Full Summary:
Faerynrae Lavellan: Orders from a Clan that shunned her brought her to the edge of the Conclave. Curiosity kept her there, as did a sinking feeling that something terrible crept in its shadow. In truth, she wanted nothing to do with humans and their petty arguments. All she yearned for was to live out her life in in quiet solitude within her beloved forest. But, it was not to be, for from the first moment that she met the mysterious elf with sorrowful blue eyes, she knew her life would never be the same.
The Hedge Mage: He knew she was Hanal'ghilan, the golden halla - bearer, bringer, and seeker of truth. Time had erased the true meaning of her rare gift, but he had not forgotten. Her bottomless green eyes saw him as he was, setting a precedent in the fear they set ablaze within his heart. She would be his undoing, yet the longer he struggled against his growing fascination with her, the more he understood that he would never be able to escape. Nor did he truly want to.
[Solas/Fen'Harel x Lavellan with some Cullen x Lavellan]
[Updated every Fri/Saturday]
A compendium/collection of shorts/stories (1-3 chapters a piece) taking place chronologically taking place chronologically from the Conclave to the confrontation with Corypheus with plenty of romance, drama, action/adventure, fluff, and heartache. Cannon situations and timelines will be changed, tweaked, and challenged.
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Please read. Warning Tags and Disclaimers:
This story is currently rated T, but that rating may change in future chapters. Should content be written that exceeds the normal rating limits of this site, I will provide a link to the uncut chapter on Archive of Our Own. You can also find this story there anytime.
Tags that may be pertinent to mention: Spoilers, descriptive violence, dark themes, strong language, sexual themes, and General-Angst-That-Comes-From-Solavellan-Hell
I've written this as a lighter counterpart/prequel to Pulchra Tenebris. The stories here are tales of events that led up to the beginning of that fanfiction.
Your comments and support are truly appreciated and make all of my hard work and long hours worthwhile.
If you have a moment, please drop me a line and let me know if you are enjoying the read :)
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At the Unveiling of the World
Story I
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The One Who Waits, and the One Who is Awaited
Part I
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That night, it was with great caution that the halla walked through the dry leaves and dark brown pine needles covering the forest floor. She made no sound, her passage as silent as a stray breeze. The night wrapped its pitch black arms around her, and she squinted through the darkness, looking for potential threats. The colossal pines gave her shelter and hid her well enough, but her white coat and golden hooves and horns would be a dead giveaway if she wasn't careful. Thoughts of her purpose for being here fluttered through her mind with the inconstancy of flighty butterflies. A plethora of sights and sounds fought to win over her attention, and she struggled to stay focused.
In a haze, she wondered if she should have chosen to stalk her territory as a panther or mountain lion instead. Their vision and senses may have served her purpose better. Concentrating on a single goal in the body of a predator was somehow easier than trying to do the same as a deer or rabbit. As was seeing in the dark. As it stood, the halla relied on the light far ahead as her only guide to her destination. It blazed in the form of a thousand scintillating orbs, reminding her of fireflies settling in the wood during spring. She recognized these lights as flickering torches and fires. Approaching the outskirts of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she scented roasting meat and heard deep throaty laughter.
Her body ducked down on instinct.
Humans.
Worried about being seen, she looked around until she found an out of sight hilltop where she could observe the shemlen without them noticing. The bridge of her nose wrinkled. Her nostrils flared and her ears flicked forward, her short white tail swaying from side to side. If it wasn't for Keeper Deshanna's request, she would never have come so close to a human encampment. They were a selfish, ignorant, and violent race who took what they wished whenever they wished it. They paid no heed to the toll their supposed faith and their endless ambition took upon the lands. Her hatred for them took second place only to her disdain for her Clan.
Shunned and alienated yet tied to her people by a thread of duty, she'd grown up on the edges of acceptance, looking in and wishing she could experience the bonds of fellowship and love her supposed family shared. To those same people, however, she was nothing but an omen. They feared her gift yet hesitated to throw her out of the Clan out of a misguided fear of angering their gods. She held no status among them, for she was neither First nor a hunter or healer. She was simply Faerynrae, a thorn in their side who ran errands like this when no one else would take up the mantle of responsibility. They'd never sent her so far from their lands before. Perhaps they hoped she'd perish on the journey.
As she climbed the hill, the halla struggled to remember why they disliked her so. Pictures of angry faces swam in her mind. Words were there, too, full of anger and insults. She'd been in this body for many days, and with each passing sunset, remembering the emotions and dillemas of her human form grew more and more difficult. How much time had passed since the Keeper had first approached her with her request? The halla couldn't recall. It could have been days or weeks. Not that it mattered, really. She loved this body. It felt more natural than her own. All she needed was to see what the humans were up to. There was no rush to do so, and no one would expect her to return for quite a while.
The grass beneath her hooves smelled delightful, but she resisted the temptation to graze just yet. Hopping up the rocks of the shifting terrain, the halla reached the top of the hill, keeping her body hidden behind the broad leaves of bushes and thick bodies of oaks and pines. She peered down, her soft green eyes taking in the sight below her. The humans numbered in the hundreds. They'd set up tents and campfires that stretched in a wide circular area around the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Some wore armor with the Templar crest while others wearing mage robes shivered in the evening chill, their bodies vulnerable to the elements. Some laughed and clapped each other the back while others stared each other down with thinly veiled hatred.
They're waiting for something, the halla thought. But what could that something be?
Mages and Templars sitting together in such tight proximity? Something about that felt wrong. She tried to understand what it was that bothered her about this, but the information was out of reach, buried too deep in the memories of her human form. Curious about the situation, the halla tilted her head to the side and moved a little closer to the edge of hill. Her ears shifted farther forward, straining to hear what the humans talked about. It took some maneuvering and time to find a place that would allow her to remain hidden while still leaving room for eavesdropping.
"This is crazy," one of the Templars at the closest campfire said. "Nothing good is going to come of these so-called peace talks." His eyes glinted with warning. "Keep your weapon close, and sleep with one eye open."
"We should trust in the Divine," his companion joined in. They sat close together, their helmets leaning up against their sides and their swords within arm's reach.
"There's a reason we left the Chantry," the first one frowned.
The halla crept closer.
"You're right, but independence isn't as good as we all expected. We left to stop the mage rebellion, but even you have to agree that killing each other is getting us nowhere. Let's pray the Divine can do something about it. I hope this is going to be worth the trip."
"My blood boils," the first man hissed. The fire in his eyes intensified, his head turning to look at the camp closest to them where three men and women in violet robes slumbered close to their fire. "Sitting so close to all of these mages…these abominations…I don't want to sleep at all tonight."
"Relax," the second man chided, slapping the back of his hand against his friend's shoulder. "Even if they attack us, there's plenty of Templars around to give them one hell of a fight."
Mages and Templars. They're mortal enemies, the halla recalled.
Was this the reason the Keeper wanted her to investigate this place? It was rather odd that these two factions weren't immediately at each other's throats, and even though the Dalish kept to themselves, a human gathering of this magnitude might pose a threat. So, what were they all doing here? Last she'd heard, the humans were discussing something called the Conclave. She had no knowledge of its purpose, only that it was meant to bring peace to the turmoil that the events in Kirkwall had started. She tried to make sense of other memories her human self possessed, but could only remember that the thing called the Conclave was supposed to happen here at the Temple. Keeper Deshanna had mentioned something else, too — a threat of some kind.
She wanted to think on it further, but something cut into her musings. A gust of wind slipped past her, rustling nearby leaves and wafting the enticing scent of fresh grass to her nostrils. Her belly complained of her neglect in a quiet murmur. She'd been traveling most of the day, taking little time to rest or graze and stopping to take shelter only when the rains came down too hard. Pulling her eyes away the Templars for the moment, she bent her head and nuzzled a nearby bush, using her velvety lips to pull a few leaves into her mouth. They tasted divine after a long and arduous journey.
Completely distracted, the halla forgot to watch her footing. When she leaned over to the bush to pluck some berries from it, a handful of earth and stone shifted and crumbled beneath her hooves, falling to the encampments bellow.
"Hey," one of the Templars barked out, "did you hear that?"
The halla froze in in place.
"Yeah," the second man said, reaching for the sword at his side. They both got to their feet, slow and wary. Their eyes scanned their surroundings. At one point, the first man's gaze landed directly on her. He glared at the spot where she stood for a moment before moving on.
"I sense magic," the first man told his friend, jumping when the latter grabbed his arm.
"Shh!" the second hissed. "Don't move."
"What is it?" the first man asked, his eyes darting around the edges of the forest once more.
"Look…it's one of those elven beasts." Horrified, the halla watched as the second man raised his hand and pointed right to her. "I've heard their meat is tender and delicious. No, not that way. Look there." The first man's gaze finally caught hers. This time, he wasn't just staring at the trees. He saw her, and she didn't like the sudden hunger that lit up those filthy shemlen eyes.
"It's so close," he said, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Maker's breath, look at those horns."
"Gold as the sun," the second man smiled. "That's rare. I bet they'll fetch a pretty price in Denerim."
They said something else, but the halla no longer listened. She took several steps back when they reached to their packs and pulled out a set of shabby bows. They weren't hunters; that much was clear. But even clumsy humans sometimes got lucky when they were desperate enough to catch dinner. In that armor, they would be clumsy and slow. She needed to get a head start and outrun them. Her mind filling with fear and her body tensing with adrenaline, she bolted.
At first, she believed she held the advantage. What could a pair of brutes in metal shells do to her? She was faster than most predators and more agile and clever than any of her kind. However, she didn't get more than thirty strides before something clamped around her leg and yanked her to the ground. The halla cried out in pain and terror when she looked down and saw that she'd stepped right into a rusted metal trap. It's serrated fangs dug deep into her thigh. Blood welled up from the wound and pain unlike anything she'd ever felt nearly dragged her down instantly into unconsciousness.
She heard voices shouting something from the direction of the encampments. Her heart lurched, ears pricking down. Shivering from both fear and the agony of the trap's maw, the halla tried to stand up. Several times, she fell back down to the ground. Footsteps crashing through leaves and snapping twigs drew closer. Instinct screamed for her to change back into her human form. With her hands free to cast, she might be able to do something about the trap. However, when she imagined what a pair of shems might do to a helpless Dalish elf, she shuddered and maintained her shape.
"There it is!" one of the men called out. She saw an outline of his body moving in her direction. The second man followed. Even through the darkness, she could see a pair of smiles revealing white gleaming teeth. Her mind raced, struggling to think of something — anything at all — that could save her from a terrible fate. Surely, this couldn't be how she would die. She'd never believed herself to be destined for greatness, but she'd always imagined herself living out her days in the forest, at peace and in harmony with nature. To think that a pair of shems would slay her for a quick meal and a few coins caused her anger to flare up in outrage and denial.
She gave a loud shriek, a sound that a real halla would never make. Redoubling her efforts to escape, she used all of the strength in her front legs and chest to half crawl and half drag herself away from the approaching men. When they saw her predicament, they laughed. In seconds, they stood on either side of her, towering like trees over an ant. Only trees didn't kill ants, and these men were about to run her through. They raised their weapons.
"Too bad the fur's ruined," one of them lamented.
"I've never seen a halla this color before. You're the one that like pretty exotic things," the second said with a mocking smirk. "Sure you don't want to keep it as a pet?"
The man huffed. "Do I look like a tree-hugging knife-ear to you?" The two of them laughed again. "Hey, hold it down while I slit its throat. I want to save some of the fur for the traders on the King's Road."
The halla, understanding that there would be no escape for her now, resisted the urge to cower before them. Prey animals tended to accept their fate at such times, but she was far from being one. Giving a defiant snort, she waited for the second man to kneel beside her and come close before she gathered all of her remaining strength and began thrashing. Unprepared for the attack, the second man screamed when the tip of one of her golden horns stabbed into the stretch of muscle between his neck and shoulder. She pulled it back and out, satisfied when blood spurted from the wound. He fell backwards, writhing in pain.
The first man gave a battle cry, stabbing downward with his weapon. By some miracle, the halla managed to roll just out of reach of the blade. In the process, she kicked out with her uninjured back leg, her hoof connecting with her attacker's knee. He howled and stumbled back. Using the lull to her advantage, she continued struggling to crawl away. A desperate memory came to her of mage's fire and how she'd always been wary of her affinity for it. Fire was death to the forest, and even though she knew she could burn these two fools to ash if she wished it, she refused to take the chance that she might set the grass and trees ablaze.
Too quickly, the men recovered. Furious now, they charged her, pinning her down with their full weight. The halla felt blood dripping onto her face from the second man's shoulder, felt his muscles tense as he prepared to deal the final blow. She gave another shriek of defiance, refusing to die cowering in fear. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of the blade slashing into her throat.
But, it never came.
A sudden gust of icy wind tore through the trees. Silence, then. For a moment, she didn't dare to breathe. When she opened her eyes, the two men above her sat frozen, icicles hanging from their open mouths and chins. Their unshaven faces were locked into expressions of murderous hatred. They were still as stone. Confused but unwilling to let her shock keep her from escaping, the halla struggled to free herself from their weight. When nothing she did helped, she wailed. Her head spun dizzily, the blood flowing from her leg taking her rationale and sanity with it to the muddy ground.
A noise from behind her startled her. She tried to twist and turn her neck to see what it was, but couldn't. Another gust of frigid wind blew over her. This time, she couldn't miss the tangy sweet taste of magic in the air. Stone boulders flew at her from the darkness, ramming into the frozen bodies of the Templars and shattering them into a hundred jagged pieces. She thought she could hear their dying screams. Or was the blood loss making her hallucinate? As their bodies fell away from her, the halla twisted around, squinting through the night.
Footsteps approached, and from the darkness stepped a tall figure dressed in traveler's rags. The clothes were worn and battered, hems of sleeves and pants ratty and torn. It was a man. An elf, most likely, judging by how his toes peeked out from his well-made leather boots. He held a staff at his side, a gnarled strip of wood that lacked any markings or decorations. Gloved hands reached up and pulled back the hood from his face, revealing a pale visage, long pointed ears, and a shaved head. The halla fought to keep still. Her first instinct urged her to try and get away, but her logic insisted that this man had just saved her life. No vallaslin covered his face, yet he didn't have the demeanor of a city elf, either. She watched his body as he set down his staff and crouched beside her, noting the subtle grace with which he moved.
"Easy now. I am not here to hurt you," he spoke in a voice that was as soft as silk. Despite herself, the halla quieted. "Let me help you." Reaching over her, he examined the trap. Now that he leaned in so close, the halla could make out the color of his eyes. They were the brightest blue she'd ever seen.
"You put up a valiant fight, Hanal'ghilan, but I'm afraid it's far from over." She flinched when his fingers brushed over the edges of her wound. "This will hurt, little one. Please, keep as still as you are able."
His words flowed over her, gentle as a bubbling brook. When he pushed an arm under her neck to support her head, his body heat seeped into her. She hadn't realized up until that moment how cold she was. Murmuring elven words of comfort against her ear, he began to cast a spell. With wide eyes, she watched the rusted trap begin to corrode and dissolve into black dust. It wasn't until the metal object disappeared entirely that the pain hit her. Her leg exploded in a white inferno of agony. She whimpered and cried out in distress, mindlessly trying to get away from the source. The elf shushed her and held her against him, his lean form surprisingly strong. A hand hovered over the uneven gashes in her leg, emerald light flowing from his palm to her fur.
The halla felt her control over her form begin to slip. Weakness assailed her as more and more blood seeped from the cuts. She clung to awareness by a thread, allowing her head to fall forward in relief when the pain began to abate. "That's it," the elf cooed. "It will soon be over."
Her flesh stitched together, but he would not be able to heal the wound completely. His magic hummed and sang of fire, destruction, and chaos. He was no healer. At least, not one adept at treating injuries with magic. If she wanted to survive this, she would need to close the injury herself. The halla tried to focus on remembering her human self, struggling to change her body back into its original form. As the elf worked his spell, she shivered in his arms. Slowly, her white fur and horns receded, replaced by pale ivory skin and waist-length raven hair. Powerful thighs and hooves transformed into slender long legs. When the metamorphosis was complete, Faeryrae sagged against the elf, her mana and strength drained to the point of exhaustion.
"You've done enough, stranger," Faerynrae said. "She can heal herself. Thank you for saving her." When the man said nothing, she turned her head and looked up into his eyes. They were wide, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed in an expression of surprise. The look didn't last more than a split second before his face smoothed back out into neutrality.
"A shapeshifter," he said. "And one with a rare gift. Have you always been able to change into the golden halla?"
Faerynrae nodded. "She has been able to since she was small." She grimaced, fighting to regain control of her identity, to remember that she was now human and existed as herself. "That is…I have always been able to."
"You've spent too much time in that form," the elf concluded. "When you shapeshift, you must be careful not to lose your sense of self." His eyes flicked to her mangled leg. "How many hours has it been since you've changed?"
"I'm not sure. A week, perhaps, since I left the Brecillian Forest."
"You've been in this form for a week?" Something about his tone of voice suggested he didn't believe her. "Why did you come so far west? And alone, at that?"
"I've…always been alone." His eyes narrowed at her words. She felt his body tense, though she couldn't imagine why her words would put him on edge. Faerynrae struggled to stay awake, reaching for his hand. "You can stop the spell. I can…heal it myself."
"It's alright," he said. "You should rest, lethallin. It will take me some time, but I can mend you."
Her lips pursed together. "Who are you? Why did you save me?"
The corner of his mouth tipped up in a small reserved smile. "My name is Solas, and I helped you because a golden halla is a noble creature sacred to many. I thought to save it from the brutality of man." His smile widened marginally, the color of his eyes softening from azure to a grey-blue. "Imagine my surprise when that halla turned into an elven girl."
Faerynrae tried to gauge the sincerity of his words. "I have nothing to offer you in return."
"Well, I've given you my name. Perhaps you could give me yours."
Faerynrae wasn't pleased by such a request. She examined him from head to toe. None of her people had ever been so kind to her. Only Keeper Deshanna tolerated her presence, and only for her own selfish reasons. "My name is Faerynrae," she said at length.
He repeated it once. "And your Clan name?"
"If I had a true Clan, I would name it," she replied sullenly.
"I see."
She wondered if he actually did or if he was judging her and making his own assumptions. Nothing about him, though, gave any sign of malice or ill intent. He seemed sincere and honest, qualities that Faerynrae rarely encountered even among her own kind. "Why are you here?" she asked him.
He looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes straying to the direction of the human camps. "I imagine that our reasons for being here are not very different. Curiosity, concern, perhaps. Witnessing the stirrings of war is never a comforting sight, wouldn't you agree?"
"You mean the Conclave?" she asked, barely managing the strength to speak. "Is that why you've come?"
"No," he shook his head. "The Conclave is none of my concern." His voice went flat, his face betraying no emotion. His earlier smile vanished as though it had never been. Faerynrae recoiled from the apathy in his eyes, thinking of how easily he'd killed her attackers. He displayed no regret about doing so. It was almost as though he'd swatted a fly out of his way.
"You feel it, too," she said. "Something bad is going to happen here." Her vision blurred and her eyes began to close against her will. Her body went limp, her heart beating sluggishly against her ribs. Something warm and soft wrapped around her followed by strong arms that lifted her up. With her cheek resting against his chest, Faerynrae thought she could smell the earthy musk of Elfroot and Felandaris. Odd. Her people called Felandaris the "demon weed" because it only grew in locations where the Veil was thin. Few of her kind ventured to such places for fear of demons and other dangers. What reason would this elf have to seek it out?
"Put me down," she mumbled. "Where are you taking me?"
"Just to some dry ground. Worry not, Faerynrae. You have nothing to fear from me. I will watch over you while you sleep, and when you wake, I shall be gone."
Darkness took her, and the last thing she saw was Solas's eyes staring down at her with profound intensity.