Lavellan's feet carried her away from the war room and the leaders of the new found 'Inquisition'. A shemlen religion and a shem group to spearhead the effort to fix the sky. To protect her from those who would want her dead. She tightened her hand on the itch and persistent throb embedded in her left hand, hiding the still foreign glow. Closing her hand on the gap in her memories, and seized by a wave of claustrophobia, her momentum carried her out the front doors of the chantry. Beyond the mothers and lay sisters who huddled by the door, who averted their eyes as she passed and bowed their heads, past the few templar survivors of the blast, and the townsfolk who sat gawping by the fire.

It wasn't long before she was past the gates of Haven, silently moving over the snow in the growing twilight. Lavellan's chin was up, even if her eyes were almost unfocused in distraction, easily able to pick the familiar stones and clusters of trees back up the slopes to where her camp was hidden from shem eyes; hidden from everyone who looked to her and mouthed the words of some unfamiliar chant. A bedroll and cache were hidden in a clutch of stunted pines, their boughs heavy with snow, and her shelter still intact. There was no hesitation as she ducked and crawled into the close confines.

It was there, laying on her stomach and watching the sky that Lavellan realized she could easily disappear. She could leave and find her clan, it would be dawn before anything was amiss. She could make it many miles before then.

Would the Nightengale send scouts in her wake, would their Commander have soldiers track her back to the Free Marches? Staring at the sky, she envisioned her fleeting path out of the mountains and north past Lake Callenhad, tracking and hunting, evading them as they sought her in villages where she would never go. Once Herald of Andraste, hope to seal the rifts, but now just the knife-ear that killed the Divine, running from justice. Would she make it to the sea before she was forced to fight for her life?

Her palm unfurled, a green blossom that sent light over the snow at the edge of the entrance. It matched the same glow in the whorling clouds that dominated the sky, draining into the crackling Breach. The clouds completely masked the stars. The itch in her hand was stronger here, further up the mountain and in the shadow of the tear. The worming pain was magnified above the low level strum that persisted in Haven, reminiscent of the pulse that woke her in the dungeon alongside her jailor's voice.

Closing her eyes, Lavellan laid her cheek on her crossed arms, listening to the wind and rustle of the boughs overhead. The sounds of chatter and steel were far away, the smells and confines of the town absent. Shuffling forward, she pulled a clutch of boughs over the entryway, curled up in her bedroll and slept, imagining that the aravels and laughter of her clan were just out of sight.

.

.

Lavellan woke before dawn, almost thinking herself home before a shiver ran through her. Tucked in the end of the small shelter were an extra set of clothing, and the dagger her father gave her before he disappeared. It wasn't as good as the pair she lost at the temple, its leather grip was worn and faded, but it was still sharp. Most of all, her bow was there. The last bow mamae made. Lying back as pre-dawn light filtered through, she held it to her chest, feeling the distance from her clan all over again.

She was used to the distance, to weeks away as she scouted ruins and tracked movement of shemlen farmers and troops and other prey. But an end was always in sight. They were brief, no matter how long they took. Drink and welcoming embraces awaited, Luthien's eager eyes to see what she returned with. They were the brief times mamae smiled, and Lavellan's lips could find her cheek, could hug her close. Tipsy and surrounded by lethallan.

The familiar, properly fitted clothes were cold on her skin, stiff and almost frozen. Lavellan knew she should have built a fire, but she wanted the air and the hunt. The sky was lit by the Breach when she emerged, the sun still behind the mountains. It gilded the snowy landscape in hoary green.

The sun was up by the time Lavellan found a slope where a group of rams grazed, nosing the snow to expose the grasses and forbs beneath. Her feet were numb and her cheeks were wind burnt, but her head and lungs were clear and her hands steady. An arrow loosed and speared a ram in the neck, sending the others scattering and spattering blood on the snow. A blessing to Andruil was murmured on her lips as she hoisted it over her shoulders and began to walk. The ache down her back reminded her how long it had been since she'd taken a kill so big alone. How long would it be before she could hunt properly with other elvhen…

Righting herself, Lavellan froze in place as she saw the smoke from Haven and the Inquisition camps in the distance. The saturated glow of morning was waning, and when the wind slowed she could hear them, and the weight returned to her gut.

"They are quite worried regarding your absence."

Lavellan had the dagger from her thigh and the ram dropped, poised to face her tracker. Her tension only half-bled when she saw Solas. "How long have you been following me?"

"I found your tracks as sunlight broke the mountains."

Lavellan narrowed her eyes and smirked, the dagger sheathed as she huffed, "And you've let me carry this alone the whole way?"

A thin grin broke, and Solas tucked his stave behind his back. "I apologize."

Hands on her hips, Lavellan looked at the stunted trees nearby, and wove between a few until she found one her height. She cracked the base of the trunk with her foot, before leaning to hack the remainder with her dagger. Kneeling in the snow, she looked back at Solas as she stripped the branches. "Why did you follow me?"

"The Seeker believed you had abandoned them. I thought otherwise. I doubted they would find you, and offered to look."

"Ah. Not just a mage," Lavellan's eyes dropped, blade flicking the needles away. She exhaled out, breath visible in the cold air. She shaved long strips of supple wood for twine. "I thought about it."

"Yet here you are."

"Funny that," she said, and glanced at him as she went back to the ram and trussed it on the pole. "You decided to stay as well."

Solas' glanced skyward before he knelt to tie the ram's legs with her. "At least until the Breach is sealed."

"You know what you're doing, that is rare for…" Lavellan huffed out a breath and looked at their work. She swallowed flat-ear as she met Solas' gaze. She flexed her stiff, cold hands. "It is… difficult being surrounded by so many shemlen. To be in their buildings, in their town."

"Were you raised in isolation?"

"I always thought less than most Dalish." They hoisted the ram up between them, the pole buoyed between them. "There are too many eyes upon me down there. Even if I don't care what they think. I am not one of them. They know it, and so do I."

"Perhaps that relates more to the mark upon your hand."

Feet crunched over snow as they descended the slope with care. Lavellan had a passing glance for her hand, the same green glow sparking therein as deformed the sky. Her lips pressed into a fine line.

Solas carried his share of the weight without qualm. His voice was low and almost mocking, "You have stabilized the Breach, protecting us all from the demons. You alone close the rifts, the Herald, hero sent from the Maker to save them."

Lavellan smirked, eyes forward. "Do you believe that?"

"Hardly."

"Well," she said, adjusting the weight of the ram as they walked on. "That's a relief. I may not know much about the Chantry and its dogma, but I know what I'm not."

"No doubt that will change."

"Lucky me," she muttered. They were in sight of the tents now. Cullen and Seeker Pentaghast were at the gates of Haven. Her arms were crossed. "And what prize do you get for bringing me back, Solas? Maybe I should be the one strung up."