There are no shortcuts on the road to glory.
-Logo on side of truck stuck underneath too low bridge.
'I don't suppose you have any levitation spells, or something of the kind?' Cassandra asked.
'Unfortunately, no,' Solas responded.
They were both staring up at the almost vertical, and completely bare mountain face – and just by stealing a glance at the elf, Cassandra could tell he was as disheartened as she was. Maker, the thing went a thousand feet straight up. There had been some sort of rudimentary staircase, here, once, but it was completely worn out, its steps as slippery and unforgiving as the rest of the rock.
'Well,' she sighed, in defeat, 'you are not the master of shortcuts you thought yourself to be, at least.'
He shrugged. 'This should have been a shortcut,' Solas earnestly replied. 'Lazzaro normally has a climbing cage down.'
'A climbing cage?'
'Yes – one gets in it, rings a small bell to announce that one is there, and then Lazzaro pulls the cage up. Very interesting sprocket mechanism. The fact that it is not down…'
'Visit him often, do you?' she shot; she did regret the tone of her words a tiny bit, but she was furious. Granted, not at Solas – for once. Both Seekers and Templars had suspected that Lazzaro, their elven informant was duplicitous for years, and had only told them of apostate mages that crossed his threshold only when it suited him. Neither organization had been able to prove it, though, and now she'd just found out why – neither Seekers nor Templars had known that his hut was accessible from the mountain side. The mechanism Solas was speaking of must have been well hidden.
'Even I need supplies from time to time,' Solas earnestly responded, still staring up. 'I am surprised that you know him, Seeker, though probably… given the disgusting nature of the creature, I should berate myself for not seeing it sooner. He is precisely the type that would play both sides. Yet, that is not what concerns me.'
'What does?'
He smirked.
'The fact that the cage is not down can only mean two things,' Solas said. 'He already has visitors, or he does not want any. He's not the kind that would turn away gold, so I fear the former.'
'You think my enemies got here before we did?'
'I hope not, and he is simply helping one of my ilk escape your order's shackles, but your enemies had a good night's head start…'
'…and if we both, independently, thought of him as our first port of call…' Cassandra said.
'Others might have, too,' he nodded. 'How do you normally reach him?'
She sighed, and let her shoulders slump.
'Never been here myself,' Cassandra reluctantly admitted; she did feel ashamed, but, in the end, meeting with such people as Lazzaro was not for the barely initiated. 'But the path we take would require us to go all the way around the mountain. I don't have time for that. We…I need to climb. Thank you…for showing me this. I wish that I could promise you that I will not share it with my order, but I cannot.'
'Nothing in the world can stop you from doing what you wish to do,' Solas replied. 'If you do not wish to share this path with your order, you do not have to do so.'
'I wish it were that simple,' Cassandra said, awkwardly adjusting her pack.
'I did not say it was simple. No choice ever is. Go ahead. Climb.'
Is this where we say goodbye? She wondered.
'Perhaps closer proximity to your lower curves might endear them to me,' he off-handedly said.
If Cassandra had been a kettle, she imagined she would instantly turn red and start blowing hot steam out of her ears.
'Did you just say that you're going to climb behind me just to stare at my…'
'No,' Solas chuckled. 'I merely implied that it would be the only positive part of the experience. Go.'
'If you're dead set in climbing with me, why don't you go ahead?' she spat.
'Because if you slip, while you are ahead of me, I can catch you with my barrier spell. If you slip while you are behind me, I cannot promise the same and I am not strong enough to catch you, or lift you without magic.'
'And now you just called me fat,' Cassandra mumbled.
'Or I just called myself an elf, five inches shorter than you are, weighing far less than you do, a lot older, and far less physically able than you are. Just climb, will you?'
'Maker,' Cassandra grunted, looking up. 'If ever there was a hell…'
'It's up there,' he said. 'Shall we?'
'Andraste, that was…'
She grabbed him by the wrist and hoisted him up, sitting him upright on the wooden platform she'd just reached. The first point of respite in the climb.
'Steep.' Solas breathed, ungracefully dropping by her side. 'Blessed beyond, I thought that staircase, or whatever mockery of it that was would never end. Water?'
'Yes, thank you.'
Cassandra drank a good gulp, and sighed with pleasure.
'Thank you for actually thinking we would need water once we got up here,' she said.
'You were carrying everything else,' Solas replied. 'I could at least carry water.'
They both looked up, and Cassandra passed him the water pouch. Whomever was up in the wooden cabin was either pacing in great nervousness, or packing in great haste. It did not really matter – looking up was ill advised, for dust, wood splinters and more dust rained down.
'More water,' she said. The elf passed the pouch back. 'Are there any fat elves?'
'Excuse me?' Solas whispered, sounding offended.
'I can only hear one person pacing, and they are pacing like a well fed druffalo. You are the only one who has actually met Lazzaro, so I am asking whether he's fat or not.'
'He is. Exceedingly so… What are you planning? Cassandra, wait!'
She sprang up though the trap door above, sword in hand and fire in her eyes; she thought that she would manage to get the edge, but the platform was so old and decrepit that her weight collapsed it, and caused her foot to slip through the wood, and on Solas's head.
'Blessed beyond! Humans!'
'Push me up now, complain later… That's my hind side, you just grabbed it!'
'I do not see what else I could grab! Your hind quarters were coming at me a mile a second…'
'…and one, two, three, hoist up! Hello. Lazzaro.'
'That was ominous,' Solas mumbled, from below.
Nothing more ominous than what is up here, Cassandra thought. Maker.
The entire wooden shack was a full display of unholy…things. She did not even recognise half of them. There were organs, in jars, herbs, everywhere. Limbs cut off of babies, swords, daggers, spears, and a fat elf, caught with a pack in his hands.
'Solas?'
'I am coming. Process of which might have been faster if you had not stepped on my head. Or just not destroyed the floor.'
'Never mind, get up here. Because if you don't, your fellow elf will be disemboweled.'
Lazzaro was not only fat, he was filthy. He reeked of sweat, stale wine and some sort of herb Cassandra did not know.
'No, no, no!' he cried, as if the tonality of a stuck pig might have helped him. 'No! I am leaving, I am leaving, this is my…Please…The others…The others…'
'What? Who?' Cassandra said, placing her new dagger under the fat elf's throat.
'I cannot tell!' Lazzaro cried. 'They'll…'
He all but turned to mush. She flattered herself in thinking that it was she who was that threatening, but Lazzaro did not grow pale at her sight. He turned pale, all wine enlarged veins suddenly dry when Solas climbed into sight.
'Fen'Harel…enasal…enas…' Lazzaro mumbled.
'Wrong pass word for the day,' Solas replied, standing. 'Answer the Seeker. With names.'
'Seeker! No, not the Seekers again! You doomed me in the first place, I cannot, will not!' Lazzaro wailed, though, for as strange as it might have seemed, he was more terrified of Solas than Cassandra's dagger. 'I beg you, master, have I not…'
Master?
Lazzaro dropped to his knees, continuing to wail and yanking out his greasy hair, like an old wife in mourning.
'I've done nothing but your bidding…'
'No,' Solas calmly replied. 'You most certainly have not. Cassandra, take an ear off.'
'What?' she breathed.
'Take an ear off. Then, the next time he lies, take the other ear off. Then, a finger. Then, another finger. How much of him will be left entirely depends on himself.'
She grinned from ear to ear. 'I like how you think. What say you, Lazzaro?' Cassandra hissed. 'Names for limbs. Seems a fair trade.'
'You don't know what you're doing,' Lazzaro whimpered. 'You don't know the forces…'
Cassandra placed her dagger above his right ear. 'I didn't hear a name.'
'Frenic!' the fat elf shrieked. 'Frenic!'
The Seeker and Solas frowned in unison.
'Who the Abyss is Frenic?' Solas said.
'Their master! The first of the crows, the caller of dragons…Frenic…'
'I think he's just saying random things, now,' Cassandra smirked, pressing the dagger enough to draw blood.
'No, please, I am telling the truth – I must leave, leave this place before he returns. You will know! You will know…He has your speaking stone!'
'Ah,' Solas said. 'And why?'
'He needs it to reach someone in the Chantry. I know no more…'
Solas cracked his fingers, but his tone remained even. 'No, Lazzaro, the correct answer is that he has my stone because you gave it to him, and not me, after you found it in the ruins. I would hardly call that satisfactory service…Think well on your next words, if you do not wish to be chased by wolves as well as crows.'
He leisurely strode to Cassandra's side.
'I presume you have a hole you are planning to hide in,' he followed, clenching his hands behind his back. 'Crows, I think, are not known for their great sense of smell, but wolves are.'
'Euch,' Cassandra said, unwillingly drawing back from the puddle of urine that was growing around her feet. 'Now you've literally pissed yourself…'
It did not matter much, at least not to Lazzaro, for his next words came out in an almost incomprehensible babble.
'The gathering. They are calling dragons for the gathering – the divine must die, so that another may rise…'
'Now I think he is saying random things,' Solas said, frowning.
The woman shook her head, in dismay.
'You can't have lived in the woods for so long that you do not know that the great gathering of the Maker's faithful will take place in Val Royaux in five days from now. It only happens once every decade…Stay put, vermin!' she shouted, when Lazzaro attempted to scramble away. 'Another what may rise?'
'Another of your Divines, presumably,' Solas shrugged. 'Not even remotely in my sphere of interest, Seeker, though when I am not pressed for time, I do enjoy a little bit of political intrigue. Yet now, time…'
'Time, time, there's no more time!' Lazzaro yelped, pulling away from Cassandra, and not caring that he cut the tip of his own ear off. 'They are coming back, now, coming for me, for you…'
The Seeker's first temptation was to slap him across the face – a tried and tested way of making folk come back to their senses, but then she heard it too: not the flapping of wings, but the trotting of horses. The entire cabin shook, and dust rose from the floor as well as poured down from the ceiling. It was shabby to begin with, of course, but those were not five horses, there were at least ten, heavy and armoured.
She drew her sword, gritted her teeth and looked at Solas. He slowly shook his head.
'Too many,' he calmly said.
'I need to see who,' She whispered back. 'I need…'
'You'll see, you'll see,' Lazzaro madly laughed. 'But you won't see what you should – the greater danger, the enemy…'
She did not pause to wait for him to finish. By now, to Cassandra's eyes, the fat elf had completely lost his senses. Quick as lightning, she jumped down through the hole in the floor, praying that the platform would hold – without Solas' barrier, it might not have, and when he gracefully landed by her side he shook his head in annoyance, yet for once, said nothing. Both of them huddled under the remainder of the planks, and Casandra prayed to the Maker that whatever was left of the floor would last.
She could not see much, but the sound of heavy iron armour boots was unmistakable – she just desperately wished that she could see who was wearing them, so she inched forth a bit, and pulled back sharply when a large splinter fell, grazing her cheek.
'Well, well, Lazzaro,' someone above said. 'Did you have guests, or is it simply that you refused my good advice of laying, or just easing off the slags and worms you knife ears eat that caused this mess?'
Solas grabbed her in his arms, once again showing that for one that looked so frail he had some strength, and quite the reach, for he pulled her back, dragging them both even further into the shadows. She felt odd solace in his tight embrace, and pulled her knees to her chest too. She realised that she was holding his hands in her own, but it helped her make her small, and pulled her knees even tighter to her chest.
'N..no guests, sire!' Lazzaro babbled above. 'I just slipped and…'
'Also cut himself shaving, though he has no beard. Or maybe just decided to cut off his own ear to pretend he's human,' another remarked; all laughed. 'Looks like he was heading somewhere…'
'In a bit of a hurry, too. Why is that, rabbit? Suckling from two sheep in Orlais no longer agrees with you?'
'I am no longer fit to s-serve – mercy, sire, mercy, I will go from this place…'
The heavy steps paused. 'Of course you will; the land of the living has no use for you. But you will only go once tell us who you betrayed us to, and you explain to the Commander why, if you have had no guests, there is a satchel of nice linen shirts that would not fit you in a hundred years, and fresh fruit you would never touch, right here, by the edge of this gap in your crappy floor.'
'Shit,' Cassandra whispered.
'You'll either continue to lie, and die inch by inch, or just tell us who was here before us, and you will mercifully follow that sack all the way down to…'
The satchel landed on the platform with a dry thump, and both Solas and Cassandra cringed.
'Double shit,' she grunted.
Solas let her loose. 'Can you make the jump?' he whispered pointing to the climbing cage; it was rattling to the wind ten feet away, a thing of rusted iron, fit for only one, hung on questionable hinges…
Cassandra had been so blinded by anger that she had not seen the mechanism on her way up, but she plainly saw it now, and it was no more discouraging a sight. All decaying sprockets, and, most importantly, a lever that controlled the entire thing. Without someone to pull it to the top, or keep it from unwinding on the way down…
'Look below,' the man who led the others above ordered. 'Is that how you got all your apostates past us, you fat slug, how you thought that…'
A young man, with barely enough beard to hide his zits, yet wearing heavy armour, stuck his head out in the open, and there was no more time to think of rusty hinges, sprockets or levers. Cassandra grabbed him by the edges of his breastplate and easily puled him down, onto the platform. She saw the markings on his armour as he flew past her eyes, and they almost cut her momentum short.
It was a Templar armour. Templars. Oh Maker, not the Templars…
'Cassandra, jump!' Solas shouted, no longer caring for silence; she'd dearly have liked to obey him but she could not look away from the young man's face, from the imprint on his breastplate – the elf hooked her by the collar of her shirt, just as the rickety platform, overloaded by the armour began to give.
She could truly not remember whether she'd jumped or not, or whether he'd simply tossed her. She thought it was the former, as the latter was rather unlikely – however, Cassandra Penthaghast knew that she would never, in her life, forget the mad rattling of sprockets and chains, nor the face of the young templar, as he fell into the void, alive and full of dread, as he fell past them, bouncing on the rocks of the cliff.
'Top or bottom?'
'What are you on…'
'Bottom it is for you, then,' Solas said, quickly turning both of their bodies around, amid the rubble of the cage and the platform, and oh, Maker, too close to the scattered remains of the young Templar than she cared to see.
Cassandra closed her eyes, and the elf straddled her and put his forearms close to either side of her face, then, before she could protest, or administer the kick to the tenders he so richly deserved, he knitted his fingers behind her head, and shielded her eyes with his forearms too.
His barrier, which he'd turned on and off during their tempestuous descent rose about them once more, was showered instantly showered with yellow blobs of fat, sickly pink skin, something grey, something brown and crimson, overall, crimson…
A half severed elvhen ear slipped slowly on the side of the mage's dome, slowed by the fat blobs.
'They threw Lazzaro off the cliff.' She whispered, in Solas' shoulder. 'They just…'
'Judge not harshly, we were not about to leave that unfinished either, Cassandra,' he responded, in a dry tone.
'I was going to say that they just dropped him from the cliff right on top of us, Solas, what the hell! They know where we are, so get off of me, you lecherous…'
'Would you like all the debris on top of us to come down on top of you, rather than my barrier? Because in that case, I can just roll over, take my barrier with me and leave all of Lazzaro for you to clean off yourself. Good luck in doing that without taking your shirt off.'
'Ugh.'
She considered for a moment. 'Alright, me on top now,' Cassandra said – without warning, she rolled them both to the side, then cursed as she deeply grazed her elbow on the young templar's shield.
'Don't look,' the elf said.
'I have to,' she responded. 'He was young, so his breastplate might fit me, though just barely…'
'Cassandra, do not look,' Solas repeated.
She kicked off him, stood, put her fists to her hips then looked at the scattered corpse of the Templar.
'I am not taking orders from…'
One of the Templar's blue eyes was hanging by a few veins, on the side of the breastplate. His comrades were kicking stones from above, laughing into the echo.
'They know where we are,' the elf whispered, in her ear. 'You cannot fly up that mountain while I suspect the Templars will have their allied crows pecking at us soon. Let's go.'
'I will have them…I will have them…'
She was crying; the man knocked the blue eye off the breastplate with an indifferent flick of his fingers. 'Have the shield, and the breastplate' he whispered. 'You can have nothing else for now.'
Cassandra stood underneath the waterfall and cried. Roared, cried, punched some rock, then roared with fury once again.
In the end, she just settled her elbows on her knees and wept.
Templars, Templars…
'Templars!'
'Turn around.'
'I won't,' she muttered. 'I am naked and you are certainly not getting any more views of my moons, above or below on the female...'
'Unsolicited views, you might add. I did not mean for you to turn and face me,' he clarified. 'Turn away from me.'
It was one more of those hidden waterflows that she had never seen before; the lake was warm in places, and it had blazing hot water in on a one foot radius, and freezing cold water the next footfall. He knew all these wondrous pools, and in this one, where he'd more or less dragged her kicking and screaming, the moon was pouring down with a lukewarm waterfall, and washed tears away. From one's face, Cassandra thought. Never from one's heart.
He plopped into the water just opposite of her, and just far enough so that she could not tell whether he too was in the nude or not. She did not care one way or the other. The Templar Order had betrayed the Seekers, the Templars were consorting with apostate mages, blood mages…
'Turn around, Cassandra,' he said; the roar of the waterfall did not allow her to distinguish whether his voice was commanding or not. 'You still have brains in your hair.'
'Pecker!'
'It's getting old,' he sighed. 'Did they not teach you more creative insults, in that wonderous institution that clearly taught you how to rush at things head first, without a plan? Apostate and knife ear won't work,' Solas chuckled. 'Telling a man what he is is not insulting.'
'I don't see,' she rebelliously muttered, crossing her arms over chest, but nonetheless obeying him, 'how you could help. I've just had a tonne of water pouring over my head…'
'But you did not actually wash. That bit is entangled.'
'Oh, and you carry combs around with you, do you, bald man?'
'No, but I have hands,' Solas said, sternly.
Whatever concoction he poured over her head smelled powerfully of mint, and it was oily, yet the patient work of his fingers though her hair was pleasant enough. Cassandra had never been one for beauty, but, she admitted to herself, not having her hair matted with elven grease and human brains was not a question of vanity. Within a day, she'd start to reek just as Lazzaro had. Good Maker.
Templars…
'I knew they hated us,' she whispered. 'But I could never have imagined the extent.'
'I could not have imagined it either,' Solas said, sounding distracted. 'Did you win some mage burning competition, recently? Rinse, please,' he said, before she could answer.
She did, putting her head under the waterfall again, and running her fingers though her hair – to her surprise, her tresses felt smooth, silky and light. And, perhaps more importantly, completely clear of human remains. Cassandra came out from under the modesty preserving sheet of water when she felt him distance himself. It was night, but it was not that dark, and…
She submerged herself down to the shoulders, her arms still fiercely crossed over her breasts. 'Can you turn away, please?' she grunted.
'Already have,' Solas said; his voice sounded as if it had been coming from the farthest edge of the lake, and, when she looked, he had indeed turned away. She jumped out of the water, and hastily pulled on the first dry and clean garments she could find. It was only when she breathed at ease at being fully clothed that she realised what she had pulled on.
'These are your clothes,' she muttered, looking down at herself in disgust. Not because the clothes were other than impeccably clean, or uncomfortable, in any way. It was linen, and actually fine linen, it was just that…they were absolutely too tight. In all the wrong places. 'You are a pervert.' Cassandra declared.
'Your clothes are still drying, Seeker,' he curtly replied. 'And since you discarded my thoughtfully packed parting gift to you in a manner that might have gotten both of us killed at Lazzaro's, I dare say that the lady doth protest too much.'
'I am not a lady…Sweet Maker!' Cassandra screamed, turning her face and feeling that her cheeks were on fire. 'What do you think you're doing?'
'Getting out of the water,' he calmly replied.
'Without warning me?'
'I presumed you would turn away in virginal modesty,' Solas chuckled.
'I am not a virgin!'
'Of course you are not,' he agreeably replied, fastening his breeches – she dared herself to look, just so the virgin discussion would end, and felt relief, as well as a slight hint of disconcerting disappointment when she found him half dressed. Not bad for an elf, Cassandra thought; he was slight, but he certainly did not look like a bookworm. His muscles were tight and definite, he had good shoulders, a good back, not a bad…
Romance novels be damned.
She felt like slapping herself, but marched stiffly to the side of the fire and dropped by its side, gathering her knees to her chest and not looking up when he joined her, for fear her blush had not abated.
'Can you hunt?' Solas asked.
'Not without a bow,' she answered, apologetically. 'Besides, I…'
Wordlessly, she looked at the place where the unfortunate Templar's battle irons lay discarded.
'…I need to clean those.' Cassandra whispered.
'I thought you might leave that to me,' the elf replied.
It was kind, she thought, so kind of him to offer, but…
'I killed him then stripped his corpse as though I was a common looter,' she said. 'I left his mangled body where it lay. How old could he have been? Seventeen? Maker…'
'Mourning a man, even a very young man, who would have no qualms in killing us is hardly good employment of your time, Cassandra. But, if you wish to self-flagellate, I shan't stop you. I'll be an hour, at most,' Solas said, standing.
'No, don't…'
He frowned deeply, and so did she.
Neither of them knew where the words had come from.
'Don't go,' Cassandra repeated. 'I don't want to be alone, and you still have some mushrooms and some eggs, you left your pack at the bottom of the blasted cliff. Besides, I am not that hungry.'
Solas measured her though half lidded eyes for what felt like an eternity, but then simply fetched his pack and the battle irons, placing the latter by her side. The mere sight of them turned her stomach – it was as though that blue eye had still been clinging to the shield, staring at her. No, she would not be able to stomach food, and was prepared to tell the elf that much, again, when she saw him rummaging though his pack.
He did not take out any provisions, though. He simply took out a cleaning rag and two bowls. He went to fill one bowl with water, then handed it to her, along with the rag. The second bowl he filled with ashes from the fire, and placed by her side, before he sat back down.
'For the grease,' Solas off-handedly said.
Cassandra gratefully nodded; with a sigh, she set on her task.
'We did not win a mage burning competition,' she softly spoke.
'Oh?'
'Against the Templars,' Cassandra said, dipping the rag in water, then ash. 'The Order of the Seekers… We're not what you think we are.'
'I know nothing of your order,' Solas answered, 'thus I think nothing of them.'
'Well,' the young woman said, focusing on the breastplate, 'most people think that we are some sort of higher Templars. We're not. The Seeker's Order was created to watch over them, and prevent, well, needless mage burnings.'
'Interesting. So, the Chantry made up an order that watches its watchmen?'
'That's a simplistic view of it, but, yes,' she shrugged. 'We do share some of their duties, but we do not hunt apostate mages, as a rule. Our task is to ensure that the Templars do not spuriously wield their authority, within the Circles, or even with those mages who have escaped them. We are neither on the side of mages, nor that of Templars; we seek the truth. Death or tranquility are not always necessary, and in recent years, even honourable Circles have complained that the Templars are too liberal in imposing them. Could I get…'
He stood, to rinse out her water bowl and refill it.
'So how come you are a Seeker?' Solas asked, his back still turned. 'You do have a temperament and a personal history that shows you'd strike down any apostate mage on sight.'
'My uncle, the man who raised me…us would not allow it,' Cassandra answered. 'He was…Thank you,' she said, accepting the bowl of fresh water. 'He was a mortalitasi…'
'A necromancer and a dabbler in spirits,' Solas chuckled, in surprise.
Cassandra kept her head down, but nodded. 'Yes. If he was not Nevarran, he'd be the first upon a pyre in Ferelden and Orlais. His…his art has nothing to do with blood magic, but…It is misunderstood, down here. As he thinks many mages are misunderstood. After my brother's death, I wished for nothing more than to join the Templars, but he sent me to the Seekers instead. I grudged him for it, until I met Byron, and I started feeling at home. Had a true family, one might say. For the first time.'
'I do not think that you should wonder why the Templars betrayed you, then,' the elf said. 'None used to absolute power wants that power scrutinised. I am guessing your Divine was favouring your order, of late?'
She stubbornly rubbed the edge of the shield where the eye had clung. In her imagination, it still stared back.
'There were some minor political disputes,' Cassandra grumbled, her breath ragged with effort. 'Nothing that would warrant killing Divine Beatrix, and who knows how many thousands come for the gathering with…with bloody dragons!'
'Not with dragons,' the elf contradicted. 'With dragons controlled by blood mages. Essentially, with dragons controlled by mages… That corner is clean, Cassandra, leave it.'
'That boy's eye is still looking at me.'
'No, it's not, that boy's eye is being eaten by a raccoon, at this point. Cassandra. Look at me.'
She did, rebelliously flicking her hair back, and no longer caring to hide her tears. 'I don't want to,' she said, continuing to scrub the same spot. 'I don't want to think that anyone in the Chantry would so demean itself for…for politics, for… just for power, just for…'
'There is nothing in this world but power.'
'There is justice.'
'Power cares nothing for justice.'
'There is faith…'
'Whose faith? I have no faith in your Maker or his mortal instruments. I do not believe in the Chant, Circles, Templars or Seekers.'
'What do you believe in, then? Surely, no man can walk this earth without believing in something…'
'I believe that if you keep polishing that shield with such ardour, you'll make yourself another sword,' the elf said. 'Move on to the breastplate. I'll make some food. I'll only be gone…'
'I just asked you to not leave me alone,' Cassandra whispered, as he decisively pried the shield from her hands.
'I won't,' Solas promised, not looking her in the eye; she could have sworn his ears were twitching. 'I'll only be gone a minute…'
He laughed. 'You just said no man can walk the earth without believing in something. I can now, with great certainty, tell you that no man can resist visiting bushes from time to time. Dare I ask you stay by the fire? Cassandra?'
'I will, I will,' she sighed. 'But don't…'
His barrier fell upon her, making her feel as if she had been a hapless insect in a jar, though it stretched for twenty yards around her.
'The first to draw a sword is dead. The first to draw a staff on me is dead.'
Cassandra made herself small behind a bush; in the beginning, she'd been unsure of why she'd followed him. Yet, the fact that he had cast his barrier on her, which had made her feel like he'd meant to protect her from some unseen danger, and then, he'd walked far further into the forest than was necessary for any man to take a leak in private. By the time she had seen the others…
They circled around Solas, Templars on horses and mages with dark capes. Crows cawed.
'Give me my stone, and I shall not interfere further.'
'How about we kill you and your…'
Solas looked the speakers' way, and the speaker disintegrated into dust.
'Give. Me. My. Stone.' The elf hyphened, even as all the others drew back.
He turned his face towards a man who wielded double daggers, and turned him to stone in mid jump. Into a million pieces he broke, and Cassandra thought she should have not crawled out of the barrier because this…
The Templar leader was a commander, she could tell by his proud attire, but she could not quite recognise him.
'Find the Seeker girl and kill her, this time, for good.' He ordered, spinning his horse in place. 'Make mince of the rabbit. I'll hear no more of this.'
Still, his mounted and armoured men hesitated, and no more crows took the shapes of men. Cassandra dug herself even further in the bush, then peered among the leaves.
Twenty five mounted Templars were circling closer and closer to the elf; the mages advanced too, one addled and staff aided step at a time. Solas, on the other hand, did nothing – he looked at the sky and closed his eyes.
'I am not bargaining for the young woman,' Solas said; his features were made of white wax. 'Her life will end, as all Shem lives end, on her hour and not an hour sooner. If you are wise, you will not want for me to end your lives now. You will live out your years, short as they are.'
'Look who thinks to command us, an apostate…'
A crow made of granite fell, head first, between Cassandra's legs, tearing her breeches and drawing blood. She covered her mouth with both hands.
Another crow fell, its outspread wings severing a horse's throat. Animal and rider fell and writhed together, until the horse crushed the rider and drowned him in its blood.
'Where is my stone?' Solas asked, again.
'If you think…'
'Answer, or die. I'll not trade you the girl.'
'We will not…'
'Die, then,' the elf shrugged; the sky fell upon the earth, and all that was flesh, on the ground or in the sky was ash.
'Cassandra!'
'No, no, no, no, why…how did you do that?'
Solas looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.
'Cassandra, are you dreaming?'
'No, I am not dreaming, you just killed half a hundred people in…in…'
'In an hour?'
He looked aghast.
'It must have been some dream, Seeker.'
'You killed them, I saw you kill them…'
'You were asleep. And kicked me in the face, not to mention my masculine parts, when I tried to awaken you.'
'I see no bruises on your face!' she yelled.
'Would you like to check my masculine parts for bruises too? You were just deep asleep, Cassandra. Nothing happened. I went for some relief, and found you asleep. You then started kicking and screaming at thin air about a minute ago. After the day we've both had, I do not find the fact that you were having a nightmare implausible. Certainly more plausible than me, alone, killing fifty men in an hour.'
She furiously sat up, and shook his hands of her shoulders.
'What's this, then?' Cassandra furiously asked, pointing down at her legs. The granite crow had grazed her, she was sure of it…
'Er, your…crotch?' he replied, after looking down; she looked down in turn.
And there was nothing – her trousers were not torn, there was no graze…no blood.
'I saw you do it,' she insisted, running her hands over her thighs. 'You petrified a man and two crows, then something like a rain of fiery arrows…came down, and…'
Solas laughed and stood away.
'I am flattered, but I think that is truly outside any mage's power.'
'Your bloody barrier, the one that saved us from getting crushed should be outside any mage's power, yet you cast that too. And you made it solid! I've never seen anything like it.'
The elf shrugged. 'Perhaps your Circles' teachings are somewhat lacking, too. That is how I have always cast barrier…'
'I am not losing my mind!'
'I do not believe you are. I think you are just rattled, and that you should have taken my advice, and not cleaned that armour,' Solas said, in a kind tone. 'You probably saw yourself in that young man, and whatever enmity may simmer between your orders cannot go all the way to the bottom.'
She looked around herself, still seeking to find some evidence that he was lying, but… There was none. His staff lay discarded precisely where he'd left it. The fire was dwindling, and the moon above had barely moved. True, he'd not been gone for ten minutes, as he had promised, but it could not have been longer than an hour, and hour and a half at most. She felt her cheek, and the shallow, smooth grooves there, and cast aside a few blades of grass.
She had been sleeping; the indentations on her face were proof enough of that…
'It was just so…vivid,' Cassandra whispered.
'It is alright,' he answered, sitting down and throwing an armful of dry twigs on the fire. 'And I did tarry overlong. We needed a bit more wood, I needed to replenish my herbs. I apologise. Here.' Solas said, extending his hand. 'My apology.'
She scoffed, looking at the little purple flower he'd picked for her.
'A thistle?' Cassandra muttered. 'Let me guess – it reminded you of me, because it's thorny.'
'Because it is resilient,' Solas replied, untouched by her irony.
Told you he would slowly grow to his old self...And, as usual, he has an agenda, while Cassie...Daw, she is still young and sweet.
Thank you for reading and commenting,
Cheers,
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