Authors Note: It has been a long time since I've written any fan fiction, but after playing through DA3 as a Dalish mage and romancing Solace, I felt the need to write this. Warning This will have major Tresspasser spoilers! Read at your own risk.
The night was cool ant the moisture in the air chilled me to the bone. Fall in the Midwest was temperamental at best. I should have been prepared for the falling temperatures, but I hadn't Yet again, I hadn't expected my car to break down. A pair of jeans and plain black t-shirt was of no protection vastly worsening conditions. Snow and rain began to fall. I cursed under my breath and picked up my pace. Of all the nights for my car to break down. With three miles left to walk, I was looking at potential frostbite.
My apartment came into sight and filled me with relief and the illusion of warmth. My first priorities were a hot shower and a cup or two of equally hot tea. My body trembled. I needed to get inside fast. Headless of my surroundings, I ran.
A horn blared, and tires screeched. Headlights blinded me. I never felt any pain, only the sensation of sailing through the air. I landed in a slush filled puddle and stared up into the night sky, unable to move. A woman screamed in the distance. Everything was growing dark.
I was dying. A single tear slid down my cheek. Please, not like this. I don't want to die alone.
Evelyn Trevelyan dispatched the last of the demons with a thrust of her twin daggers. After a quick assessment of the conditions of her companions, she raised her marked hand. The strange magic roared to life, answering her will to close the rift. Just as the rift snapped shut with an audible pop, an elf fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.
"Holy Andraste!" Seeker Pentaghast exclaimed in shock. Cassandra had not been there when Evelyn fell from the fade, but there was no mistaking that this elf had performed the same feet.
Evelyn rushed to the elf's side, running an examining hand over her. Her body was badly bruised and broken, but she was alive. The Herald couldn't imagine what happened to her to cause such extensive injuries. Perhaps she had been on the receiving end of a war hammer.
"Solas!" She shouted for the mage in their party. If anybody stood a chance at saving this woman, it was him. He had kept her alive after her trip through the fade, after all, and that was with the strange magic humming in the palm of her hand.
The apostate approached the fallen elf cautiously. He gazed down at her small form, amazed that another person survived a physical trip into the fade. She was badly injured, fatally, if she wasn't taken care of immediately. He knelt beside the Herald.
"Can you heal her?"
"I will see what can be done." He answered truthfully. He placed his hands over the woman's body and allowed his magic to seep into her, examining the full extent of her injuries. Magic flared inside the elf, resisting the probing.
So, she is a mage.
The woman was weak enough that her magic held no power over his and he was able to continue his assessment. Internal bleeding, several broken ribs and a crack in the neck. Deadly injuries indeed. He focused on the neck injury first, repairing the severed nerves and tendons, giving her use of her body once again. The internal bleeding was next. Sweat dampened his brow before he could begin healing her abused ribs. He cursed the weakness in his magic. He was stronger than this. With a final push of magic, the breaks mended, but bruised.
"That is all I can do for her." Solas stood. "She will need rest, but she will make a full recovery."
"Then we shall make camp here. It would be best to move her as little as possible until she regains consciousness." Evelyn moved towards the horses to unpack their gear.
Cassandra moved to help unpack. "Do you think she is perhaps another survivor of the Temple?"
"Perhaps. It will be impossible to tell until she wakes and is able to give us her story." Evelyn rolled her shoulders, "I'd rather we treat her as a victim of the war, not a prisoner. It is not fun waking up in a strange place shackled in a dungeon."
"Are you still upset about that?" The seeker asked, "I made my regret known."
"I know, Cassandra," Evelyn dropped her hand on the warrior's shoulder, "you did what you thought was right. I would have done the same in your position. Just be on your guard."
"As you wish, Herald."
Evelyn let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop calling me that! It's pretentious and full of responsibility. I hate it." Seeker Pentaghast chuckled and began readying the camp for nightfall. The Herald, with the assistance of Solas, wrapped the unconscious elf into a bed roll and under the cover of a tent.
"Our friend here is a mage, Herald, I assume that won't be an issue?" Solas studied the little mage. She bore a simple striking blue vallaslin across her cheekbones, marking her a follower—no, slave—of Mythal. Why was this Dalish elf away from her clan? Perhaps there were one too many mages in her clan. With no Templars to assist them in "managing" mages, most Dalish only kept two or three mages in the clan before they start sending them away.
"Not at all."
The first sense to return was my sense of smell. Trees, grass, and the comforting scent of a campfire. How long had it been since I last went camping? Five, ten years? My hearing came next. Voices, speaking in hushed whispers.
Where was I? The last thing I remembered was…? My eyes snapped open and I jolted to a sitting position. My ribs protested at the movement and my head felt like it was going to split apart at the temples. I was most certainly not in Kansas anymore. I sat in an old canvas tent covered in a rustic sleeping bag.
A nightmare? It had to be. I was still alive and not in a hospital bed covered in IV's and monitors. Somebody outside of the tent laughed. I recognized the voice, but couldn't place it. I crawled out of the bed roll and smoothed the wrinkles from my shirt. I ran my fingers through my sleep-tossed hair. My hand froze on contact with the pointed ends of my ear.
Panic overtook me and I tossed open the tent flap. Sitting around a campfire were four people that shouldn't exist.
"Ah. You're awake. How do you feel?" Varric the impossible to exist dwarf asked.
I shook my head in denial, "no. no. no. Not possible."
The inquisitor, the female, human rogue I created, stood from her stump. This wasn't happening. I was dreaming. No, the car accident was a dream. I started to tremble. What if, what if I'm dead?
"Calm down, we aren't going to hurt you." The rogue, tried to make herself less imposing and was using a voice reserved frightened children. I stared into the cat green eyes of the rogue. She looked exactly like the woman I created at the beginning of the third Dragon Age game. Her skin was a lovely golden tan and her hair, cut short except at the top where raven black hair fell in soft waves.
She reached out to touch my shoulder. I panicked and jerked away from her hand.
Cassandra, the might seeker, reached for her sword. The game did not fully encompass how intimidating she truly was. Her presence was overwhelming. Seeing the sword slide free from it's sheathe sent my panic over the edge. I turned towards the tree line and ran.
"Andraste's flaming ass, Seeker." Varric cursed loudly.
The trees gave way to a tall cliff face roughly a mile from the camp. I was trapped. Where was I? Who was I? I tentatively touched the tips of my ears. I brushed my fingers through my hair. Even it felt different; softer, straighter, and blonde. I even felt physically different. Being slightly asthmatic, I never could run very well, or for very long. I should have been gasping for breath and dizzy. I wasn't even winded. I felt stronger.
The exploration of my new body was interrupted by the sight of a familiar elf stepping out of the shadows. Solas, the Dread Wolf. He looked the same as I remembered, only taller, more refined. This man was always a mystery and a wonder to me. I always romanced him as a female elf. I couldn't not. It just felt right. I wonder what he would to say or do if I told him the truth. That I was living inside a fantasy world written by a group of people who only sought to entertain the masses.
"Ir abelas." He spoke quietly, "We did not mean to frighten you."
All thoughts fell out of my head and on the ground at my feet. His voice sent shivers down my spine. I swallowed convulsively. What do I say to an elven god? I searched the trees for signs of the others. I saw nothing but small woodland creatures. My keen eye sight shocked me. Was anything about me the same?
"Where am I?" My voice was barely louder than a whisper, but he heard me.
"The Hinterlands. What is the last thing you remember?"
I slipped into the memory of my nightmare. My death. Snow, rain, a car screeching to a halt, but too late. Lying on the pavement, unable to feel my body. A broken neck, a blessing and a curse. I didn't want to die, not like this. Cold and alone.
My head throbbed and I clamped my eyes closed. The memory faded and tears were falling down my face. That wasn't a dream and neither was this. Whether I magically fell into the world, or this was my own personal afterlife, I would never know. I gathered my composure as best I could and met the steel blue gaze of the Dread Wolf. I wouldn't tell him the truth, but I wouldn't lie either.
"Death. I remember death and loneliness. Snow and rain." I shook my head, "How I ended up here, I do not know. I have no memory of it, or much else."
He studied me openly. He was unnerving, though it was most likely intentional. "Do you know your name?"
"Yes." I would not give him my real name, but my elven name from my second play through of the game. It only seemed natural and it was a name I would recognize as my own. "Kanani. Kana for short, if you'd prefer."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Kanani. You may call me Solas." He bowed his head politely. "Do you remember where your clan is located? Perhaps we can see you safely home."
I touched my cheeks tentatively, presumably where my vallaslin was. My clan? The only clan that came to mind was Lavellan, the clan that my elven character belonged to in the game. "Lavellan, they roam the Free Marches. I'm sorry, that's all I remember."
"Do not apologize. You have done nothing wrong." Not yet, His eyes said. He did not fully believe my story. I would have been surprised if he had.
"I'm sorry." I bowed my head, an old habit I couldn't break. I cursed myself for my weak, submissive behavior. My inclination to apologize for everything was something that most people hated about me. Solas was not a person I wanted upset me with. I bit my tongue in frustration.
A branch snapped behind Solas. I tensed, fearful of a potential attack. The Hinterlands were far from safe. Static electricity crackled between my fingers. I yelped in surprise and rubbed my hands on my jeans.
"Shit!" What the hell was that? I was no stranger to static electricity, but only when running around in socks and touching metal objects.
"It was only a fennec. Nothing to be frightened of." Solas raised a curious brow at my reaction. Surely he hadn't done that, had he?
"Did you do that?" He was a mage after all. He shook his head. I glanced at my hands and the static flickered again, this time tiny purple tendrils danced across my fingertips. "You have got to be shitting me." I knew my body felt different, off somehow, but I assumed it was because of the transition from human to elf, not the presence of magic in my blood.
I definitely had Solas's attention now. I shook my hands, willing the electricity to disappear. It didn't, it only grew in intensity. Solas drew closer. I pressed myself against the rocks. "Don't come any closer. I can't control this."
"You cannot harm me." He reached out for my lightning encased hand. I felt a rush of warmth emanating from his hand. Was this what magic felt like? I always assumed it would cold and sharp, especially his. "You need to relax. Your magic is reacting to your fear."
"Easy for you to say, you're not the one who just learned you're a mage." I snapped.
"No, but magic is as easy as breathing, it bends to your will. If you will it away, it will go, but only if you truly believe you can. Magic is only dangerous to those with a weak will." He coached.
Fear of this world and what it meant for me dominated my thoughts. Mages who couldn't control their powers were slaughtered. It was impossible to not be afraid. The lightning grew in intensity and I gasped. "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can." He sounded so certain. Of course he did, he was the freaking Dread Wolf, the elven god of rebellion.
Irritation began to outweigh my fears. How dare he stand there, straight as an arrow and tell me that magic was easy. He had no idea, he was born into a world where magic was everywhere, not this veiled world that he created before slipping into Uthenera.
"Ma halani, Solas!" I shouted. I knew Dalish when I heard it, but never in my life have I spoken more than a word or two. It amazed me that I was able to speak, and understand what I said. Help me. "Show me how to control it, damnit!"
Solas looked taken aback by my usage of elvhen, I knew that it was a dying language, and most clans only knew a few passing words and phrases. That was a question for another day. Magic filled the air around me, dousing me in a warm security blanket. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feel of it. I could feel Solas's iron will, his confidence. It filled the magic and moved as an extension of his body. Magic wasn't simply something he could do, he was magic. Magic was a part of me, the same way my arms are a part of my body. I took a deep breath and relaxed. It was easy to do, surrounded in the strength of Solas's magic. I felt like a warm bath at the end of a long day. Comforting and safe. The electricity surrounding my hand died, leaving my fingers tingling and the tiny hairs on my arm standing on edge.
"Ma serannas." I thanked him by doing it again, speaking the ancient language of the elves. "I learn fastest by being shown, not told. Telling me how to control is about as effective as telling a dwarf how to dream. It's not possible." I shook out my hand and rubbed it once more against my jeans. It dawned on me that he thought I looked silly in my clothing. Jeans were not a thing in this age, and cotton t-shirts were not common, and mostly worn under armor.
"You're welcome."
Pain shot across my ribs. There was that pain again. I clutched my right side where the pain was the worst. "What happened to me?"
"You fell from a rift. You were covered in wounds almost beyond my ability to heal. As you can tell, I was not able to heal all of the damage. It's nothing more than bruised ribs. You will make a full recovery."
"I fell from a rift?" How curious. My memory loss story was a little more believable than I thought. The Herald of Andraste suffered from memory loss after her excursion through the fade. She only lost the events of the Temple, not her entire life story. I was going to have to come up with something fast. The "I lost my memory thing" would only get me so far.
Varric managed to sneak into our presence without me noticing. Solas didn't seem surprised by his presence. He was probably used to the dwarf popping out of nowhere. "Is everything alright over here, Chuckles?"
I could feel the elf's urge to roll his at the nickname given to him. Of course, he wouldn't lower himself to such petty actions, at least not in the company of others. "She is no longer in a panic, if that is your question."
"Sorry about that," Varric paused, unsure what to call me.
"Kana" I supplied.
"Kana," He nodded his thanks, "are you feeling better? You looked pretty beat up when we found you."
If I came through the rift with the same injuries I left earth with, Solas expended major magic to heal me. I owed him my life. "Despite a headache and a slight pain across my ribs, I feel fine."
"Good. How about we head back to the camp where it's warm. You have got to be cold in that strange garb of yours."
Strange indeed. Varric was right, however. It was cold.
"That woman, the one with the sword, she isn't going to try anything, is she?" I had to be careful. I couldn't let on that I knew their names, or anything to do with them.
"She will want to question you, no doubt." Solas answered.
Interrogate me, you mean. If I fell from a rift and they had yet to learn of the Elder One, I was probably a suspect, despite Solas's announcement that no one mage would have the power to cause the explosion that rocked the Temple of Sacred Ashes off the map. This was going to be one hell of a trip.