Notes: Bioware owns all, probably including my soul.

Solas is surprised by the Herald of Andraste.

Surprise

She was…not what he was expecting. When Solas had arrived in Haven, it had been too late. The Veil had been ripped open as if with a serrated knife instead of carefully removing stitch by stitch with a precise needle. The effect had been even more catastrophic than what he had believed possible. The bastardization of his magic, the sundering of the Veil…the resulting explosion had killed many, most of whom Solas suspected were decent, perhaps even good, people. But all of that, all of the ensuing chaos and destruction, was in a way expected when he learned that Corypheus did in fact possess a way to unlock his orb.

What wasn't expected was what was more interesting. Miriel, a hunter from the Dalish elf clan Lavellan, had been at the Conclave to spy on the humans. This alone was cause for mild intrigue since the Dalish seemed to spurn everything related to humans (though he supposed they had good cause to). Add to the fact that she had somehow ended up stealing the Anchor from Corypheus in what Solas was sure in a bout of dumb unfortunate luck. She had then walked physically through the Fade and did not die? It was a miracle. A word that Solas did not use lightly, but that was what it was. Absolutely miraculous. By stealing the Mark, by polluting it from Corypheus, she had kept the Veil from being improperly torn and sundered. She could also appear to repair the tiny tears in the Veil, Rifts they were calling them. Yes, he had turned his magicks on her to keep the Mark from killing her, though only after seeing if he had enough power to transfer it to himself. He had woefully been unable to do so. Even with the Breach and the numerous Rifts, Solas's connection to the Fade was incredibly weak and having only been awake for a year…he was in no shape to remove such a powerful manifestation of his own magic.

And out of all that, out of all of the impossible feats she had accomplished before she had even said a word to him, the most surprising thing about her was…herself. When he had first seen her, she had been unconscious and the room dark, but he had seen her Vallaslin. Dark markings of blood and ink curled on her skin in the pattern dedicating her to Andruil. Calluses on her hands and lithe muscle indicated that she was a hunter. It meant that she was an elf completely sundered from the Veil. He pitied that she would never know the comforting embrace of magic. Upon seeing her face, he had expected her to be belligerent, superstitious, and all around annoying. But Miriel of clan Lavellan was none of these things.

She was constantly touching the world around her. A flower, elfroot, even her feet seemed to grip and grasp at the dirt beneath them. She was always somehow interacting with the world, talking to Varric or touching everything even when she most likely knew better. But he didn't think she did this consciously, it was just a way for her to learn her environment as efficiently as possible. He supposed it was logical that a hunter would need such efficient information while pursuing prey, but he had never witnessed this level of interaction before. She also seemed to touch Cassandra or Varric every time she spoke to them. A hand on the shoulder, an elbow to another elbow – nothing flirtatious, just…physical.

The Herald was precise in her interactions, however. She never harmed anything unless she truly intended to. The elfroot, various flowers, even the rocks all received gentle almost reaffirming touches. It was curious to watch, and Solas found himself watching a great deal. At first it had begun by simply observing the Anchor on her hand, but that meant watching the hand move and touch anything within reach. It was such an odd behavior that it activated his own curiosity, which led to him observing more of her behavior. For instance, unlike the prejudice he had personally experienced at the hands of the Dalish, the Herald appeared to be extraordinarily comfortable conversing with Varric and Cassandra. In fact, she appeared to quite enjoy the dwarf's company.

They were currently traveling through the Hinterlands, making their way to the Crossroads to speak with Mother Giselle of the Chantry. It had taken them four days of awkward travel to make it to the Hinterlands from Haven. Varric seemed to talk non-stop, rattling on about the adventures, or rather exciting mishaps, he had with the Champion of Kirkwall. They were a day's travel away from the Crossroads when the dwarf suddenly turned his focus to the Herald. He appraised her before smiling.

"Hey, Buttercup, have you ever played Wicked Grace?" The dwarf asked.

"No, is it a test of agility?" She replied, cocking her head to the side.

"Not exactly, it's a card game. I'll teach you how to play."

"It is not appropriate for the Herald to learn how to gamble, Varric," Casandra had chastised.

"I would love to learn!" Miriel said quickly. Solas had to resist smiling. She had been quick to denounce the idea that she was anything close to holy and the reminder that there was this perception of her clearly bothered her. But she did not fight this perception with words, but rather actions. Solas could respect that. That night at camp, Varric showed Miriel the ins and outs of playing Wicked Grace.

"Would you like to join, Solas?" Miriel asked, her gold eyes bright in the firelight as she smiled. Solas shook his head as he returned to his book.

"I am not one for gambling."

"Of course you're not, Chuckles." Varric said.

"Why 'Chuckles'?" Miriel then asked.

"Because of his winning sense of humor! Why? Do you not like it?"

"I would have gone with something like 'Broody' or 'Baldy'."

"Already got a Broody, and as for Baldy, it's too obvious."

"Who's Broody?"

"You mean you don't know the story of the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Oh Maker," Cassandra groaned before Varric then began to tell tall tale after tall tale of Hawke and her companions.

"You know another of the Dalish! What did you call her?" The Herald commented as Varric introduced Merrill into the story.

"Daisy."

"And I am…"

"Buttercup."

"Why a flower? I am a way deadlier than a flower, maybe...Dagger! Or Deathroot!" Miriel exclaimed, very eager to change her nickname to something that she believed more palatable.

"Nah, you're Buttercup through and through. Soft, glowing, bringing joy to children and animals? Buttercup!"

"Why doesn't Hawke or Aveline have a nickname?"

"Not this again…" the conversation over Wicked Grace continued into the night. Solas kept himself removed, determined to remain as the aloof apostate. These people were unimportant and had to remain so. Getting attached, feeling anything would be problematic and make the future that much more difficult.

But not getting attached meant not finding Varric's tales enjoyable or Cassandra's faith commendable. Fine, he may like them, but he could not possibly like or enjoy the company of the Herald. She was the antithesis of the People he was trying to save. Proudly Dalish, effusive, and decidedly not a mage? They had similar ears, but that was where the similarities ended.

They were camped by Lake Luthias, preparing to meet with Mother Giselle the next day when Solas decided he wished to enjoy the old memories of this place. They had passed by Calenhad's Tower during their travels that day and he was eager to see what memories lingered still at the ruin. So he quietly packed a bag and made his way to the ruin, ignoring signs of danger and sticking to shadows to go unnoticed by both the wildlife and whatever hostile Templar or mage was about.

Solas snuck easily into the tower and set up his wards. He unrolled his bedroll and went to sleep. That night he saw ancient battles of Avvar wrapped in furs, painted with kaddis and knights clad in steel. He woke later in the night after dreaming of a particularly rousing battle in which not even the spirits could remember exactly why it was being fought. It was still dark, the sun only just barely beginning to peek over the horizon. Solas sat up and supposed that he would have an early start to the day.

He performed his routine mana cleanse and quickly shaved his head with assistance of a spell and an enchanted razor. He packed up his things, deactivated his wards, and left the tower to head back to camp. As he left the structure he was greeted with a sight he had not been at all expecting.

There was just enough light for Solas to see the Herald sitting atop the wall of the ruin, leaning back against the structure, her bow in her lap. She was clearly awake, keeping some sort of vigil. Solas's brow furrowed in curiosity.

"Herald? What are you doing?" He asked and her head whipped towards him.

"Oh, well, I saw you wander off and when you didn't come back for a while, I got worried. I tracked you to here…a ruin in the middle of a war torn area. I wanted to make sure you were safe, Varric and Cassandra are used to traveling together and know how to look out for one another, so I came here, kept watch. You sometimes mumble, by the way," she babbled her explanation and Solas found himself…surprised. He had not expected her to watch over him.

"Oh, thank you, but I am more than capable of watching out for myself." He said and he thought he saw the glint of a smile.

"Oh, so I should have just you left you alone then…with the pack of dogs that was thinking of making residence in the tower?" She asked, a gentle teasing note in her voice. The edges of his mouth turned up into a hint of a smile.

"Ah, well, then you have my thanks," he replied and she shrugged, hopping down from her roost.

"It was nice actually, I haven't held a watch like this since I left my clan." She stretched her back. He shifted his weight on his feet before nodding his head, again about to head back to the camp.

"Oh wait! I gathered some berries, I am always hungry when I wake up, figured you would be too," she handed him a small pouch of berries.

"That is very kind of you, Herald, but I am not hungry," and of course just as he said that his stomach decided to growl rather loudly. The Herald quirked a brow at him and shook the bag insistently at him.

"Take the food, seriously, I am a hunter, the purpose of my work in the clan is feeding people. I will feed you, dammit," she said playfully. Solas begrudgingly took the pouch and reached in, finding blueberries. He loved blueberries.

"It seems you have helped me twice this eve, I shall endeavor to return the favor," Solas remarked but instead of smiling, Miriel frowned and looked at him curiously.

"I didn't do this for a favor, Solas. I did it to help you, I don't…look, in the clan we all look out for each other. I figure since we're traveling together, you're like my temporary clan, we look out for each other. We are only as strong as the weakest person…so eat up, we have a long day ahead of us," she said before turning on her heel and heading back to camp. Solas stood there somewhat stunned and surprised. Her acts…she claimed she was not doing this for any sort of anticipated reciprocation. She also had claimed that she thought of him as part of her 'temporary clan.' He bristled at the idea of being any part of a clan, but if it was what she needed to get her to work closely with people she would never have worked with otherwise…he would tolerate it.

Mother Giselle was insistent that the Inquisition should go to Val Rayoux to speak with the clerics. She claimed that if the fledgling organization could gain enough political clout and reputation that they would be able to speak to the clerics and perhaps even recruit them to the Inquisition's cause. While Solas did not particularly care for the Chantry, he did know that having their support in their current endeavor to seal the Breach would be very much welcome.

The Herald was also determined to make the lives of the refugees better. She had accepted a number of quests to get food and other resources for the people left homeless by the war. It was a commendable attitude and he fully supported it. She was quickly proving to be a bit of a surprise – never before had he come across a Dalish with such innate compassion and tenacity. It was a potent combination, and he was happy to see it. He would hardly want the person bearing his mark to be a heartless cretin. No, her compassion and apparent determination to do good were things to be happy about. She would not consciously do harm to the world and its peoples, in fact, she would use her power to help them, just as she was doing now.

It was this attitude that drew him somewhat from his aloof façade and began to prick away at his curiosity. He wondered exactly why she was unlike any of the Dalish he had met previously or heard about. He wondered at the fortune that she, a woman of light and good, were to come to be in possession of the Anchor.

"The chosen of Andraste," he mused as they walked, "a blessed hero to save us all." Miriel cast a glance back at him and smiled.

"Am I riding in on a shining steed?" She asked playfully. Solas found himself smiling in response.

"I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they're extinct." He played along before becoming more serious, "Joke as you will, posturing is necessary." He paused for a bit, allowing the group to make headway through a rough patch of terrain.

"I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

"Right, because that's not weird," Varric grumbled. Solas chose to ignore the dwarf and continued.

"Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be." It was a question without actually being a question. He hoped that she could clarify her spirit to him, so that he could judge how to properly react to her. Was what she said true about not expecting him to return the favor of her watching over him? Or was she simply another seeking to slyly benefit from the misfortune of others?

"What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?" She asked and he smiled. It seemed that she would have more information out of him before he would have his answer. Or perhaps her curiosity was his answer.

"Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen."

"Is that what you were doing last night?" She asked and he nodded.

"Yes, I wished to see what dreams held for me there. More battles and glory to people that history has long forgotten the names of. Usually I am much safer, leaving food out for any wild beasts that may happen upon me." He explained with a small smile. She nodded and paused as she contemplated what he did.

"I've never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade. That's extraordinary," her reaction was surprising. He had expected something more along the lines of Varric's reaction. It was weird or bizarre, not extraordinary. But the Herald was quickly proving to be the exception to many cases.

"Thank you. It is not a common area of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything." She listened intently to him and nodded. Solas then made a spot decision.

"I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed." He had not made this decision formal yet, and he felt more comfortable in making this known now that he knew that Miriel was at least an honorable woman.

"Was that in doubt?" She asked. He turned to her, serious in the concern that he felt.

"I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution." His words were not mean to accuse Cassandra or the Chantry of being intolerant of his presence, but rather his fear that they would eventually become intolerant. It was a reasonable fear, and she stopped to look Solas in the eye.

"Of course I understand. You came here to help, Solas, I won't let them use that against you," her eyes were an intense gold that resembled the ancient Elvhen more closely than her ears.

"How would you stop them?" He asked softly, unsure of the alliance that she suggested at having.

"However I had to," she answered without hesitation.

"Thank you," he replied genuinely. Truly he had not expected to find someone who would so quickly jump to his defense all the while knowing so little about him. It was once again surprising. Though he did not know if it was bravery or foolishness that made her respond so readily. Perhaps it was both, heroes were often comprised of equal parts bravery and fool-hardy. With how frequently he was surprised by her and Cassandra, he was going to have to rethink a lot of what he had believed before coming to the Inquisition. But no matter what he revised in thought, he could not change his course of action. Miriel was surprising, but she changed nothing.

"But for now let us hope that the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach," that was after all, what he was here to do.