Before her vallaslin but when she still had her baby teeth, she fell to an affliction that pulled her into a fever sleep for three days.
She was thrown into new nightmares without resolving the last, time extended into what felt like years, nothing or everything made too much painful sense, everything was surreal or nothing was save for few eerie details. When the fever departed and
she awoke, the aravel was drenched in the essence of elfroot and spindleweed. The keeper insisted on her drinking batch after batch of royal elfroot tea sweetened with honey. Over tea, tears rolled down her round cheeks as she recounted her nightmares to the keeper.
She had a dream about a shepherd leading humans in a victory against unknown terrors from different worlds. In another, there was a handy man clad in thick armor who struggled alone against a sickness which infected others and transformed them into horrific monsters. With each retelling, the keeper used each dream as a story of guidance or a lesson for her. However when she recounted the most vivid of what she experienced, the keeper grew quiet.
There was a forest in the valley of a snow capped mountain, just as any other they may have encountered in their travels. As she searched for game she crossed the bloodied imprints of a wolf's stride contrasted by the crisp snowfall. The trail led to a cave where she found the sleeping creature to be far larger than any wolf she had encountered, encompassing the cave with shimmery white fur. She drew closer to the animal, nearly mesmerized by the splendor and power. Just as she reached to touch the brilliant coat of the wolf, he woke with a start. Tendrils of void scooped her up and yanked her to be face to face with the beast, who eyed her intensely, suddenly dotted with a multitude of glistening ruby colored eyes. The silence that fell between them was stagnant and eerie. It was only when she wailed to the creators to protect her that he bared a bloodstained snarl.
As she peered into the open maw of the wolf, fear diminished and was replaced with blind wonderment. The creature held the entire night sky in his jaws, a spray of stars as bright as the sun clustering towards his tongue and she could spy the tails of flying comets between teeth. The malcontent in the wolf's eyes had left but was now sorrow. The beast bit down, shredding through muscle, breaking bone and tearing her arm away from the socket. She screamed in abysmal pain and azure tears dripped from her chin to the ground of the cave, leaving circles of luminescent green upon the earth.
She attempted to push the creature away when a blast of green magic burst from her hand and crashed upon the wolf's head, leaving a gash above it's left brow. The creature howled in a lost language that reminded her of home. With the distraction she fled and never glanced back, knowing the wolf was still watching her.
There was unease while she waited for a response from the keeper, perhaps sage wisdom or a laugh but was only held with a stoic look and the ache of unspoken words. The keeper broke the stare first and stood to ask the child if she had any idea how she became sick. It was learned that she had foolishly accepted blankets from shemlen on their travels, blankets that held spreadable disease. The blankets were burned, she was chided on accepting things from strangers especially shemlen, but the dream was never mentioned again and left an unresolved feeling in Lavellan's chest.
She forgot about the whole experience up until she awoke now to an unfamiliar ceiling and felt as though she were swimming in the scent of elfroot and spindleweed once more. The comfort of familiarity enveloped her until the images of the conclave burning down crept behind her eyes. Although she had not eaten in a while, she retched in the nearest vessel, an unfortunate vase now the container for her bile and spit.
The bang of a object falling garnered her attention in between heaves and allowed Lavellan to focus attention elsewhere. Immediate guilt and concern filled her when she saw the poor elven child that must have slipped into the room, this was not a good way to introduce herself. Before Lavellan could start apologizing profusely, the child had beaten her to it; going as far as getting on the ground to bow. The gesture made her feel pity for the child and she pondered if they had to do this anytime a mistake was made. The conversation was brief and within moments the child left running to give someone the news that she was awake.
She sat in confusion before her thoughts caused a churn of bile to sour her throat and she recoiled in disgust at the notion that she had been the sole survivor of this event. It was the scalding of her flesh that ripped her away from internal dialogue and instead to her cursed hand, now ablaze in a green light. She concentrated on breathing through her nose in an even pace. She imagined holding all of her tension in the marked hand, that it was flaring up because of her current stress. Gradually she envisioned gripping her hand shut and the trauma minimizing in her palm, then finally the light flickering before disappearing all together upon the fist closing. She was pleased when her reality reflected her imagination.
With shaking knees, she willed herself to stand and stagger towards the door. She shielded her eyes to the blinding sun before tentatively hedging out of the house. A swirl of forgotten comfort pulsed in her chest over the warmth she felt from the sunlight, it was the only pleasant sensation she felt as she meandered forward. The muscles in her legs were sluggish to act, there was no position she could rest her arms that would give her ease from ache and there was a dull throbbing behind her forest green eyes. It took a couple of paces in silence to register that something was amiss. Shemlens had stopped their small village life in preference to watching her with intrigue. Children ceased chasing eachother instead seeking their mother's hand, idle chatter turned into hushed whispers, a man halted chopping wood to wipe the sweat from his brow and gawk at the elf. She bit her bottom lip as she strayed onward, the crowd parting around her and leaving an echo of fervent whispers from the people as she passed.
It was then she heard the title "Herald of Andraste", at least that's what she thought they were calling her. There was a certain wrongness that sat against her ribs at being given the title and she nearly broke her gait to correct the villager. It conjured the heroic portrait a hulking shemlen, wavy blonde tresses flowing against the wind as he held the chantry flag, bare chested and muscles glistening with a harem of adoring women attaching themselves to him. She was not this image. She was not their Herald. She couldn't even save anyone at the conclave, she snapped at herself. She concluded the only valid solution to this predicament was for her to flee as soon as she was able, she did not want to get wrapped up in this shemlen trouble. She entered the chantry categorizing on her fingers what she would need for her trip back to the free marches, oblivious to the arguing that resonated in the hallowed walls. It was only after she had entered the final chamber that she was jolted out of her scheming.
Petty shemlen infighting greeted her and a fleeting worry was that they were all like this when faced with problems. The priest demanded that she be chained and put on trial. Her lips curled in a smirk as she was about to make a joke about at least taking her out on a date first. The motivation for the jest was lost once Cassandra began to speak and the gravity of the situation, the conclave weighed heavily on the elf's shoulders once more. She felt panic rise up in her fingers first, she needed out. She had done all that she could, she told them. She hoped that would flow more easily into her having nothing else she could contribute and be able to leave (she hoped by sundown so she could at least start the trip back home). The priest was skeptical still of her motives and made no deal to hide it.
She idled impatiently besides the bickering shemlen, just waiting for when she could slip away until Cassandra suggested that she had been sent by their maker for this very reason. Lavellan sputtered and her brows clenched in annoyance of this all. She was not the "chosen one", she was a Dalish elf. Upon telling Cassandra this, the woman's brows pinched just enough for Lavellan to notice. Despite her distaste of Cassandra suggesting she was cast in the light of their maker, she had to give the woman credit for standing strong in her faith and authority.
The priest stomped out of the room, leaving Lavellan with questions. What was the inquisition of old, was this the start of a holy war and what would happen if she refused? Questions were more populous in her mind now than numbers she could count to, and she could count pretty high. She could not avoid that this had changed her, possibly for forever but it was all so strange and she didn't know what she could do that would even remotely suffice for the death of so many. Her skin shivered with heat, sweat was slick against her back, she felt blood against her ears once more, and the air in the room to have become not enough for her lungs. Without much thought, she shook hands with Cassandra and made a dash to the outside where she promptly up chucked in the bushes off to the side of the holy building. The rest of the day was a blur of introductions and handshakes before she was able to wander back to her borrowed one room house. She collapsed in the bed without much regard for the breach in the sky.
There was a thump In the back of her eye that startled her awake, causing her to sit up right in the bed. Splitting pain of a migraine reverberated from her eye down to her spine, making her clutch her head as she winced. The rattling continued, but she found it to be originating from the door rather than the back of her skull. Her eyesight blurred as she perched herself on the side of the bed, still holding a hand to her head and she concluded that she could not safely stand up at the moment. "It's.. open." She murmured wearily to the unknown person knocking. When she observed the door swing open, she peered past to the outside world and discovered the sky had been painted in pastels of dark purple and pink with highlights of orange on the heads of clouds. Had she not felt her brain imploding, she might have been interested in an after dinner stroll to overlook the beauty of the sky.
"Lethallan I.." A pause was held before the male continued, "Oh, it's rather dark in here, may I light some candles for you?" She wasn't sure if it was a trick of her brain from the dissolving process it was surely going through, but she could swear there was a hint of amusement in his voice. The only response he received was a low groan of approval as she turned back into bed, facing the wall and covering her eyes. She attempted to focus away from the agony in her head and instead to the timbre of his voice, his accent peculiar for the region and it reminded her of her clan. He held his vowels tenderly and punctuated his words with purpose, all together there was a cadence in his voice that relaxed her. "There now, candles are going and the hearth has been started." He mused, picking up a chair and setting it down next to the bed. "I am here to tend to you, whenever you are ready." He announced, fixing a cup of tea for Lavellan.
She rose once more and waited at the side of her bed, one hand now shielding her eyes from the light now in the cabin. He offered her the mug of tea before fixing himself a cup of hot water. She didn't dare to smell what she was drinking, finding that every sense caused a whack in the back of her skull. But as she gulped the hot tea, she slowed in realization of it being elfroot sweetened with honey. She felt heat spread from her stomach to her ribs and seep to the rest of her body from there. She held the mug close to her heart, she wasn't sure if it was the familiarity of it or becoming more hydrated or the healing properties of the drink, but the tension behind her eyes began to fade.
"How're you feeling?" Lavellan took a moment to consider the question, as it was rife with answers and all with different intentions but all seeming to fit exactly how she felt. Instead she resorted to a shrug of her shoulders and a heavy sigh, which best fit the general idea of all answers. "A wise response to such a broad question." The fellow elf's voice held a tender tone and she didn't need to look to see that he was entertained. "You've been taking care of me, ma serannas lethallin." Her gratitude sincere as she wasn't sure if she could trust anyone else to take care of her, but put more trust in the fellow elf than most. A chuckle escaped his pale lips as he sat in the chair across from her, crossing his legs and cupping his mug of hot water, "Lethallin? I haven't been called that in ages." As she took another sip of the tea, her stomach growled in pleasure at something finally within it's walls. "Would you prefer I call you Hahren?" There was a back bite of unanticipated playfulness in her tone that even surprised herself. A grin ghosted across the elf's face and he suppressed a chortle in his chest. "It doesn't much matter to me, or Solas would be equally fine."
A smile blossomed from the corner of her mouth before it radiated across all her features, emerald eyes wrinkled in mirth, her cheeks lightly rose tinted and dashed with freckles, lips pastel pink against her teeth, gold-dosed-in-wine colored hair braided into a single line which cascaded down her shoulder to lay in a half moon around her. The way the firelight washed over her skin gave the filter of an oil painting like those he had seen in his travels. She could be painted a thousand times over but none would truly capture the presence of her spirit and beauty adequately. The room was suddenly smaller as he felt himself entranced to her but halted when his eyes glanced on her vallaslin. Magic stirred within his finger tips as he considered the lines of Mythal and he felt his skin prickle as he tied it to Lavellan, conflict swelled inside him before he perished his feelings.
He took a swallow of hot water before continuing and from the dread in her stomach she could sense his next comments, "And what should I refer to you as, 'Herald of Andraste'?" She grumbled in response, before passing a hand over her brows and to pinch the bridge of her nose in exhaustion. The peace deflating with being reminded of this whole mess. "Please, no. Anything but that." She exhaled a breath of air before looking to the hearth, sour thoughts brewing within her skull. "Lavellan works for a name. And.." Her eyes met back to the greyed blue, "Don't you feel that it's.. .. Disrespectful to their own god that they are calling me such?" The matched gaze broke as she peered down into the mug of tea she was clutching with both hands. Solas considered the thought, letting a gulp of hot water rinse his mouth before speaking with careful words. "I believe that they are afraid, they cling to their god in fear, grasping at anything that might help and dubbing it as something sent to them by their maker." She envied the confidence he spoke with, wishing she could come to conclusions as firmly. "I wasn't sent by anyone other than my keeper.." her words diffused as she held her head in her hands, balancing the mug of tea between her calves. She thought of her clan, the hunters who would stare hungrily towards her with humor on their lips and lust in their glances, to the keeper who would pull her aside for an impromptu lesson on herbs and the verbiage difference in elven, to her apprentices who would stare in disbelief at the keeper for sharing knowledge to anyone else other than her mages in training, to her friends she had since childhood and their misadventures growing up. She couldn't help but also sulk on the idea that those from the conclave would never be able to return to their families or friends. Her heart ached for them and drinking elfroot tea would not resolve that pain.
"Fenedhis.. Fenedhis.." She chanted, barely above a whisper in her palms before growing louder. She thought back to wandering through the forest searching for fruit as a child when she came across a shemlen couple wrestling on the ground, the man appeared to be winning. Just as she was about to jump in to rescue the woman, she heard a quivering cry of pleasure erupt from the woman's throat. It then occurred to her, face set ablaze with mortification, that she was witnessing a very intimate moment and needed to leave. That was the first time she had heard the shemlen word "fuck" and she repeated it now in frustration.
"Fuck.. fuck fuck!" The mug clattered and tea spilled out in a wave across the floor as she stood up. Both elves worked to clean the mess but Lavellan found her mind swirling again and drew away. Solas hesitated from pressing a towel to the damp floor long enough to witness the woman sprint out the door into the night. Without much concern for the remaining mess, he raced to the threshold and called out for her, but was met with silence among the twinkle of the starlight above.