If you don't know what going on, that's perhaps because you missed the first arc of this story. Seek the fiction "Siris of Tevinter" to know more. =)

Bonne Lecture!


Siris lived long enough in Tevinter to see a lot of crazy thing, when she did not experience them. Most of these things involved some level of magic… However, she could blink, pinch herself or ask Healer: no magic was, right now, happening. Yet, she was sitting in front of a very pissed off human woman wearing armor and some sort of cleric wearing a purple hood. Siris was not restrained; however the look of the first woman did not encourage her to move even the tiniest muscle. Was she angry at the elven woman? Or did she always look this furious? If she was angry at Siris: why? Did the elf do something improper in the South she did not know off? Or did someone manage (Creator knows how) to detect the link she had with Healer? Or perhaps it was her relationship with Rainier? Did people try to bring him to justice despite him trying to redeem himself? Unless it was to tell some unfortunate knews about Ser Jean… That thought froze Siris' blood in less than a second. Ser Jean… With a young human –the blacksmith's apprentice— he drove the renegade Templars away when she and Sister Emma were trying to flee to Redcliff. She did not receive word of the two men since. Were they dead? Or worst: were they made capture and… No. Siris could not bring herself to think what could be happening to them. She knew oh too well how deep cruelty can go.

The cleric circled Siris, not taking her eyes off. The thoughts the young elf vanished, replaced by the heavy anxiety she felt a moment ago. Nothing happened but the cleric circling the elven woman, in silence. Silence. Not quite. The clicking noise of the cleric's armored boot on the stone floor, her chain mail following her every movement. When one of the Templars in the room would move to ease some discomfort, his or her armor would make the strange noise of a piece of metal against another. Not a pleasant sound.

"We received word that you were a Dalish… and tevinter." The cleric suddenly said.

"Why are you here?" growled the other woman, the one looking angry.

"Are you of clan Lavellan?"

"Who?" Siris asked, with the lowest voice she could.

"Don't play idiot!" Yelled the angry woman.

"Cassandra." The cleric said calmly. "Allow me."

The angry woman –Cassandra—backed off a little. The cleric came back in front of Siris. The young elven woman could not start to guess what was happening. Lavellan? A clan? Yes, she was from tevinter, was that a problem? Perhaps it was… after all, these two humans –and the templars around—were part of the Andrastrian Chantry; which hated Tevinter, for understandable reasons.

"Which Dalish clan are you from?" The cleric asked, taking Siris away from her thoughts.

"None. I'm not Dalish." The elf answered. Then she remembered her tattoos were back. "It's… complicated."

"Obviously."

"I'm not Dalish, I was born in Tevinter." Admitted the elven woman. "I mean no harm. I fled slavery after my master died, when we were attacked by darkspawns."

Siris tried to contain her nervousness. But the eyes watching her –the two women and the Templars around—did not help her to calm down. All the young elf ever wanted was a good meal, to find a job, to heal and to figure out lyrium addiction. An hour ago, she went to Quartermaster Threnn, as instructed. The Ferelden gave her a broom and told her to go away; not willing to listen what was the deal. But apparently, she still noticed both the markings on Siris face and her very strong northern accent. Next thing she knew, Siris was grabbed by two Templars and sat in a chair in the prisons underneath Haven's Chantry. All sorts of scenarios started to spring in her mind: what will happen? Will they hurt her? Question her? She knew nothing of importance… except, perhaps, what could have blown up the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Yes. Siris was screwed. Again.

"Do you know why you are here?" The cleric asked.

"No, ma'am."

"Because tevinter elves with dalish markings don't exist. So, start talking. Are you here for the Herald?"

"The Herald… ma'am?" Repeated Siris, completely clueless.

Siris wished she could scratch her head. What was going on? What was the Lavellan Clan? Who was this Herald? But the elven woman did not wish to end up in prison –or worst; so, she remained silent... For a while. The woman asked her to talk, so she did. She started to talk, as fast as she could, in every details possible. Siris hated every minute of it, revealing her secrets in such manners. Well… Most of them. Healer was not a secret the elven woman was willing to talk about. She cared for her mental health and turning into a Tranquil was not ideal. At the end of the story, the two humans looked at each other before turning back toward the elf.

"Are you saying you know Thom Rainier and Solas?"

The elven woman gave them a look. Did they know them as well? It was strange to hear their names again. Rainier was a good man. With a trouble past, of course, but a good man. He was doing his best to pay his dept to the Maker –or whoever the man whorshipped. The two woman assured her that the good soldier was fine; that because of his effort with the newly created order named "Ara'val al Atisha". No official leadershipped had recognized the Order's power, except the Inquisition. The Herald believed, according to the cleric, that Ara'val al Atisha was a good opportunity to help people, put criminals to good use and build better bridges between humans and elves. As for Solas… Well his existence wasn't supposed to be known. Was he alright?

Fortunately, this question found its answer almost immediately when the door opened. Solas walked in the room, hands in the back, calmly. He was wearing well-looking elven light armor and his hair were braided again. He did tell her during their travels he used to wear such mohawk hairstyle in the past. When they meet, Solas had to cut his hair short, worried it would bring attention on him. Apparently, it was no longer source of concern.

"Andaran atish'an, lethallan." He said to Siris in elven.

"Andaran atish'an, Solas." She answered politely. "What is going on?"

"A misunderstanding." He said. "The temple exploded because of an event in which my orb was involve. Malin Levallan, a dalish, touch it and received the power to close the holes in the Veil: the Tears and the Breach. It is complicated, I will explain it all to you later. These people, Lady Cassandra and Sister Leliana, think you are either a kin of his, sent to bring him back to the Clan, or a Tevinter spy."

"Mana ma halani…" Siris muttered. "I did nothing wrong…!"

"I know. They won't hurt you, I promise." Solas answered before turning toward the two humans.

The one called Cassandra was particularly weary of his presence. Was she a Templar? At least she knew who Solas was, if he spoke of his orb in Common, in front of so many people.

"This woman is no threat." He said. "She was, in fact, the one freeing me from the prison I told you about. I owe her my life and much more… As I was not the kindest toward her, at first."

"That is an understatement…" Siris growled.

Solas gave her a look stoically ashamed. However, after exchanging few more words with "Lady Cassandra" and "Sister Leliana", Solas had her free to go. Escorted outside the Chantry, Siris did not breathe a word. Once the cold air of the mountain entered her lungs and walking away from anybody, she finally asked her many questions to the Ancient Elf.

"I thought your origins were secrets." She said.

"It was until I had to explain why I knew so much about the Herald's mark, the Breach and what caused it. I made an impression since they did not try to made me Tranquil or to kill me."

"If that's even possible." Siris muttered.

"It is." He said with sadness in his voice. "It's difficult, but not impossible."

"I noticed."

"Anyway, Seeker Cassandra does not want to see you anywhere near Lavellan. So, please, stay away from a dalish elf with red hair and a shiny green light coming out of his hand.

"Wait…" Siris interrupted. "An elven man, long red hair, pale skin with green dalish-ish Mythal's tattoos, armed with a bow?"

Solas frowned.

"You know him?" He asked.

"I tried to show him to you on our way up to the Temple!"

Solas' eyes looked at her for a few seconds before the memories kicked in. Yes, Siris tried to show him what she described as a weird-looking mercenary; but the man was already gone when Solas tried to spot him in the crowd. Siris could not believe how small the world could be… and hoped it would not get any worst.

Siris could not care anymore: her stomach reminded her it only had an apple to work on. Fortunately, Solas was, apparently, in good terms with the "Herald of Andraste", which apparently came with the privilege of coin. He kindly offered to buy her food at the local tavern. While walking toward the building, he explained to Siris what happened at the Temple in every detail. Lavellan stepped out of a rift with the mark on his hand and passed out. Then, he woke up, was brought back to the Breach and closed the rift; putting a temporary end to the Breach itself. But apparently, the sky was still very fragile. Siris looked up towards the Temple. The sky was terrifying. Fortunately, a second attempted with more power could save the day. The biggest problems was to find such power; and this was the part where Solas tried to convinced Siris that the Rebel Mages were the best choice; since the Templars are but thugs neglecting their sacred duties, etc… But the waitress chose this moment to serve the food: Siris did not listen to Solas while he was rambling about how the mages deserve their freedom. On that note, the two elves did not see eye to eye. Solas did not face the abuse of magic. Hell: he abused magic himself by creating the Veil! But the elven woman said nothing, she was too busy eating like an ogre.

Eventually Solas stopped talking. He took a sip of his drink, looking at Siris while she ordered a second plate of food.

"How did you survive?" Solas asked, guilt in his voice.

"Healer." Siris simply answered. "It told me what happen. Don't blame yourself. More important things are at stake, and something tells me you'll be in the middle of it. In the meanwhile, I have to find a job involving healing, if possible."

Solas had a poor smile but understood. He was quick to deal with his emotions; Siris was not too worried about him.

"Lavellan, Cassandra, Varric and I just came back from the Hinterlands with a human woman named Mother Giselle. She came with her a small army of healers… the infirmaries are at full capacity. I don't see Threnn giving you better job than cleaning…"

"I'm no fucking slave." Siris let out.

"I know. Give me some time, rest and find better clothes. I'll see what I can do."

Solas was about to leave, but Siris had one more question.

"Why did you help me? Until now, I was but a convenient tool, barely a friend."

The Ancient Elf stop on his track slowly and only turned after a few seconds. The expression on his face was heart-breaking.

"Without the markings, you remind me a bit of a friend I used to have. She had dark skin, she cared for others and was very brave, like you."

"I am not Mythal." Siris said.

"I know. That is why I was not kind with you. I'll try not to be as difficult with you as I used to be."

"Please do."

On that note, Solas left the tavern.

Siris was alone again.


"Mana ma halani…" means something around "please, help me" in elven


I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one is coming soon!