Anduril herself would descend from ancient elven jail or some shit before Cha'cer Lavellan was going to speak to the fucking Chantry of the Maker. The notion had the elf clawing her way up the rubble surrounding the backside of the Haven chantry. Her recently acquired boots dug into the crumbled clay brick clumsily. She was unused to the broad pawing gesture that came with shoes but the blacksmith had been correct in assessing the need for them. Bare feet were not suited for the Frostbacks.

Her fingers clawed into the jagged edges and she ignored the splinters driving themselves under her nails. The camp was surely noting her disappearance by now but she didn't particularly care. Last time she had been seen, she was sprinting out of the war room towards the mountain range. It had taken three separate smoke bombs and two feints to throw Cassandra and Leliana off her tail but it was worth it. She had had two whole hours of peace and silence, albeit in the frigid cold. When the winds had gotten stonger, she began trudging back towards camp dejectedly when the smoke pillar rising from the top of the chantry caught her eye. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant heat. She could stake out her own camp and avoid the denizens of Haven there (namely the armed ones) for just a short while longer before swallowing her pride.

Her legs had long since gone numb from the snow but it helped. She couldn't feel her muscles straining as she made the climb. Once she had to hold herself in place for what seemed like hours while a servant brought out the truly absurd amount of waste. If nothing else, she thought, this was certainly good training for battle. Battles that she desperately hoped to avoid, but still. Perhaps she'd find a particularly vicious rabbit someday instead of a creator forsaken hole in the sky. Her feet pushed her up just enough to grab the tops of a particularly sharp stone on the edge of the chantry roof. She dug the tips of her fingers in ignoring the dull ache in her bones and pulled weight with excruciating slowness. That was undoubtedly going to hurt tomorrow.

She got enough of her side over the brick to roll limply onto the old roof only then realizing that it may not be as sturdy as she had hoped. The immediate non-collapse was fairly reassuring, but Cha'cer figured she'd risk it anyway. Her heart wouldn't be broken by the destruction of the war table and the chantry with it. She pulled herself up on to her feet long enough to find the pillar of smoke coming from the kitchens. It smelled like bread and dried fish but it was warm enough. She collapsed into a tired heap in front of it.

She had barely closed her eyes when she heard it: footsteps.

Shit. The elf rolled nimbly onto her feet and reached for another smoke bomb when she spotted a very surprised looking Solas. He raised his hands like a surrender and she paused.

"I'm not here to turn you in, Lavellan," he said. "I did not expect to find you at all, actually."

"But you're helping them look," she growled.

"I did not plan on being very helpful. I assumed that if you wanted to leave none among us could stop you. So I came here instead to avoid the search parties. I've never been fond of mobs." He shrugged and walked past her. After a few moments of tense silence he gave her a thoughtful look. "Retrospectively, I suppose looking where the loud search parties were not was a good idea after all. Hm."

Cha'cers eyes followed him, narrowing. She still couldn't decide who to trust and he had only barely made it onto the list of new people she recognized—never mind gave much thought. The taller elf seemed genuinely disinterested in both talking to her and apprehending her, however, instead opting to sit in meditation. Weird.

"So what, you're just going to stake me out? Wait until I give up and go back?" Cha'cer's nerves were speaking more than her mind and she knew it but couldn't stop the words from tumbling out.

He didn't respond, or even so much as look at her. She felt like a petulant child. She worked consciously to unwind the tension from her back, ease out of the fight-ready stance she had taken and take a deep breath. If she was going to be stuck with the bizarre bald elf until she was ready to return then she was at least going to save herself the tension headache. With a long suffering sigh, she flopped back down on the ground directly being hit by the warm smoke. It felt like being next to a campfire again.

"You should move outside the smoke, Lavellan, unless I suppose you're intending a dramatic gesture."

She groaned irritably. She had been hoping that she could at least convince herself he wasn't there for a while. She turned onto her side so that her back was facing him. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly. A dramatic gesture. The words rattled around in her frenzied mind.

"What do you mean?" She spat the words out before she could stop herself.

"Smoke impairs your lungs. Breathe too much and you'll have difficulty running. Plus, it looks theatrical."

She had known that. Of course she had known that. Her Keeper had yelled at her how many times for sitting too close to the fire? Sit back, Cha'cer. Stop reaching into the embers, Cha'cer. Again, she felt like a child. She ran a hand through her hair and summoned the strength to push herself out of the smoke and back into the cold. Quickly the soft flakes in the air nipped at her so recently comfortable skin and she was already beginning to shiver. Something bright and blue flickered around them trapping in sunlight like glass. It wasn't warm, per say so much as lacking cold. She looked over at the mage to her left with a lifted brow but he made no remark. She stared down at her hand.

Green wisps shot out and recoiled from her palm like sharpened tongues seeking something to consume. The first time she had seen it in daylight, Cassandra had told her that it would consume her unless the breach had been stopped. Cha'cer wasn't convinced that threat had passed. The tiny green flames still burned coldly, just enough so that she was tempted to hold the hand close to her chest. Tempted but not foolish enough to try.

A glance to her side told her that Solas stared at her hand as well with a softer expression than her own. It was hard to tell if he was concerned for the magic the mark promised or the host that wore it. She watched his hand travel cautiously to where she lay the marked hand to rest on her knee. He looked at her for permission and she nodded. With the distance afforded of someone who had recently seen to her medical needs, he lifted her hand so that he could see better the magic seeping from her skin.

"The mark of a god, supposedly," he muttered. She wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the mark. He always looked so concentrated. Like it was an effort of will to continue existing as he was. Catching himself staring, he glanced at her apologetically and let go of her hand. She returned it to its perch on her knee.

"So," he said. "The gift thousands have died for has come to you. What will you do with it?"

"Seal the breach, obviously." She responded easily.

"Obviously?" A smile played quietly just at the edge of his features. "You don't intend to conquer Orlais? Lay siege to Antiva and burn Ferelden to the ground?"

Cha'cer's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. "Why would I do that?"

"Not sure. But you could. Surely you have realized this."

His words struck her like a physical blow. There was a hole billowing in the sky above her where demons raged as they fell to Thedas but this horrible jagged new edge to the inside of her palm scared her most. She could not bring herself to look away from it.

"No," she said carefully. "I couldn't."

"Why is that?"

Her nose twitched and her eyes flashed in irritation, still locked on her own palm. She chewed her lip and found no answer in the tiny rips she made with her teeth. She waggled her fingers just a little, the tips bending towards her just enough so that she could still determine control over her hand. He watched with great interest.

"I just… couldn't. I don't know." She pursed her lips and puffed out a breath of air through her nose. "I don't want to, I guess."

He nodded slowly. A weight the size of the mountains weigh heavily on top of her chest, pressing uncomfortably into her ribs. Mark or not, she felt so small.

"That's how they see me," she said quietly. "They see the mark and an elf they don't trust. And why should they? I'm hardly worthy of…" she trailed off, shaking the hand as if to throw off the mark. "Whatever this is."

He remained silent. He met her gaze without flinching away, something that hadn't happened since she'd left her camp. She was growing so accustomed to being treated like greatest shame on Thedas that it was unnerving to be examined without any twinge of fear, hate or pity. She met his gaze stubbornly for a while, though she relished the opportunity to look away first with a small shy smile.

"What," she feigned an injured tone, "no grand words of comfort? Not going to assure me that I'm worthy? I'm hurt, Solas."

"I hardly think it is a matter of worth," he said, brows furrowing again. "Whether or not you are worthy, it has come to you regardless."

She flinched a little but covered it with a laugh. Good, she thought. Unworthy it is. Her silence was tense and her feet twitched like running was still an option. She could slide down the side of the Chantry and start a long trek back to the Free Marches. She was an excellent hunter and would probably survive. Solas interrupted her thoughts once more.

"I do not know you well enough to judge your character, Lavellan, and I will not lie to you." He paused. "If such a worthiness existed, I believe your desire to save the world that gave you this burden is a good omen. That you are still here at all speaks to your strength. I would be interested to see how it ends."

"Preferably with me as a crotchety old elf yelling cautionary tales at youngsters from my well-kept but modest cottage. Some ivy and halla wouldn't hurt," she said with a small wry smile returning to warm her features. He was pleased.

"And it's Cha'cer, by the way. Nice to meet you."