Prologue: The Hermit

Torrin Lavellan was fury made flesh. From the moment she had awoken in the prison cell, to The Temple of Sacred Ashes, and finally to Haven, where the people stared at her in open awe and titled her "Herald of Andraste," Torrin Lavellan had rebelled.

She had twisted her face into a confused, yet still somehow disdainful sneer when she had first heard the title.

"Me?" she had exclaimed. " A Dalish? Herald to some shemlen god? You can't be serious."

Solas had listened with mild amusement as Josephine had enlightened him to how very disapproving a look that Cassandra had leveled at the "Herald" in response. But there was an undercurrent to his amusement: bitter resignation. He feared his prejudices were correct- that she was every bit the same as every other blindly proud, stubborn Dalish elf he had met. Shemlen, indeed. His lip curled at the irony of it.

Though, he supposed, perhaps it had been foolish of him to hope, even if for a moment, that she was something more than all that. He had wanted the fact that his mark, his magic, somehow attaching to a Dalish elf had meant something more for the remnants of his people- for it to be more than random happenstance. But it remained nothing but a cruel taunt, a reminder of what had been lost.

What was even more ironic, as if such a thing were possible, was the fact that she had chosen for Mythal's symbol to be emblazoned on her face in bright, icy blue. Torrin seemed to be the embodiment of everything that was the exact opposite of what Mythal had stood for.

Solas sighed, shoulders deflating. He leaned into the grip he held on his staff and once more, for the hundredth time, stared frustratedly up at the Breach.

She was the only being in existence who held any chance of closing it, of fixing his mistake.

What had he done?

"Hahren?"

At the sound, Solas straightened. There was only one person who addressed him as such. His hands tightened on his staff before he turned to face her. He raised an eyebrow.

"Ir abelas," she continued. "I did not mean to disturb you." She folded her hands almost demurely in front of her, angling her head so that her yellow eyes caught the light of the Breach.

Her eyes were...yellow? That was...odd. He stared at her for a few more moments and she waited patiently for his response. He couldn't read her expression.

"Not at all," he replied smoothly. "Did you need something?"

Her lips changed easily into a wry grin. As for why, he could only imagine. Likely some private joke. She shook her head, a few strands of black hair slipping free from the braid she had tucked carelessly behind her ear.

"Not at all," she parroted lightly. "I just feel...out of place."

And she was coming to him for...what? Something familiar? If that was all, she would be likely to find herself disappointed.

She blinked and turned to lean casually against his cabin. "Where are you from?" she asked, rather suddenly.

Solas couldn't help that his eyes widened slightly; he quickly tried to conceal it. "Why do you ask?" he said.

He watched her brow crinkle in confusion. She blinked a few times, thinking. "I-" she started, then took a breath. "I would like to get to know you-the people I'm going to be working with. Is that so strange?" She offered him a tentative smile, the corners of her lips lifted just so. "Besides, we seem to be the only elves working for-"

Ah, there it was. Exactly as he had thought. He shook his head sharply, ending her sentence.

"Forgive me," he said, inclining his head. "But I believe you are mistaken. I am not Dalish, in fact, I have been scorned by your people on multiple occasions." He smiled. "You may be disappointed-I'm afraid our similarities likely end at our pointed ears."

This girl was the same, he knew it as surely as he knew the sky was blue. The same Dalish arrogance pervaded her figure. He had more important things to contend with, considering, than entertaining a misguided-

She scowled at him, face shifting to immovable stone. Once again, he found himself taken aback. Not that he was necessarily surprised, he suspected that her likely wounded pride was the cause of her anger, but he had expected her to perhaps be more civil than this. Maybe it was the fact she had been what could be considered shy only a few moments ago.

She stood, feet crunching the snow and stabbing the silence that had fallen over them. When she looked at him again, her eyes were ice.

"So that's how you see it," she said. She brushed by him, rigid as she went.

"Bullshit," he heard her whisper to herself. And then, she was gone.

Solas felt very much like a storm had blown by him. He watched as she slowly disappeared from his line of vision, his eyebrows anchored with his confusion.

For once, he found he had no idea what to think.

Author Note:
Well, here I am again! I've had this stuck in my head forever and I needed to get it out there. I'm still on the fence about whether or not I should continue with this; I do have that other story I need to write as well, but... Let me know what you think! Think of this chapter as a trial run, and depending on how it goes, I may or may not continue with it. :)