So I'm going to go ahead and assume (I know, I know, ass+u+me) that I'm not the only one who sometimes spends way too much time on their character creations. This is actually a little backstory I made up in my head after having buyer's remorse with the hairstyle I chose for my Inquisitor Lavellan (whom I don't actually own. C'mon folks, you know the drill. Bioware owns the ENTIRE Dragon Age universe and we just love playing in it ^.^). I meant to switch her hair from the half-shaved/shoulder-length (you know, the badass one with the braid) to the crazy braided updo. But it was late and I was buzzed so… I forgot and decided to go with it. Then it snowballed. Also, you'll notice I use Solas/Fen'Harel interchangeably and that is my way of experimenting with how he saw/referred to himself during his time with the Inquisition.
If you're still with me then awesome and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoy reading all of yours.
Also, the image is a screenshot from the LOTR/Hobbit Dress-up game created by and available on the following dot-coms: DollDivine and AzaleasDolls. Awesome sites for character generation!
Solas followed Seeker Pentaghast down into the Chantry's cells. How ironic, he thought, that a house of worship had a dungeon. Their journey through the dimly lit halls below the Chantry was short and silent; the Seeker apparently did not see a reason to speak to him past debriefing him on her prisoner's state. He did not attempt to break the silence, from her icy demeanor he doubted they had much to discuss anyway. She had explained that, like him, her prisoner was an Elven apostate and he knew she suspected he was an accomplice. If only she knew…he thought to himself bitterly.
They rounded a corner and she stopped at a steel door to give orders to the Templar standing guard outside. He stopped just behind her and did not fail to notice the way the Templar's right hand moved to rest on the pommel of his blade upon seeing him with a staff.
"Markus, this is Solas, he has volunteered his knowledge to aid us in closing the Breach. I've brought him to ensure the prisoner will still be alive to question in the morning." She spoke simply and as though he wasn't there. Solas clenched his jaw and bowed his head in silent greeting; he could not stomach how callous she was in discussing the life of another, especially an elf. This was a woman they had locked up, not some abomination.
But then… the Seeker did not know that her prisoner was innocent, did not know that this was all caused by one massive lapse in (his) judgement. All the woman beside him knew was that someone was responsible for the explosion that killed everyone at the Conclave and tore the Veil. She knew that her people watched an elf with a glowing green hand fall out of a rift. No wonder she was acting so cold. She truly believed she had the one behind it. Little did she know that the elf responsible was standing right beside her…
The Templar moved to reach with his left hand (right still on his sword) to open the door and Solas could sense two others inside. Just as the Seeker was to make her exit he addressed her in a soft but firm manner.
"Seeker, if what you say is true then it will require strong magic to revive her. It would not be wise for a non-mage to be in the same room, even with their exposure to Lyrium." For a moment he thought she would argue but after a breath she narrowed her steely eyes and complied.
"Very well." She turned to the Templar. "Markus, you will send Erick upstairs to Commander Cullen for a new assignment and Daved will remain outside with you. Should Solas need anything you will assist him or send for myself or Sister Leliana." With a nod to each of them she turned on her heel and went back the way they came.
Markus nodded to Solas and opened the door. Orders were given, followed, and a few moments later Solas found himself (locked inside) alone with their prisoner.
He looked around as he moved forward, studying his dimly-lit surroundings. There were small holding cells on either side of the recessed floor where she lay. Fen'Harel descended the few steps and dropped his pack beside her before kneeling. She lay on her back, her face turned towards him hidden under a curtain of snow white hair. Her hands were manacled and he could see the pulsing glow of his Anchor between her slender fingers. He reached out to push the hair back from her face and a small gasp escaped his lips when he saw the burns there. The Seeker said her healers had done what they could but the damage had been extensive. The left side of her face had been burned and a good part of her hair above her delicately pointed ear had been singed off. It was then that he noticed the long silky tresses of white that waved away from the right side of her head and the blacked ends of the shorter hairs on her left. He guessed it would have reached her thighs when she stood. Resisting the urge to run his fingers through it he instead focused on her remaining injuries and the Anchor.
Healing the rest of her burns took almost no time but reining in the effects of the Anchor would take hours. He dissolved her chains with a wave of his hand so that he could comfortably hold her left hand fingers-laced, palm-to-palm. He could feel the power, his power, course through her and focused on pulling it back towards its rightful bearer. He removed his hand and placed hers one on top the other on her stomach. Now that he'd initiated the draw all he needed to do was stay close by for it to continue. He theorized that if he could center it in her hand he could stabilize her until they closed the Breach. They wouldn't have much time before the Anchor would begin spreading again, threatening to overtake her. He looked down at her, her skin now bearing no evidence of her tussle with a Rage demon the night before. It was then that he realized just how beautiful she was. She was obviously Dalish, bearing Mythal's vallaslin tattooed in a deep teal across her smooth pale forehead. Her eyes, though closed, were large and set on high cheekbones. Her lips were incredibly full and before he could catch himself Fen'Harel wondered what kissing them would be like. That thought shook him before he chased it from his mind. He turned his attention to her hair.
His had fallen out ages ago after repeatedly entering the Fade in his youth. It appeared, judging by her jet-black eyebrows, that hers was also affected by the Fade. It had been stripped of its matching pigment after one pass-through. She may not recognize her reflection in the looking glass at first. He lifted a lock of singed hair and an idea came to mind as to how he would pass some time. With a mere wave of his hand he conjured a pair of shears and began to cut.
When he had finished what seemed like hours later he admired his handiwork. He had evened out her hair and he guessed it would fall just past her shoulders when she stood. Her singed scalp posed a larger challenge though. He didn't want to cut her hair any more than he had to; judging by its original length he figured she was rather fond of it. So he braided the uneven hairs away from her face so she could tuck it behind her ear and with a knife he shaved the bald spot more to follow the line of the braid. The final result reminded him of hairstyles often had by Dalish and earlier, the Elvhen of his time. Though he was sure she must have been a vision with a long ebony mane before, he thought she possessed a sort of ancient, feral beauty. He hoped she'd agree.
Fen'Harel checked his progress with the Anchor and was pleased to find that it was working. He still had a few more hours to go and settled in next to her. Though he did not need to for his magic to work, he again laced his fingers with those of her left hand. He sighed and spoke softly to her in Elvhen.
"Ir abelas, da'len…" he began and then started into a tale of meeting a spirit of Wisdom in the Fade and debating philosophy with it.
And that is how the Dread Wolf spent his night, holding the hand of a woman he'd never met, telling her stories he'd never told.