Escape From The Fade
The elf watches me closely. He knows I can see him. He doesn't leave her side, mostly because the Lady Seeker has asked him to find out more about the mark. Asked. As if that was what Seekers do. I snort and he squints, muttering something to himself. I have no issues with elves – then again, the Dalish always keep to themselves. This one might not be Dalish, but he is no different. He's obviously an apostate. He knows that if he succeeds, he'll get a reprieve. Should he fail, however…
He's bound to the prisoner, as if he were her accomplice. And why not? Both elves, both unknown to the people here. Easiest conclusion to make. It is Sister Leliana who wants to keep the peace. She wants to find out more about the one who's still unconscious. The elven woman is a bit of a mystery. She doesn't smell of magic, as far as we can tell. A broken quiver lay beside her when she was found, fresh from the Fade. But she was broken too.
I don't know if what they say is true. I don't think that the Dalish would hate us so much as to send someone to kill the Divine. All I know is that if she has actually come through the rift, there must be larger powers at play. Nobody should be able to escape from the Fade and still have a body to tell the tale.
. . .
Where are the bloody seeds? I have little patience today. Lady Cassandra wants results, and I promised she'd have them. Here they are. One, three, five – grind, mix, repeat. Seggrit's been getting greedy with the herbs. So many soldiers and scouts, and not even one of them can be spared to gather the elfroot we need?
The elf doubts before explaining to me that what the survivor keeps muttering -bel'inan- refers to many eyes. I joke and tell him that she's probably having a bad dream about a spider. He frowns. I smile, having no patience for fools. A little levity would be welcome. In here, the air feels heavy with something that I cannot define.
. . .
I wipe the sweat off my brow. So hot in this cabin… But she's always shivering, so we must keep the fire going. We're all on edge at the moment, even if she has managed to get rid of the immediate danger. No more demons, but something far worse has arisen. Fear in men is just as bad as anything that comes through the rifts.
I let my eyes wander and I notice the blood stain on the wall. If the guards hadn't caught that last madman, all my work would have been for nothing. I'm no healer, but I'm the next best thing. They made this -her- my responsibility.
Maker, send us someone who can actually be of help. Anyone.
Before I go back to my duties, I catch a glimpse of my patient. Our patient now. The apostate insists on treating her as well. He's no herbalist, but he can heal a bit. The magic that he provides is carefully controlled by one of the Templars. They're here for him, not for her. He is, however, no longer a suspect. Neither is she.
. . .
The fever's gone down. Maker willing, she will be good as new when the morning comes.
Her fingers twitch almost imperceptibly. I hear her whispering something in her sleep. The poor thing… She wants to escape from the Fade.
I say a silent prayer and hope that she makes it through the night.
…
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A/N: Even though I always write what I want, this is the first time that I'll be writing a story with so many narrators. I need to get this Solas/Lavellan story off my chest. If you're interested in it, you're welcome to tag along.
Rav'elle is a name that has accompanied my elves for years. It's a name that is intimate and cherished, and it seemed fitting to give it to the only female elf that I've ever role-played.