Even with just sealing it, the Breach bled into Lavellan's dreams. When she blinked her eyes open, she thought she could still see green.
"You're awake," an unfamiliar feminine voice lilted. "Good."
Lavellan sat up quickly, groaning as her head spun. She reached a hand up and brushed her ebony locks out of her eyes, noting that they were damp with sweat. As her gaze focused, a small cabin room swam into view bits and pieces at a time: a torch flickering on the wall, a raven (in a cage?), pelts hanging uselessly on the wall rather than being fashioned into something utilitarian, pots and crates and even a gold-trimmed chest scattered about the floor. Creators, the impracticality and waste screamed human.
Seated at a writing desk in the corner of the room was a shemlen woman. Her dark auburn hair, tied back in a loose ponytail, framed a pale face and strong jaw. Honey-brown eyes watched Lavellan intently, and at the scrutiny Lavellan bristled.
"Is this another prison?" she asked, suspicious. It didn't look like one, but the loud-mouthed clerk had been baying for her blood for her supposed crimes, and the other shemlen had looked ready to give it to him as she'd left to seal the damned Breach.
The shem stood, grabbing a vial off the desk and stepping close to the bed. "No, this is one of Haven's cabins," she answered shortly, giving Lavellan a careful once over. "And I doubt you'll see a prison, at least not any time soon," she added, seeing Lavellan's blue eyes narrow. "You've been unconscious for a few days. No sudden movements, and drink this." She proffered the vial, which smelled of elfroot and a blend of other herbs.
Lavellan pushed the shem's hand away, sliding to the side of the bed and standing. "Keep your slog, I'm fine." Her vision blurred and darkened around the edges, but she refused to waver, refused to show anything but strength. She stared down (up, really – the shem was a few inches taller than she was) the woman before her.
"What happens now? A trial?" Lavellan asked, a challenge lacing her words. She took a threatening step forward. "I will not go without a fight, shemlen."
The shem had the audacity to look amused, a dry chuckle escaping her throat. She did not back away from the elf's threatening approach, either, despite the fact that Lavellan was fairly sure she could snap the skinny shem in half like a twig. "It seems you do nothing without a fight." Her eyes traced the vallaslin, June's arrow, across Lavellan's face. "You should fit in well here."
Lavellan snorted disdainfully. "I don't wish to fit in with shemlen," she said, lip curling into a sneer reflexively.
Annoyance filtered through the shem's gaze, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You're exactly like the Dalish from the stories we heard in the Circle," she said with a huff. She shook her head, expression neutralizing though her words were still barbed. "Proud to a fault."
Anger flared hot in the elf's veins. "Fuck you, shem," Lavellan spat, gritting her teeth.
The shemlen smirked slightly, a brow arching in just the hint of suggestion. Lavellan felt the tips of her ears heat up, though whether in embarrassment or annoyance she wasn't entirely sure, and she took a step away, putting distance between them. Lavellan leveled a steely glare at the floor. Shemlens couldn't even take insults properly, Fen'harel take the whole lot of them.
"Lady Cassandra will want to know you're awake. I trust you can find your way to the Chantry without an escort?" The shem's voice, while far from the amicable tone it had started off as, contained none of its previous hostility.
"I'll be glad to be rid of your presence." Lavellan glanced around the room, missing the way the shem rolled her eyes. She spied neither her armor nor her sword, and felt ill-at-ease without them. Prison or not, she should've guessed the shemlen would not trust her with them.
The shem, who was now standing in the doorway, turned back. "Alyssa Trevelyan, by the way," she introduced, lips lifted in the ghost of a smile. "If you're going to hate me, you might as well do so by name."
Lavellan stared at her, hesitating before replying. "Lavellan," she said at last. "Revas Lavellan. A proud warrior of Clan Lavellan."
Trevelyan hummed, smile widening ever so slightly. "Pretty name," she murmured, and Lavellan couldn't tell if she was speaking the thought aloud or if it was intended as compliment.
Lavellan's ears reddened, but the shem – Trevelyan – left without another word. Once again, Lavellan felt the prick of annoyance and embarrassment.
Fucking shemlen.
I wasn't going to start another story so soon, but I once I began typing...
I am headcannoning that Alyssa is "Trading Secret"'s Evelyn and Maxwell Trevelyan's jaded, slightly younger sister. Not that it matters for the story.
I was intending this to be an "enemies to lovers"-ish fic, angsty and chalked with UST... but we'll see where it goes lol. Probably more like awkward, angry, gay af Lavellan and flirty but exasperated at the world's shit bi Trevelyan.
This is another odd pairing. I...dunno? Fun messing with cannon, I suppose.