The hart did not care for swamps. Nor the undead that pulled themselves from the muck to give shambling chase. Solas ignored them, for the most part, unless they stood in his path. Then a few blasts from his staff usually moved them out of the way.
A stone plinth revealed itself in the mist ahead, with a tall figure standing next to it, maul slung over one shoulder.
Solas slowed his mount to a walk as he approached, calling a cautious greeting, "Well met."
The Avvar, as Solas could see now, turned but did not charge as the mage expected. A thoughtful face peered at him from beneath the tall man's bird-like mask. "Hail, lowlander. What brings such as ye to this unwholesome place?"
"I … am searching for someone," said Solas.
"Ah, the little one. Female of your race, is it not?" The Avvar scratched his chin and yawned, going back to staring at the stone beacon.
"You have seen her then?" The apostate found it hard to hide the eagerness in his voice, the tightening of his hands into claws on his thighs.
"Yes. She threatened to gut me, the fiery little thing. Until she realized I was not of the Hand's minions."
"The 'Hand?"
"Hand of Korth, bratling son of Movran. A sorrier youth I have never known." The Avvar chuckled. "I would not play bulwark to the boy, so I let her on. Doubtless, she has found him already. And he may now regret his challenge to her. Regret the taking of her people."
Solas absorbed this with a grave frown. "Where was she headed?"
The tall man tilted his head. "Ye would stop her? She'll not thank ye. She's on the bloodhunt. Didn't seem to matter whose. Mayhap yours will suffice."
A biting chill ran up Solas's spine. "Nevertheless, I must find her."
The Avvar pointed to the west. "Stay on the path. My people have taken the holt at the end of it for themselves."
"My thanks. I am Solas and I am in your debt."
"Say not such a thing to me. Those words have power among mine," said the man with a grin.
"And mine," Solas asserted, holding his gaze with conviction.
"Well, then. I am Amund, Skywatcher. And I will hold you to your debt. In the fullness of time." Amund nodded in respect and said, "One last thing. Your Herald. She looked a mite poorly."
"Farewell," said the apostate, urging his hart to run, worry hastening his need.
Undead filled recently emptied campsite after campsite. He galloped past them with a cursory look. Soon, a long bridge loomed out of the fog, with an open portcullis at the end, yawning huge like the maw of some ancient horror.
The dead clustered at the end, bumping into each other and moaning. Solas clicked a command to the hart. The buck lowered his antlers with a high, whistling bellow. The charge scattered the walking corpses in front of them. Solas let loose a mindblast for the rest. The dead flew back into the water at each side of the bridge.
Ducking under the spiked entryway, Solas pulled the hart short and looked around. She had to be close. The Anchor's resonance filled the air like siren song.
Fresh bodies littered the stone floor, strewn every which way. Solas dismounted and picked his way among them, noting the clean cuts, the precise strikes to vital organs. Up and through another gate he walked, hart close behind.
Then he saw her unmistakable silhouette, lying on the ground collapsed atop another very dead Avvar, larger than the rest. Her left hand still curled around the handle of her dagger, which stuck out of the dead man's chest.
Solas ran to her, sliding the last few feet to kneel at her side. His hands hovered, unsure just how hurt she might be. "Herald?"
She gave a low groan and stirred, hand falling from her knife.
He, with all the care he could muster, turned her into the curl of one arm. His other hand pushed her hair out of her face. Drool coated the one side of her face and her eyes fluttered open, weak and unfocused. "Wuh?"
"Herald? Lethallan?" Worried, he scanned her for injuries. None of the blood on her seemed to be hers. But her flesh scalded him, and the two circles of bright red high on her cheeks did nothing to placate him. "Are you hurt?"
"Solassss?" Her left hand came up and patted his cheek, pushing his skin this way and that. She gained a little more sense and scowled. "'Course itzz you. It jus' haaad to be you."
A waft of strong alcohol found his nose and he looked down at her, in bewilderment and consternation. "Are you …. Are you drunk?"
She scoffed. "I'm sick. Drunk is just inci-inci-incidental."
Then he saw the ancient bottle of wine in her other hand, half empty and leaking all over the ground. It stank.
"Look wuh I found. Blackwall izz gonna be so pissed." She giggled and opened the bag at her waist to show him a dirty, folded rag and a book with a gryphon embossed on the front.
Frustrated, Solas started to gather her in his arms, being none too gentle.
She complained, "Whoa, whoa! Wut are you-?"
"Enough of this nonsense, da'len! We're going back to Haven." He stood, noting how light she felt with concern, quickly eclipsed by more anger. He snatched the bottle out of her hand and threw it so hard it shattered.
"Hey! That was my dragon piss!"
He looked around. "Where is your horse?"
"The swamp ate her." She squawked as he slung her over a shoulder, squirming and fighting.
"I swear by the Void, da'len, that if you do not hold still, I will tie you to the hart for the whole journey back." Surprisingly, she listened, going limp. Solas deposited her on the beast's back, arranging her so she more or less sat upright.
The Herald pointed at a door off the courtyard. "We still gotta do-do the …."
With an exasperated huff and a flinging of hands to sky, Solas stalked over to the door and threw it open. Inside, half a dozen Inquisition soldiers stared back at him in shock. He spoke, sharp and abrupt, "You're free. Go to the basecamp and report in. Make sure you send a raven to Haven telling the Nightingale that the Herald saved you."
Amid shouts of elation and cries of 'Blessed be', the soldiers departed, all waving at the Herald, who waved back, though from the confusion on her face, she probably didn't know why she waved.
The ball of simmering impatience in his guts grew a little bigger as she grinned like a simpleton. Drawing his staff, he stomped toward the mount.
He leapt atop the hart in front of her, shooting her a terse, "Hold on tight. If you fall off, I might just leave you in the bog."
"Hold on to-whuuu?!" Her arms latched around his waist at the first surge forward. Solas could feel her heart hammering away between his shoulder-blades. She teetered and clutched, gasping like a fish out of water.
"Don't fight him! Lean with me," he barked, drawing his knees a little tighter to compensate for her drag.
Through the misty dangers, they threaded. Passing the soldiers again as they trooped home. They called for their Herald, who bumped and jounced like a graceless sack of potatoes on the hart's croup.
Solas slowed once they passed the worst of the fens and growled, "Are you trying to get yourself killed? How could you be so dense? How could anyone so clever be so stupid?"
The Herald grunted, "How c'n anyone so tall act so small?"
"What? That does not make any sense, Herald," Solace said, ire piqued.
"You know, 'postate. You know. Don' put on that act," she said, then snorted. Her speech became more cogent as fury burned away the alcohol. "You got a baaad case of miserliness. You give nothin' of yourself, only-only shite that sounds importan'."
"And you are any different?" Solas turned halfway around and gripped both of her shoulders in his hands and gave her a little shake. "What is your name?!"
Resentment poured out at him from her lambent, feverish eyes. Her mouth screwed closed, in belligerent denial of him.
Rage peaking, he let her go and swung back around before he did something deplorable, like strike her. No, he could never do that. From the cool air on his back, he knew she leaned away from him.
Untrusting. Faithless.
Deservedly so.
Shame pricked him, for shaking her. She was no child, to be reprimanded so. He spoke, slow and soft, "I … I am sorry, lethallan. I should never have touched you in anger."
Tense silence filled the whole bog.
"I - I … don't …," she whispered, so soft he could barely hear. "... Have one. A name, that is."
He froze, guts like heavy stones at the bottom of a seething well of guilt and regret. Yet, he could not stop himself from asking, "Then what is 'alas?'"
"It is what I am called. The Lin'alas."
Dirty blood.
How he wished the earth would open up to swallow him then. That he'd forced her to reveal to him so great a humiliation tore a hole right through his heart. His throat closed and his eyes stung.
A strike to his shoulder knocked him out of his spiraling thoughts and he whipped his head around to see her glaring at him from inches away. She said, cold, "I don't need your pity."
Then her arms curled around his waist again, snug and tight. Solas stilled in surfeit surprise. Her too-warm cheek nuzzled against his shoulder, and he tried to ignore how unsteady that made him feel.
The hart, sensing his uncertainty, bounced a little in place, nervous. The Herald huffed in annoyance and said, "I am sick, though. If we don't camp soon, I will vomit all over you."
A/N: Well. ...Weeelll. I had fun with this chapter. It's a little short, but packed with things and stuff. One of her secrets revealed at last. JUST ONE. mwahahahahahaha. Anyway, so there's a canon phrase 'len'alas' that supposedly means 'dirty child,' so I just replaced the one word. I don't really know if Elvhen words change meaning depending on the order in which they're placed other than small, simple nuances, but Project Elvhen has 'Alas'len' meaning 'earth-child.' But I needed the other, uglier one, so there's that. Please let me know if you liked it. I hope to have a longer chapter for yous guys next time. Cheers!