Chapter one: Halam
Authors notes: my first fic in a while, even had to create a new account to post it. I'm gonna try to see this one through to the end. I included proper Elvhen taken from the wiki so I hope it's correct. There's a lot of memories and tense shifting so I hope it makes sense, I kinda wanted to build on the sparse bits of their romance included in the game but incorporate in other characters' grief and stuff.
Thanks for reading!
"I'm sorry, vhenan. Ar abelas, I should never have- I distracted you. Ar abelas." The bald elf whispers that last part. Looks away. His eyes focusing on the distance, anything but her.
She remembers the first time he says it.
Winter was ending, spring creeping in, but still cold enough to leave a chill in the air, cold enough that when Solas asks her to untie her hair, hair she ties up in a coiled bun like all the women of her clan, she let him. Anything to keep the chill of mountain air from her neck.
Sereha felt at ease enough with him to not uphold Dalish tradition; not as she would for the others, teaching them of her peoples' way of life. Solas did not require education, not in the same sense. She, an Elvhen Inquisitor had a duty to educate outsiders on their ways, assuage the stigma of a thousand years of oppression, spread the ways. Josephine seemed especially interested, even if for purely diplomatic reasons. Rumours could sting, for the most part Sereha ignored them, but Josephine worked hard to spread the truth, networked with Sereha. And, Sereha appreciated the chance to speak the facts.
He reached up, pulls the ribbon from it, leaves the single plait in place. It hangs in sticky, unkempt waves about her shoulders in a bob and he smiles, tells her she's beautiful. It had been a long, long week so the pair retreat to bed.
She curls up with him under the blankets, his fingers curl against her bare waist, his lips in her hair, against her ear, whispering words they, the only Elvhen who speak the tongue in Skyhold, can understand.
"Ma'arleth, emma vhenan".
Sereha smiled sleepily, turned her head, kissed his cheek.
"I know, Solas. Ma'arleth, sahlin."
"Ma serannas", his muffled response.
Her eyes, steely grey -a warriors eyes, her keeper said, before she sent Sereha away- were uncharacteristically wet, their depth now resembling less an ocean and more a story sky. Her gaze bored into him as she struggled to hold back her emotions, tried to remain quiet and strong. Her mind, however, was churning. Is this a joke? Has she been set up by Sera? Will the city elf come whooping and gambolling out to laugh at her face, finally having made amends with Solas and his quieter, gentler humour?
The young elf gulps and stares, blinking back tears, her face feels hot but her heart, her heart feels like ice.
She reaches out, touches Solas on his arm, pleading without words. Sereha is too tired to speak her mother tongue but finds, out of perhaps spite, that she would rather not just for his had done so much just for him.
"Solas, please. Solas. Solas. Ma'arlath." His name feels unreal on her tongue, like she is choking, the word -his name- stuck in her throat. She feels like she is choking.
"Ma vhenan'ara".
He only turns away, cold, distant, like the first time they spoke. And that was that.
The metal bathtubs at Skyhold were freezing, Sereha screeched as she got in. She, naked, laid bare for her fellow elf. For some reason he insisted upon bathing her, but makes no attempt to follow her into the tub despite her goading. He just smiled that dreamers' smile and motioned for her. She complied. The mage had magically heated the water and Sereha found it a fine temperature for her to bathe in, she moved her fingers in waves through the water, grateful for a reprieve from the chill.
Then, the elf dunked her head underneath for a few seconds, crunched her eyes shut and pouted theatrically in an act of holding her breath. When she came back up Solas had pulled up a chair, held a brush in his long, slender fingers. A mages fingers, adept at casting spells, at flitting through the air, at weaving sigils from nothing. He also liked plaiting her hair in the mornings, a ritual she had performed for years but was now content to let him do. He beckoned her over and she moved closer.
"I prefer you with your hair down, emma vhenan" he whispers, running the comb through her tangled locks gently, so gently. As gentle as his eyes, his smile, the way they loved each other.
Sereha was a warrior by trade, a ruthless warrior the likes of which Iron Bull admired (she, too, admired him) but when Solas came into it she melted. Perhaps, his voice, the gentle lilting accent the one thing that reminded her of home. Her inquisition were her clan nowadays, she had pledged herself to them, but she missed the Elvhen lilt, the twang, the softly rounded vowels of her mother tongue.
Solas felt like home. He felt like, in her tongue, sulahn'nehn. Joy.
"Maybe I'll wear it down more outside of the battle field. In battle it's hardly suitable I'm afraid". Sereha paused, ran a hand through her curls.
"Plus, it's traditional for my clan."
Solas watched her silently and she noted the thin irritation that lined his face. She said nothing, nor did he- she knew full well his opinions of the Dalish and had no plans on that argument tonight. Instead, she pulled him close by the neck for a kiss. He returned in kind, tangling his fingers in her hair.
She had worn her hair down today, Solas had taken her aside to have a word, and she had wanted to look nice, decent, like a proper Elvhen. She had not been able to shake the feeling that, when she looked in the mirror this morning, she missed the vallaslin. The familiar ties to her clan, that marked her a hunter, no matter the implications, had made her feel less alone. A part of something aside from the Inquisition, her own elf. She had sworn she would return to her clan, who were currently living somewhere in the Free Marches according to intel, but now...now she could not face it. Not without her markings.
Solas ended the dream, closed his mind to her, pulled her from the fade. She was crouched on the floor in his study, his area of Skyhold and his back was to her as she stood up. Sereha tried to speak but he simply motioned to the door. Of course, he wanted it to be quick, clean, painless. For the greater good, for the Inquisition. A final "ir abelas" left his lips as finally her tears came. Ugly, wracking sobs that shook her shoulders and flushed her cheeks, her eyes desperate, angry, sad. Again he points to the door, stared at the wall. He didn't know how to deal with emotion.
"Screw you, Solas" she hissed, much more anger in her voice than she felt, abandoned not only by her lover, but her own kind, an elf. The elf. Sera did not see herself as an Elf, she saw herself as a city chick, Sereha and Solas, it was always them. Her chest hurt, her heart felt cold, but with a deep breath she managed to steady herself, to stop crying, and turned.
"Its better this way, my heart." He paused then added "Suledin", quietly. A flash of anger, hot and steady, coursed through her chest, jolted her to attention, anger, anger she could work with. She balled her hands into fists by her side, digging her nails into her palms, grinding her teeth.
"Don't call me that, you liar!" She slapped the desk. "And how dare you insult me. Suledin? Don't try to make this out to be beneficial to me. This is not a tempering." She paused "just cruel, you have no heart". Her voice cracked as she spoke and she felt exposed, ugly, a raw nerve. She was angry, but she couldn't stop the tears. She cried, equally angry and sad.
"This is nothing, this is alas. Dirt." He looked taken aback, hurt almost, mouth that she had kissed so often, agape. Sereha felt satisfied, she felt cruel, she wanted to shout and scream and cry till he held her. She wanted to insult him, to kiss him, to make him feel. To bring back what was lost.
"It's better this way, Inquisitor." His back stiffened, his voice steady and calm, and she felt more anger bubbling up, more sadness, more desperation. Solas, so stoic except for when he had lost control and kissed her, Solas who only emoted properly in the Fade, Solas ever calm, ever logical, Solas able to distance himself for the greater good.
"Better for who?" She snarled, her warriors anger taking hold. Anger gave way to tears and she brought her hand to her face, hid her face "definitely not for me!" And with that, she walked out. Far above she swore she heard Dorian whistle, call down to Solas.
"You sure pick opportune times to break up with people, do you not? The eve of an important mission?"
There was no reply.
She slammed the door.
Solas turned once she was gone, whispered an ancient prayer of soothing.
"Dareth'Shiral, Inquisitor Lavellan." Then, he turned to his books, hands shaking.
A waterfall crashed upon the rocks and Sereha dipped her feet into the cool waters, wiggled her toes, listened to the sussurus of the trees. Solas padded up behind her, sat with her.
"I've something I must tell you, emma vhenan".
"Hmm, what?"
"Your face-"
She brought a hand instinctively to her face, fingers to her cheek.
"Is there something on it?"
"Yes, the vallaslin."
The elf raised an eyebrow at her lover, twisted to turn to him, a smile tugged at her mouth.
"I am aware, Solas. They have been there for years..."
"Emma vhenan this is serious. Your vallaslin, they are a lie. Your people are mistaken."
"Our people, Solas." She interjected, pulled her feet from the water to pay him full attention. Instead, she ran her fingers through the grass beside her. Always a steady motion, always fiddling.
"Your people, you think they are an ancient rite but they are not. They are a remnant of our slavery, thrust upon us. A brand". He sounds almost angry, almost condescending.
Sereha's gut wretched, her hand moved to her mouth, eyes widened.
"No, they're-they're a mark of pride, of my acceptance into the rank of the hunter."
Solas shook his head, a frown creasing his brow, anger -perhaps bitterness- flashed in his eyes as he clutched his staff.
"I have found a way to remove them. An ancient rite of undoing. Free yourself from the mark of the humans, remove all traces of their ownership." He clutched the staff hard, his knuckles white, awaiting her response.
Hers was quiet, muffled, ashamed.
"Give me time to think, Solas"
She had sat in silence for a good half hour remembering her clan, the ceremony, the burn of the ink as it had been tattooed onto her face in intricate swirls and twirls, and the pride she had felt in her heart. She was Elvhen, she had a place, she had slaughtered a black wolf, cleaved him in two with her sword, and she was a hunter. She had earned her place.
She was Elvhen. Dalish. Owned by no human. Her tattoos were remnants of her heritage, her clan, but...
She turned to Solas.
"If what you say is true, if they are truly a sign on slavery, take them."
He smiled, calmly cupped her face and kissed her nose.
"Ar lath ma".
It stung, less than a bee but more than a rashvine, and left a slight redness where the tattoos had been that Solas assured her would pass.
She gazed at her reflection in the ripples of the pool, the water kept churning, the trees kept whispering, and her reflection rippled, reflecting how she felt inside. Sereha wasn't sure she'd made the right decision, surely this was some joke of Fen'harel.
Sereha walked out, past Varric, out past Cassandra and Iron Bull to stand on the battlements, gaze out at the land around Skyhold, she took a deep breath, tears came easily and she let them. She watched the clouds, the sun, leaned on the cool stone and felt the cracks between her fingers. She knew people had stared as she stormed out, that people had heard the argument, seen her flushed face. She hoped nobody would follow her up, she had no desire to talk, just to sit there, get pished later, and sleep.
She was a fool, a rash, heart-led fool. Everything she'd done for him-
she scoffed, ran a hand through her hair, her loose hair, and realised with a pang of sadness that she had not braided her fringe today. Up on the battlements, her dark hair lazily pulling in the wind, she first tied it into the tight knot she was known for, twisting and affixing the locks with her clips and tie. Then, she set to work on the braid, breath coming slowly as she concentrated on the task, so soothing and familiar to her, a ritual for the every day that was something familiar, a touch of home.
Home.
A jolt in her stomach as she realised the breadth of what she had done. She had given up not only her vows, but her vallaslin for him, she had thought it would mean something. But, no, instead she had removed the one trace of home from her life, the one thing that marked her Lavellan. Solas had marked her inside and out, her heart hurt, and now she was naked of face. More tears came, this time for the daft daydreams she had entertained, the thought of winning this war with Solas at her side. Solas and Sereha, the elves to bring in a new era of understanding, of Elvhen pride, together. She'd hoped to return to the clan, bring her keeper an elf to be proud of. The small elf slapped the rough hewed stone, the sharp jolt to reality halting her daydreams.
Then, Sereha sighed, twisting her plait absent mindlessly up into her bun.
"Fuck", she said under her breath, glaring angrily at the distant mountains.