Chapter 8
The sun felt warm on Fainariel's face. The wind moving across the went plant dye had a wet chill to it and the small, stiff brush as it moved across her face was soothing. Her eyes had drifted shut as Solas's hand neared her left eye and as the brush crossed her brow a small smile touched her lips. "Ah, my apologies, this must be trying for you. The design is quite complex, and I am only half finished." Solas remarked.
"You're doing fine, don't worry. This is far less painful than receiving true vallas'lin, I promise you." She murmured pleasantly.
"Is that why you have none of your own?" Solas' question made Fainariel chuckle and Solas made slight hissing sound as he pulled the brush away from her face quickly. Her eyes flew open.
"Ir'abelas, did I ruin your work?" Fainariel gasped.
"No, it's fine I moved the brush away in time. The fault is mine, I did not expect my question to make you laugh." Solas assured her.
She grinned as her eyes met his, "Please continue, I'll be more careful." Fainariel held his steely gaze for a moment longer and then let her eyes drift shut again. Solas returned to his work. Fainariel let the silence settle in for a few moments before she spoke again, "My sister and I passed our trials together and received or vallas'lin on the same day. It felt like it took ages. At first it hurt, like thousands of bees stinging my face. I actually wished a few minutes into the process a god with a less complicated and smaller vallas'lin had been chosen for us."
This time Solas chuckled, but he didn't interrupt her, "My sister actually went through it so that I didn't have to be alone, everyone else had a choice, but as the future Keeper it was required of me. When I left home the markings were too conspicuous for city life, and a constant reminder to me of what I had left behind, so I asked someone about a spell to remove them."
"Is a spell like that so common nine thousand years from now?" Solas asked. The brush was now following the bridge of her nose in strong, sure strokes. Fainariel opened her eyes to meet his gaze again, a small smile curved her lips, "I think I am the only one who'd learned that spell in centuries. I had to track down and ask a spirit of knowledge."
Solas' hand paused in its work; she found the mage studying her and the look made her laugh merrily, "Come on, Solas, I was told you are old friends with a spirit of wisdom, by a spirit of wisdom. You, of all people can't think I'm strange for asking one for help?" She asked incredulously.
"Ah, no," He faltered, "I just, very surprised as to how different you and the Herald are."
Fainariel smiled and let her eyes close again, a gentle reminder for him to continue his work, "She and I are not so different." She murmured as the brush touched her face once more, "We are both very set in our ways. We both make our minds up quickly, and are often willing to defend our friends and our beliefs viciously, sometimes against all reason. The only real differences between us is who we decide are our friends are and the points of view our paths have lead us to side with. Failwen is a warrior, she firmly believes in her family, her clan, and in anyone who has proven themselves stalwart beside her in battle. She thinks like a tactician, considering the world like a battlefield; men versus men, good and evil, clear cut and no grey. Faelwen's motivation is a firm belief in the doctrine the elders have drilled in us since birth and her own clear sense of justice. She is strong, loyal and completely devoted to kin, clan and the lore she has be taught."
Fainariel fell silent and let the morning return to Solas' diligent work, the smell of crushed embrium, the wind in the grass, and the feel of the open air and warm sunlight on her skin. Several minutes passed as Solas finished the last of the lines on Fainariel's lips and chin. She kept her eyes closed and let the dye settle into her skin as she listened to Solas rinsing his brushes and cleaning out the small bowel that had held the crushed embrium mixture. "I'm curious, what's your forte, still life, abstracts, landscapes or portraits?" She murmured softly doing her best no move her lips to much and smear the work done there.
"Pardon me?" The confusion in his voice made her smile.
"You carry a case of well cared for paint brushes in your pack, a bag that is obviously for what you consider the bare essentials. Also the brushes are very well made and from my lowly estimation, of above average materials. I can only assume then that painting is more than just a hobby for you since, excluding your staff, everything else you carry could be purchased for a few coppers from a traveling tinker."
Again, Solas' silence at her words made her open her eyes. The inscrutable look he wore made her blush and begin apologizing and berate herself, "Oh! Avy felasil! Dahn'direlan! Avy esaya gera assan i'ara'av'ingala! Ir'abelas, ha'hren!" She continued in Elv'han, "I should have thought more, that might have been a very personal question I had no right to ask it. Ar ame ir abelas."
"Vyn dirthal'Elv'han." He remarked in surprise as he placed his tools in his pack and secured it to his mount.
Fainariel's blush deepened and she stood as returned to speaking common, "I suspect my accent is an atrocity compared to someone born speaking the language from birth. It's a mostly dead language where I come from, but I worked on a project to compile, reclaim and teach what we could. Many refused to be involved or accept the work. It was one of my first conflicts with the council of twelve." She put her pack on and adjusted it to hide her nervousness.
"This council made of elves, I presume, did not appreciate efforts to recover and teach their language?" Solas asked cautiously.
"We started with the basics that could be remembered, catches of cursing, marriage vows, prayers, songs, ritual greetings elves had been using for millennia and the like. We used devices to record people speaking them and compiled a lexicon and some standardization of word usage," She pulled herself into her saddle and nudged her horse back to the trail, "Eventually there just weren't enough words left to compile a clear understanding. So, I went looking for a spirit who might be willing to share the knowledge. When the council discovered where my information came from, they were furious and declared my findings invalid. They decided I was too naive to know the difference from a demon of pride and a spirit of knowledge. I was branded unpredictable, and rebellious and monitored for months for signs of possession."
She sighed, "I was the most powerful mage to have been born in over a century; the only one who could connect deeply enough to the fade to even speak to spirits. The council was furious I had risked my precious, future reproductive value for something so trivial as words." She trailed off embarrassed by her sudden loquaciousness.
"During one of my first conversations with the Herald, I had greeted her in Elv'han and she remarked that you had written the book on the language, I did not understand what she meant at the time. Your endeavour was admirable, it is a pity your efforts were not better received." Solas encouraged.
"Ma'serannas, ha'hren, I'm sure my sister said something like that with a sarcastic tone. Faelwen never liked my obsession with learning and discovering history. To her it was a complete waste of time, questioning what we were taught. It was not only pointless and idiotic, but it made people dislike me, and Faelwen by association. She was hurt and she hurt a lot of other people fighting the talk that went on. Eventually she stopped hating the the talkers and hated me for making them talk."
"Is that why you left your clan, and removed your vallas'lin?" Salas asked, leaning towards her curiously in his saddle.
Fainariel examined him for a moment with a considering tilt to her head before responding, "No," she said, slowly drawing out the word, "but I think I have told you enough about myself for the moment, ha'hren, and I'm tired of hearing my own voice. I know so little about our people before this time, would you be willing to tell me some of the history you know?"
"What? Our people? I expect you mean the Dalish?" Solas scoffed.
"No, I know way too many of those stories. When I say, 'our people,' I mean elv'han. What we were before their were such things as labels like, 'dalish,'. Everyone talks about Halamshiral, I'd rather hear of Ar'lathan, Elv'henan. I hope that being so much closer now, than the time I was born there might be more to learn." She remarked frankly and Solas couldn't hide the surprise he felt at her words.
"Yes, I do know some stories, from my journeys into the fade," He hedged. With some encouragement from Fainariel the trip continued to the rhythmic cadence of Solas' voice telling the girl of a past she had dreamed of, but never knew.
