One

When Solas' eyes fell upon the Dalish girl who bore his anchor, he was both wracked by guilt and unimpressed. She was merely a Dalish-they were snobs who thought themselves better than other elves, yet they weren't even a shadow of the Elvhen.

As his eyes rested on the near-dead Dalish girl, he found himself reminiscing about the last time he had to heal someone who was so near death.

The sign of Sylaise marked the slave's left eye. So she had most likely belonged to a lower class noble house. Usually high-class nobles preferred Andruil or Elgar'nan. Hopefully, this elf had been treated well as a slave. So many were not; it would be good to see one that had at least been fed normal amounts of food. However, there was no way for Fen'Harel to truly know; not if she remained in this dead-like state, anyway.

The girl had been like this since moments after she arrived. Her surprising entrance, which involved falling at the foot of a wolf on the top floor of his sanctuary, half-dead; had caused quite the commotion with his guards.

Plenty of his guards had asked why, exactly, he had not just removed her vallaslin while she was asleep, since it might be weeks before she awoke, but...He loved the look on escaped slaves' faces after he freed them. It didn't matter to Fen'Harel that there were "more pressing" matters to attend to. He was an immortal like all Elvhen; the war against the Evanuris could wait. They hadn't done anything too drastic, anyway...Not yet, at least.

Even so, nearly a month passed before there was any change in her condition. Fen'Harel had been losing hope, spending less and less time at her side, healing her. However, he had finally heard from one of his mage followers-a healer who had been stationed in the girl's room-that she had finally awoken.

Now, he would finally be able to greet this mysterious stranger and find out how she had come to his doorstep so injured.

"Andaran atish'an, da'len," he said in greeting, momentarily struck by the brightness in her (unusual color) eyes. "I am Solas, though many call me Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. It is, of course, a badge I wear with pride. Now...Who are you?"

The girl got a panicked look on her face. Inwardly, Fen'Harel smirked at her shock. He was careful not to allow the emotion to pass on to his face, however.

"Ir abelas, hahren. I had no idea I would be meeting the Dread Wolf, himself, so I fear I am frightfully underdressed." She smiled. "So, please forgive me. Ahem, as you can tell, I am a slave and have no titles or lands, so I have no official name to call my own. My mistress calls me Lavellan, however."

"Ah, a weed[1], then. How lovely of your mistress. She follows Sylaise, then?"

"Oh, no, hahren. My mistress is a slave, herself. But the master of the household respected her abilities enough to leave her in charge of the kitchen staff. Our master is so rich that he has slaves for different duties, marked with the vallaslin of different gods. I work in the kitchens, of course, so I'm marked with Sylaise. Guards are marked with Andruil or Elgar'nan." The girl paused to take a breath. "And my mistress calls me Lavellan, because I always sprout up when she least expects it, and I am very difficult to get rid of. Her words, not mine, of course."

Fen'Harel blinked, momentarily stunned by just how much this girl could say with nary a single breath. "Slow down, da'len. Please."

The girl blushed. "Sorry, hahren."

"What I intended from my previous question, da'len, was to find out who your owner was."

"Oh, silly me!" She giggled. "A king, hahren; a follower of Dirthamen." Well, shit. He'd never had a slave from a king before. Usually guards were tighter on slaves of the upper-class nobles.

"Da'len," he spoke urgently, eyes wide. "do you know if you were followed?" He swiftly gestured for the healer mage to leave the room, so he could speak with this...Lavellan...privately.

"Of course I was! And I managed to slit four of their throats before one noticed me. He got me pretty good with some lightning, but I ran faster than he could cast! I'm very fast. Not very skilled at magic, but...I'm fast!"

Fen'Harel paused. "Is that why you collapsed on my floor?"

"Oh, no!" She grinned, wickedly. "That happened because I pissed off one of your spirit-y sentinels, down below. Smacked me good against the head, he did. Didn't cause me any problems until I made my way to that damned veilfire test, though. Trying to light the flame just hurt my head too much, I think. Told you, I'm shite when it comes to magic. On my best days, I can summon veilfire with only a slight headache."

Spirits, this girl needed to learn to shut her mouth once in a while. Fen'Harel was already exhausted from just listening to her. He couldn't imagine what it was like in her head!

"Well. Thank you for explaining everything to me. Would you like me to remove your bonds, Lavellan?"

"Oh, no! I plan on going back! I'm real good at getting information. Nobody notices me, since I'm only a kitchen girl. I want to be a spy for you, if you'll have me, Dread Wolf."

He blanched. "I have many agents throughout Arlathan. What makes you worth the risk, da'len?"

"Did no one search my person while I was out?" The girl leaned over the side of her cot, reaching for a satchel laying on the ground. She brought out a carefully wrapped object and handed it to Fen'Harel. "I told you, hahren. I'm good at not being seen. And my master is a very, very important man. I want to help your cause in any way I can!"

As he unwrapped it, his eyes widened in surprise. "Is this the Orb of Dirthamen? How did you retrieve it?"

"Wasn't hard, really. It was lying on his desk when I brought him his food. Looked important, so I accidentally spilled steaming soup on him. Swiped it and hit it while he called some guards to take me away. After my whippings, I just snagged it from the flower pot I'd hid it in and left. So much kitchen staff at his castle, I doubt they even notice I'm gone. Especially since I got the mistress to cover for me."

Fen'Harel was astonished. "You are truly willing to risk life and limb to provide me with your king's information?"

"Duh! You're the only reason us slaves have any hope. We only have hope because you're out here, freeing us. If I can help in any way, I will be proud to continue to wear the vallaslin, hahren."

The Dread Wolf took a deep breath. "I'll need to know how many slaves your master owns-not an approximation; I need exact numbers. I'd like to know how many are sympathetic to our cause. I need to know how often you can send information, and how often you can feasibly see the king."

"Okay! I won't have the numbers right away, but I can easily figure out the rest before I leave!"

Fen'Harel nodded and walked out. As he rubbed his temples, he tried to think of ways to tail this "Lavellan" to make sure she wasn't a spy for her master-if her master even was a king.

Notes:

[1] There are many roots, flowers, etc. that have gone extinct since the times of Arlathan. I figured, why not make her name mean something, yeah?

Translations:

Andaran atish'an - a formal welcome

Da'len - student, inferior/younger person who deserves respect

Hahren - elder, teacher, older person deserving respect

Solas - pride, to stand tall

Fen'Harel - Wolf Trickster, Wolf of Dread/Dread Wolf

Dirthamen - god of secrets

Evanuris - the elven pantheon

Elvhen - ancient elves

Sylaise - goddess of the hearth

Andruil - goddess of the hunt

Elgar'nan - the all-father. The god of revenge.

Arlathan - lit. "our hearts/our love". Ancient Elvhen empire.

Ir abelas - I'm sorry