inquisitor."

When he left, she found herself alone with her thoughts again.  Thoughts of the Commander, as had been her thoughts when Solas arrived.  She was annoyed at her own mind for circling back around to a distraction, as opposed to the league of Thedas-shattering problems before her.  Perhaps time alone was not what she needed, after all.  She left the garden and headed for her room, to clean up and find Josephine, to prepare for that Arlessa.  To get back to work.

Chapter 3: Curling up  ➳

[soltheshiny]

The Incident at Adamant

Snow pattered against the window pane. Fat flakes shining briefly beautifully white before melting. Streaks of water running down the patterned pane. Beyond the lead lined diamonds of glass the distant sky was dark and grey. Misted with white as the snowstorm raged outside. In his favourite high backed chair the room was warm. An unfamiliar cosy warm that dragged at his eyes. Comforting and drowsy. It was a sensation he was entirely unfamiliar with. In the wide streets and foreboding architecture of home the heat was dry and settled across your skin. His parents expensive estates all designed to be wide and cool. A respite from the constant heat he adored. In distant Tevinter heat was the constant and the cool shade of inside the relief. In the south however the opposite was true. The biting cold he had never really experienced outside of harsh desert nights was almost constant. The snow replacing the sands. Here the cosy bone deep warmth of the fire the relief to be relished. He found himself snuggling deeper into the chair. His legs thrown lazily across the arm as he sipped some cheap Fereldan vintage he’d found in the Inquisitors rooms. A bottle they had been going to share before settling down for the night. He recalled there plans being interrupted as they often were by some urgent missive from some far away town he did not recognise the name of. He sighed. It had briefly hurt to open it without him. But his own wines and the better vintages The Herald’s Rest had recently required held no pleasure for him tonight. It was a night for bitter, cheap wine. Easily discarded and hard to swallow. Just like the news he had received.

He shot the window a grimacing smile. Scolding himself for his wasted self pity. None of this was going to bring him back. Not the cheap wine they were meant to have shared. Not feeling sorry for himself and certainly not staring into the night doing nothing. He grabbed the book he had been failing to read from his lap and threw it onto the side table. Cursing quietly in his mother tongue at his own inability to do anything. He just had sit and wait. It was all he could do now. It hurt. Rubbing his brow he sighed heavily and adjusted his position. His legs beginning to ache. It had been another long day of meetings and discussions. As Leliana had been quick to point out, the Inquisition could not grind to a halt just because of the incident at Adamant. He found himself gritting his teeth and taking a deep draught of the bitter wine. Adding to the sour taste in his mouth. It was all anyone would refer to it as. The ‘Incident at Adamant’. Distantly he could hear Solas pacing. The only other presence in the tower this late in the night. The many other members of the inquisition long since retiring. As he held his arms and adjusted the wine glass he listened. Mostly for something to do to distract himself. But he found himself caught in the moment. The deep silence and warmth of the late night disturbed here and there by the birds above. A slight shift or chatter from the crows in there cages. A rustle from the room below as Solas poured through old tomes. Attempting to find a way to locate Trevelyan. A memory forced its way into his mind. A wide childish grin and deep amber eyes gazing into his own.

“Call me Max, Dorian. Unless you prefer to be formal Altus of the Imperium, Dorian Pavus?”

He closed his eyes and bit down on a long stream of curses. He already seemed to be consigning him to death. But all he had was the same information from a myriad of scattered reports. At the very top of Adamant, the Inquisitor faced down Corypheus’ pet. After a brief struggle involving Warden Commander Clarel which led to her death the structure collapsed. Casting Max, Blackwall, Iron Bull and Varric into the abyss below with the dragon. The dragon or Archedemon or whatever Corypheus’ pet actually was had been sighted after. Flying back to its foul master. But the no trace had been found of the others. There was only a brief report from a Warden scout on the battlements. Claiming a green light had burst into life beneath the falling Inquisitor and they had disappeared into it. He took another sip. Shaking his head to free himself from the same circular thinking. It had been a week. Wincing he stretched and sat upright. Hearing as he did sure footsteps below. He paused. Listening in as the familiar tones of Cassandra echoed up to him. Her and Solas conversed briefly. Awkwardly. He couldn’t make out the substance of the discussion. But he didn’t need to. He could hear in there tone the awkward and slightly begrudging manner they addressed each other. He straightened and stared past the bannisters to the room below. Glaring at the warm light filtering up into the darkened library. The only other light a soft candle burning near him. Daring the seeker to disturb him. As he willed her to leave he heard Solas loudly bid the Seeker goodnight. There was a heavy pause as a door swung shut. Then heavy footsteps on the stairs. He cussed and stretched. Rolling his shoulders as he prepared for the Seeker nose being poked into his business. He reclined as he awaited Cassandra. He may feel like curling up and abandoning the day. But by Andraste’s tits he was not allowing anyone else to know that. He still had his pride. Cassandra stalked from the stairway with purpose. Her dark eyes falling on him as she approached. Marching to a halt she inclined her head, curt as ever.

“Good evening, Dorian” She said gently. Her rolling accent disturbing the deep silence.

“At this point I do believe we are closer to the morning Cassandra” He responded dryly.

She sighed heavily and gestured towards the chair beside him. A plainer affair than his own.

“May I sit?”

“Do I get a choice?” He snapped a little harsher than he meant.

She threw him an aggrieved look and sat in the chair. Staring intently at him as they both paused. Waiting for the other to begin. Finally she caved.

“I just...” She said, groping for the rest of her sentence. “wanted to see how you were. I know the Inquisitor and you were… close”

“Close?” He said sitting upright and fixing her with a glare. “Is that what we’re calling it? I didn’t realise that because of a single ‘incident’ as you all refer to it, my relationship with Max had been downgraded. You know full well that we were more than ‘close’ Cassandra. Now if you came her to lecture me get it over with”

Cassandra recoiled from the force of his wrath and he immediately regretted opening his mouth. He didn’t usually approve of discussing his and the Inquisitors relationship. But he was sick of the tip toeing. The pitying looks and whispers as he passed. Not being able to do anything was bad enough without having to put up with that as well. He watched as she wrung her hands in front of her. Staring awkwardly at her own hands A thing she did when she needed to express something honest with deep felt emotion at the root of it. She had always been awkward at exposing her emotional underbelly. It was a side of her Max had seemed expert at prying out. The deep emotional creature lurking beneath the steely shell she constantly wore.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to offend. I know you and the Inquisitor were… together.” She said the sentence haltingly. Biting into each word as if viciously considering the next for any trace of deviance. “I thought I should check on how you were doing and pass along this”

He would have bitten at her for her bad attempt at babying him if he she hadn’t of peaked his curiosity. Intrigued he watched as she reached for her belt and pried a letter free from the leather. Carefully she extended the heavy envelope towards him. Eyeing him warily. Foreboding filled him as he placed his wineglass on the side and took it. With her eyes open him he opened the envelope. Noting the seal had already been broken with some annoyance and withdrawing the letter within. As he did he felt something heavy within the envelope. Pausing he withdrew an item sealed within. He studied it distantly as he smoothed the letter on his knee. His curiosity and grief deepening. The item was a small silver ring depicting the sunburst symbol of the chantry. He frowned at it and set to reading. Seeking answers from the paper in his lap.

Dear Seeker Pentaghast,

I thank you for your letter. Although we have not had contact with my son in many years we still grieve for him. It is a comfort to know the Inquisition still hold hope for his safe return. Though I fear this may be a false hope, I pray to the Maker I am wrong.

If you could send word with any news we would be grateful. Should the Inquisition require any aid in the search please contact me directly. Any aid House Trevelyan can provide to locate Maxwell, or aid the Inquisition in over matters will be granted if we are able.

I have heard tell that my son has found a suitor amongst the Inquisition ranks. Though I cannot be certain and am displeased my son never contacted us if this is true; I attach the following for his suitor. Maxwell passed this ring on to his younger brother before the conclave for safe keeping. He had not contacted us for its return and we assumed he wished it kept within the family until he was certain he could once more keep it safe.

He commissioned it to commemorate him leaving our home to begin his service amongst the Ostwick Chantry. It has always held a lot of importance to him and considering the circumstances we believed his suitor, whomever they be may appreciate it as a reminder.

Awaiting your word,

Bann Trevelyan

He gripped the ring tight in his free hand and couldn’t help but let his lip curl. He had known that Max had also had bad blood between him and his family. His amatus briefly mentioning just a few of there behaviours that made him embrace the Chantry with great relief. But he had never gone into great detail. But now he didn’t need to. The letter laid out pretty clearly would kind of people they were. Not to mention striking some disturbingly familiar chords. He growled in the letters general direction and retrieved his wine. Taking another deep swig as he turned the ring in his fingers. Reclining once more he noticed Cassandra’s eyes on him. The seeker eyeing him distantly. Her expression betraying nothing.

“So tell me Cassandra” He said fighting back the vitriol in his heart. “What are your opinions on this letter and the great Bann Trevelyan?”

Cassandra straightened and steepled her fingers. Staring at them for a long time before breaking her silence.

“I believe I understand now why the Inquisitor did not have contact with them.” A short bark of bitter laughter escaped him and echoed in the lofty chambers. Shattering the warmth of the room and making him take another drink.

“I think they have certainly made there thoughts clear. Why is it that so many families these days seem more concerned about whether or not there offspring has managed to secure a marriage. Than whether or not that offspring continues to breathe?” He said thinning his eyes at the ring.

With a deep sigh he slipped it onto a finger and held his hand to the candle light. Twisting his fingers this way and that to make the light dance across the metalwork.

“I could not say” Cassandra said distantly. “Marriage is a concept I have hotly debated with my own family for many years. I can say I still do not understand the obsession. Nor do I wish to”

He rose and she looked up sharply at him as he stretched. Allowing the letter to fall abandoned on the floor. As she reached to retrieve it he paced forward and snuffed out the candle.

“On that note I am retiring to my bed” He said.

He did not wait for a response but stalked off before she could follow. Leaving the Seeker to the dark enclosing hush of the library. As he paced into the main hall and eyed the distant throne, careful not to spill his wine he paused. His eyes falling on the door the left of the giant throne. A huge piece worked into the likeness of Andraste being burned. A tad melodramatic for his taste but it was certainly striking. He found himself walking towards the door. His feet taking him on a familiar path without his input. Guiding him of their own accord. Numb he pushed the door open and strolled up the wooden staircase beyond. Each footstep heavy. Each tread echoing hollowly in the large tower as he followed the winding staircase. He reached the top and stared distantly around the room. Undisturbed except for the stolen wine.The windows were closed and the curtains drawn. The darkness stifling as he flicked his hand towards the fireplace. It flared into life. Warm light thrown across the plush carpets. The light soaking into the fine white silks of the Orlesian bed. The fire threw heavy shadows across the room and for a moment, if he squinted his eyes he could picture him. There at his desk in the heavy shadows of the chair. Head bent as he wrote as he had often watched him doing before. Quill scratching as he wrote another report or letter to some incredibly important foreign figure neither of them had heard of. He paced forward and felt the emptiness of the room. Heard his footsteps echo. Dampened only slightly by the rugs. His eyes fell on the painting high on the wall above and behind the bed. The stone owls staring down from the ceiling. His eyes wandered as if it was his first time seeing the room. Or perhaps the last.Tears prickled in his eyes. Even if Max’s family had abandoned hope he would not. Even if the Inquisition gave up on him he would not. Until he was presented with a cold corpse he would not believe his amatus was gone. Could not believe it. He finished his drink with a single swig and placed the empty glass on the desk. As he had done many times before. Remembering him scolding his love for leaving him alone in the bed. Now alone with an empty glass. He smiled ruefully at the memory and paced round the desk towards the bed.Finding himself sinking onto his side. Collapsing and letting the mattress rush up to embrace him as his chest grew heavier. Before he could stop himself he nuzzled forward and caught the indescribable scent of his love. It clung to his sheets and pillow. Though faded now he could still smell it.

Grief consumed him. With a broken heart he clutched the pillow and sobbed himself to sleep.