"Imshael," Felassan said. He sounded impressed.

"Hello, Slow Arrow." The demon smiled. "It's been some time. How've you been?"—Felassan to Imshael (The Masked Empire)

Eleven

Big Liar: Part One

The roaring sigh of water moving in waves crashed on Solas' ears. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing in knee-high water that sucked at his ankles. The shore was made of rounded stones, pebbly and worn smooth by the constant action of waves over them. The sky was overcast and clouded. Drizzle and sea spray whipped over him with the wind. It was bitingly cold, promising a harsh, icy winter. The water, in contrast, was merely chilled.

Stumbling out of it, Solas scowled with confusion as he tried to discern whether this was his dream or someone else's. Hills rose sharply behind him, dotted with bushes that'd lost their leaves, along with tall pines. The hills cut off in cliffs, revealing rain-slicked rocks, raw and exposed to the elements. The scene was unfamiliar to him, but the Fade was more than capable of crafting a new scene as a sort of amalgamation of all the landscapes he'd seen over his long life. Yet, there was no sign of Fade ether and the sky held no trace of the brilliant, fractal colors that'd been a constant in Elvhenan. That suggested this was a dream inspired by post-Veil Thedas.

He sensed another Dreamer a fraction of a second before Rosa's voice called out from atop the steep hill behind him. "Revas!"

Pivoting in that direction, Solas saw Rosa striding down the hill toward him. As per her usual, she wore her Dalish Keeper armor, despite the fact that in the real world it'd long since been destroyed. Rather than let his gaze linger on her form with appreciation the way he wanted to, Solas made himself look down as he picked his way out of the surf.

The dream had rendered him in his apprentice robes and now they were sopping from the waves. Solas started to shiver in earnest from the bitter wind and his drenched state. Concentrating inward, Solas willed the chill and moisture away. This was a dream, after all. There was no reason for him to be cold and wet. The dream didn't have to touch him. The effort of changing his image in the dream made his head swim and his body break out in a cold sweat. He was still breathing a touch too fast as Rosa reached him.

Her eyes swept over him with approval, a smile curling over her mouth. "Good job," she praised and he noted that she appeared dry despite the drizzle so she had done similarly. "Is it getting easier?" she asked.

Torn between feeling irritated at her praise for something so trivial and being friendly because he knew she was genuine and not patronizing him, Solas merely nodded. His cheeks felt too hot, however, so he suspected he'd be flushed. Too much pride, he scolded himself and tried to push it aside. Rosa was not trying to mock him.

"All right," she said, clapping her hands together as she started walking along the shoreline. "Now that we can finally talk in true privacy—I'm guessing you want to know about what the Knight-Commander and the Seeker are thinking regarding the foci." With her shoulders square and her back straight, she watched him with that confounding coy smile, waiting for him to follow her or to speak—possibly both.

Solas decided on doing both as he started walking just a step behind her, the smooth rocks clattering and shifting with each step. "You would be correct, lethallan. What have you found?"

"Neither the Seeker nor the Knight-Commander have any interest in the foci," she said, confident and assured, the coy smile over her lips. "They think it's too dangerous to tamper with, magic or no. I took the liberty of reinforcing that idea in their dreams, so I think you have nothing to worry about, but I'll keep tabs on them anyway." She paused, the coy smile widening. "Also, I know where they've stored the foci and where they keep the key to its storage room."

Solas nodded, smiling at her even as his chest tightened with apprehension. She'd considered this, planned it along much farther than he'd asked her to. That kind of forethought could suggest she planned to make a move for the orb herself. "Very good," he praised and then decided to take a risk. Licking his lips, he said, "Show me."

Now Rosa cocked her head, eyes narrowing though the smile remained in place. "So impatient, flat-ear." She arched her eyebrow at him. "What's the rush?"

"There isn't one," Solas hedged, unable to keep himself from frowning. "I was merely…curious."

She crossed her arms over her chest and clucked her tongue. "C'mon now, Revas. After all this you still don't trust me?"

Heat leapt into his face, scalding all the way to his ear tips. Solas averted his gaze, scowling. "Perhaps I do not. You did, after all, refuse to trust me with the truth of how you planned to coax yourself into finally releasing Rogathe. By killing Ser Curtis you've placed all of the mages in this tower—but the three of us especially—in danger."

"I didn't kill him," she protested, grimacing. At his disbelieving stare, Rosa added, "How could I have killed him, Revas? I never left my bunk." She shook her head, lips curling with anger and stammered out, "How could you think I did it? Put us in danger like that and—"

"Are you quite finished with this charade, da'len?" Solas asked as he stared at her, flat and cold. She fidgeted and averted her gaze, looking out at the water. After a long beat of silence, during which only the roar of the waves sighed between them, he cleared his throat and said, "You do not truly expect me to believe Ser Curtis died in his sleep. Your fear of him was what kept Rogathe inside you, so you killed him."

"I never laid a hand on that Templar bastard," Rosa said, glaring at him. "How could I have killed him? What, in my sleep?" She cocked her head, her lips twitching as if she didn't know whether to smile or frown. "Is that what you're saying?"

Solas was about to open his mouth to lay out the case—which was pathetically obvious to him—but he froze as realization dawned. This was a trap. She wanted him to reveal that he knew she'd killed Curtis via the Fade, specifically. The secrets of Dreamers should have been lost in this age, virtually extinct as they were. Solas had been so fixated on puzzling out how and what Rosa knew about her own heritage that he'd forgotten she must be doing the same with him. And the moment he explicitly revealed what he knew she would have another arrow in her quiver to use to poke holes in his cover story. He couldn't allow that.

"…perhaps I was mistaken," he murmured, demure and evasive as he quickly recovered, thinking aloud. "Surely you would not kill an unarmed man, asleep in his bed in cold blood. Rogathe would never approve of such." Except that is not how it happened, is it? He thought. You sought Ser Curtis out in a dream and fought him in a fair fight.

Rosa shook her head, lips drawn back in a snarl of disgust. "No, not at all. Rogathe would spit at my feet and call me a coward if I did something like that." The way she held her hands in front of her, fidgeting anxiously, told Solas she was troubled. Seeing his eyes on her, Rosa tucked her hands behind her back and scowled at him. "I…I don't know what happened, but I didn't kill him."

But you did, Solas thought, though perhaps not intentionally.

"Very well," he said, deciding it was best for the both of them to drop this subject and pretend it hadn't happened. That way Solas wouldn't reveal that he knew such lost, deadly arts and Rosa wouldn't expose what she'd done as she seemed determined to deny it out of shame or regret.

"Well," Rosa said, spinning around to face away from him. The rocks clattered under her foot, the sound musical. "Now that you're done accusing me of killing unarmed men in their sleep, I'll leave you to the miserable coastland." With a wave of one hand at the roaring sea, she indicated the dreamscape with its constant hazy drizzle and pounding waves.

"Rosa," Solas interjected, scrambling forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "Please, will you show me where the foci is being kept and how to reach it?"

Rosa had halted at his touch and as the wind whipped at the few loose strands of her hair Solas caught the scent of soap from her bath and shampoo from her coiffed hair in its intricate braids and knots. Longing coiled inside his stomach as heat bloomed and threatened to sink lower. He wanted to curse with frustration at it. His traitorous body should have been satisfied when he took a few moments in the bath that evening to…relieve that particular physical need. But, apparently not, as those desires kept popping into his mind when he was this close to her.

The Dalish woman turned slightly to stare obliquely at him, her violet eyes sharp with her keen intelligence. Her pale vallaslin stood out in stark contrast against her olive skin tone. Before he could stop himself, Solas found himself imagining how beautiful she'd be without Dirthamen's markings marring that perfect skin. He wondered how warm her skin would be against his hand, how satisfying it'd be to indulge in the thrill and danger of pursuing her.

As if she could sense his longing, Rosa's lip twitched up in that confounded coy smile as she said, "I suppose I could be convinced. But there will be a price."

Solas felt his stomach clench with both apprehension and anticipation. "Name it, lethallan."

Rounding to face him properly now, Rosa tucked her hands behind her back in a motion of authority, mimicking the one he often adopted. Whether she deliberately mocked him or not, Solas couldn't be certain, but her eyes narrowed and her voice was stern as she said, "I need you to convince Tal to do poorly in his classes."

Solas stared at her a moment, then frowned. "That is…" He dipped his head slightly, trying to find the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. "…an unusual request."

Lifting a hand, palm out, to the roaring surf, Rosa willed it to quiet. The waters obeyed, frothing and surging as they rubbed over the smooth stones of the beach, but doing so quietly now. Edging closer and keeping her voice low as if she feared being overheard, Rosa explained, "Parahel and the other mages and enchanters have recommended him for the Harrowing."

Solas clenched his jaw. "So soon?"

With a scowl, she shook her head. "No reason for them to wait when Tal excels in everything. He's already older than most of the apprentices who undergo it—same as you and me—but unlike us, Tal's 'mature.'" She used her fingers as air quotations for sarcastic emphasis around the word mature. "They induct apprentices when they've reached a certain age and show enough promise and mastery of their talents that the mages think they'll have a chance of surviving that damned stupid ritual."

"And Tal is unreserved in his desire for learning," Solas murmured, nodding with understanding. He recalled clearly the way Tal's face had been bright with joy as he described his classes, saying that his Keeper had not trained him. It made Solas' guts churn with displeasure at the thought of discouraging that joy. Knowledge and its pursuit had been one of his greatest pleasures, pre and post-Veil alike. Seeing that same enjoyment in a youth like Tal filled him with warmth—but he understood Rosa's concern.

"Exactly," Rosa said with a sigh. She rubbed her face with both hands, shoulders slumping. "He's always been like this. Friendly and trusting and…" She huffed. "Naïve." Her violet eyes locked with his, fiery with determination. "I don't want them to go through with his Harrowing. I've heard too many horrified apprentices whispering about it."

"You doubt your brother would be able to resist possession?" Solas asked.

"No, that's not it," she said quickly with a sideways slash of her hand. "I'm afraid he'll linger too long and be killed by the Templars. He has vivid dreams and I've taught him a bit about demons and spirits, but his clan was…narrow-minded. Particularly his Keeper. I'm confident he'd pass the ritual, but he might not do it speedily. He's a heavy sleeper, worse than me. He'll get lost, meander, and could forget his purpose. And the Templars are sure to assume the worst and just butcher him."

Her hands curled into fists at her side. "It's not as if they exactly want more mages. Tranquil are more valuable. They do enchantments and work like slaves. What are we mages but a bunch of unruly children to those tyrants?"

Arching his brow, Solas asked, "And you cannot make Tal understand this danger yourself?"

She frowned. "No. He calls me paranoid and doesn't see any reason not to undergo the ritual, especially if it will aid us in plotting the escape."

There was value in having full status within the Circle. After his Harrowing, Tal could gain access to the other mages' trust. He could spread rumors and report back to Rosa and Solas everything he learned. And, as Rosa had noted, Tal seemed particularly suited for such a task. Unlike Solas and Rosa, Tal was gregarious and drew others to him with ease. Yet, even knowing Rosa only a relatively short time, Solas sensed there was something greater underlying this request. A quick survey of the tense set of her shoulders, however, warned Solas not to delay his acceptance or risk prying.

"I cannot promise to completely sway him," Solas cautioned. "But I can try. You will have more power to steer his fate than I, lethallan." Lacking most of his talent with reshaping the Fade, Solas had little chance of influencing the other mages or the Templars of the tower.

She turned her head slightly, letting the wind tug at her hair, whipping her with sea spray. She winced against it. "It's Tal I want to influence, really. I can pull Tal into your dream for you and leave him to talk with you," she said, speaking quietly enough that Solas had to lean closer to make out the words.

Nodding somberly, Solas said, "If that is your wish. Will your brother listen to me if he knows you are the one who asked me to speak with him?"

She chuckled. "He'll listen. But will he hear?" She wagged a finger. "That is the question you should be asking, flat-ear."

The phrase she'd used reminded Solas of his friend Felassan. It was the same sort of thing he would have said in this situation—had said actually, when Solas tried to convince some of his own freed slaves turned rebels that he wasn't a god. He smiled softly, half at the memory of his friend and half for Rosa and her predicament. "Then I can promise to speak to him, but I cannot promise he will hear what I have to say. Is that fair enough?"

She shrugged. "As good as. Wouldn't be right for me to expect you to work miracles. You're not Mythal or Sylaise—or Dirthamen." She gestured to her own vallaslin at the last name.

Solas clenched his jaw but forced himself to remain silent at that comment, though his stomach seemed to broil with acid. He swallowed it down. Considering Rosa's background and her suspicions regarding him, Solas knew it was in his best interests to hide his revulsion for the false gods. Instead, he aimed for levity with dry humor as he said, "Ma serannas, for that consideration."

"You're welcome," she replied with a smirk. "I'll show you what I know about the foci once you've worked Tal over a bit. Sound good?"

Quashing his disappointment at hearing Rosa intended to make him wait, Solas nodded. "Very well. When do you intend to begin?"

"Tomorrow," she said, her voice clear and confident. Gesturing at the scene around them, she said, "In the meantime, I have a lot of dreams to haunt tonight." Her smile was sly and dark. "A lot of dissention to sow. This tower is ripe with it, just under the surface." Violet eyes glittering, she lifted a hand, palm out, to the waves and Solas felt his skin tingle with the magic of her will as the water went still and the wind died down around them. "Think you'll ever be able to help me?" she asked without looking at him.

Solas swallowed the nervous flood of saliva that filled his mouth, trying to hide his unease. He had to caution her from provoking the tower into upheaval too quickly. "You must tread lightly, lethallan. Allow the dissent to grow slowly, naturally. It will be real then and not easily crushed when the Templars respond with brute force, which they will."

She wrinkled her nose at him as first a smile and then a frown warped her face, making it difficult to read. Then, apparently settling on a genuinely amused toothy smile, she said, "You sound like my…" She broke off, biting her lips as though holding back the words. Then she finished in a different way: "You sound as though you've done this before."

Fenedhis. He countered swiftly with a lie. "I have not. But I have seen it in the Fade, in Tevinter ruins. I have also sought out many spirits of wisdom for their guidance on the matter."

"And why would a lonely elven apostate seek out such knowledge?" she asked, flashing that coy smile again.

Solas scoffed, covering the panic fluttering in his gut with derision. "Have you no appreciation of knowledge for its own sake? Have you truly never indulged your curiosity?" Seeing her continued amusement in the twinkle of her violet eyes, Solas decided to alter tactics and distract her with anger. Insulting the Dalish should do it.

"Perhaps the Dalish have no desire to learn of the world beyond their small clans and small minds, but I do. I would see such ancient knowledge reclaimed and used, rather than sit idly by repeating foolish stories and playing like children or simpletons in the mud while the world passes me by."

She arched a brow at him, her jaw clenching slightly before she grinned. "How can you possibly disparage playing in the mud? You mean to tell me you've never wrestled in the mud, all lathered up and downright filthy, surrounded by friends?" Clucking her tongue, she let out a mock-sigh. "Oh, flat-ear, you haven't lived."

So much for rankling her, though he had altered topics. Solas huffed irritably, feeling his cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. "Mock if you like," he grumbled. "That does not make my criticism any less accurate."

Yawning into her hand, Rosa made a dismissive motion at him. "Well, Revas, it's been a blast, but I really must be going." Whirling about on her heel in a graceful pirouette that set Solas' frowning with envy knowing she could match that elegance outside of the Fade while he could not, Rosa began striding away. The rocks clattered underfoot and the wind sighed gently. Over her shoulder, Rosa called to him, "See if you can do something about this dreary dream, will you?"

"Indeed," Solas mumbled, sighing as he felt the weighty presence of the other Dreamer vanish from the Fade.

Rubbing at his face, he turned to regard the Waking Sea and focused his mind, reaching out to it with his inner senses. The aching, cold emptiness of his mana core echoed inside him, mocking and bitter for its reminder at how weak he still was—yet he felt the Fade click inside his mind. Grasping at it left him woozy and set a sharp pain in his temple, but he pushed through it, stubbornly.

Rise and fall in waves as before, he commanded it. Return to normalcy.

The sea began to move, rising in a spray of white bubbles and froth. It hissed and gave a dull roar as it splashed over the rocks, surging up to caress his feet and ankles before falling back. Seeing the Fade had obeyed, Solas released his hold on it and locked his knees to keep himself from falling as the pain battered him. He breathed through it, sucking air through his teeth until it passed.

Returning the Waking Sea to normalcy was a pathetically small accomplishment, yet seeing the waves rising and falling in a steady rhythm warmed him from within with the tiny triumph.

Soon now, he promised himself. Soon he would be able to aid Rosa in stirring dissention in the tower via the mages' dreams and uncover where the foci had been stored and how to reach it all on his own. Soon he would not need to rely so heavily on the very dangerous and unpredictable Dalish woman.

Soon.

The following morning found Solas assigned not to the library as usual, but to a class held only twice a week for beginners in reading and writing. The mage teaching it was a middle-aged elven woman with a soft, gentle voice and seemingly infinite patience as she toured about the classroom adjusting her students' grips on their quills or guiding their hands through the strokes. She taught both common language letters as well as the dwarven trade runes that were often used in small illiterate hamlets.

Most of her students were young, mere children or pubescent tweens. Solas was the sole adult and he felt the children staring at him throughout the duration of the class, curious and baffled at his presence. He studiously ignored them, focusing on improving his penmanship now that he had enough muscle strength to achieve a measure of elegance with the script. The letters were blocky and ugly compared to the flowing pattern of the elven he'd spent his life using, but even after one lesson Solas had improved significantly.

Before the class dismissed for lunch, Marene, the mage teaching the course, stopped him to chat. "I hope you don't mind attending this course," she told him, sounding slightly sheepish.

"No," Solas answered her with a friendly smile. "Of course not. My penmanship is atrocious. I did not learn it properly as a child and had almost no occasion to use it as I wandered the wilds."

"Wandered the wilds," the elven mage echoed, wistful now. She let out a sigh, thick with longing. "I was born in Hasmal, in a slum, but my mum got me out of there when I was young and to a little village outside the city. I remember playing in the woods, hearing the farmer's druffalo lowing." She chuckled. "I used to pick daisies on the hill behind our little hovel."

Solas smiled now with a touch of sadness, pitying this woman for her loss of freedom. "I will miss traveling," he hedged but withheld saying more, unsure just yet how Marene might react.

"I'd bet," she answered, nodding. Then, seeming to shake herself, she changed topics. "I suspect you'll be finished with the penmanship class very quickly. And, after today, I don't think there's any point in making you participate in the reading portions of this class."

Solas dipped his chin in silent agreement. Each student had read passages from a long, boring legal document to prove he or she could read. Solas had managed that portion of the class with exceptional ease, his pleasant, lilting voice making the children and Marene stare at him, looking somewhat enraptured. Solas had been told many times while at Arlathan's court that he possessed a perfect voice—clear, clipped, and musical. It suited an aristocrat—or an Evanuris—far better than it did a wandering, homeless and coinless apostate.

"I've heard from Braden that you lack any magical expression," Marene said suddenly, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Is that still the case?"

Solas hesitated a moment before answering as he reached inward, probing that empty place. He sighed, shoulders slumping, as he felt nothing there, as usual. "I'm afraid that is correct, currently. It is my hope that I will eventually recover my talents."

Marene nodded, though she pressed a finger to her chin, as if with contemplation. "I wonder if you would benefit from joining some of the classes for the youngest apprentices. Most of them have unpredictable magic, very weak. Enchanter Varian teaches that class. They begin very small, with exercises to coax the magic and then control it."

I know how to control my magic, Solas thought and chewed at the edge of one lip to keep from scowling. To remain civil, and with the certainty that Marene didn't intend to slight him, but to help him, Solas said, "I suppose there would be no harm in taking such a course."

Marene grinned. "Excellent. I shall speak to Varian for you."

Solas left the classroom, shoulders hunched and pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could feel a nosebleed about to come on. There was no shame in being weak in the arcane in this post-Veil world that so despised magic, yet Solas could not shake the humiliation that rode over him like a jockey whipping at its exhausted mount.

His face felt as though it were aflame every time he pictured himself in a room full of very young apprentices, all brand new to their magic and blundering with it. The penmanship course had been bad enough, but at least Solas knew he actually had some purpose being there as he hadn't written hardly anything in the humans' tongue previously. The thought of enduring the class for the weakest, youngest apprentices made his stomach churn. He had been a teacher once for just such students in Elvhenan. Now, to be unfairly foisted back into the role of student when he was an Evanuris?!

Those brooding thoughts kept his mood cloudy through lunch, making the lumpy, cheesy pasta on his tray seem tasteless. Tal and Varric chattered as usual, and Rosa chimed in on occasion—though Solas felt her eyes on him far too often for comfort. Eventually she said, "Why the long face, flat-ear?"

Flat-ear, her voice teased and stabbed at him. She'd meant it playfully, of course, but Solas heard it as a reminder of how broken he was and how wretched this world was. Frowning down at the cheesy mass of noodles he poked at with his fork, Solas rejoined, "Perhaps it has escaped your keen notice, but I have always had a long face."

Rosa blinked at him, then smirked. "Someone's grouchy. All right, Revas, let me try that again." She cleared her throat and laid a hand over her chest as she pitched her voice higher. "Why ever are you such a sourpuss today, hahren?"

"Is it the food?" Tal asked, stabbing his noodles with a fork. "I mean, how dare they not use halla milk to make this cheese."

"No," Varric added with a broad grin. "It's the bad wine. Gotta be. I know I'd be crying into my pillow every night if all I had to drink was that shit."

Solas rolled his eyes at them and said nothing, refusing to engage in their antics. He ate another forkful of cheesy noodles and heaved a quick, short sigh as he chewed, struggling to appreciate the rich taste. He'd never eaten this manner of food before. It was Orlesian and seemed entirely too rich. Even the highest nobles of the upper class of Elvhenan would have found it excessive.

"Enough, enough," Rosa said, waving a hand at both Varric and Tal. To Solas, she pointed at him with her fork, like a mother scolding a naughty child. The thought made Solas seethe, his cheeks blooming with heat. "And you, flat-ear, I won't let you ruin lunch."

"I fail to see how my silence ruins anything," Solas grumbled.

"You're ruining it for yourself," Rosa explained, cocking her head to one side. "And I simply cannot allow that. So, it's time we played a game and got you to lighten up."

"No," he growled, pushing more noodles into his mouth. If there was one thing this Orlesian meal could do, it was put meat back on his bones. Though, Solas had been pleased to see his thighs appeared far less skeletal in his bath the previous night.

"Don't be like that, Revas," Rosa chastised. "You haven't even heard about the game yet and you're already judging it. Aren't you the one who's always going on about how small-minded we Dalish are?" With a wave of her hand she indicated Tal sitting beside him in her description as well. "This is your chance to prove to us how clever and knowledgeable you are."

Solas sighed, giving in. "Very well. What game did you have in mind?"

"It's called Big Liar. We used to play it while drinking but…" She shrugged as she motioned to the glass of water on her tray. They wouldn't have wine until evening. "Anyway, the rules are simple. Each person tells two stories. One is true. The other is a lie. Everyone else has to guess the true story. When people guess incorrectly, the speaker gets a prize. If everyone guesses correctly, the speaker gets punished."

"And it doesn't have to be a story, necessarily," Tal added. "At least that was how my clan played it. You can say obscure facts—or lies—instead of a story."

"So, you're saying I can tell you the sky is blue or nugs taste like chicken and that counts?" Varric asked, arching a fuzzy eyebrow.

"Exactly," Tal agreed with a bright smile. "That is, as long as Rosa and everyone else agrees."

"I'm fine with it," Rosa said, shrugging before her expression and voice twisted with mischief. "But this game is always better if the stories are personal." She set her fork down with a metallic clatter on her tray and met Solas' eye. "You game for this?"

"If I must, da'len," he said.

"You must," Rosa said, smirking.

In spite of himself and his sullen mood, Solas smiled. Offering obscure facts was something that'd interest him. But, there was one matter to address first. Clearing his throat, he spoke in elven. "You will have an unfair advantage with Tal as siblings."

Rosa snorted and Tal flashed a lopsided smile. Varric was the one to speak. "Eh, didn't catch that one, Chuckles."

"He just volunteered to go first," Rosa said before Solas could react. He frowned at her with disapproval and the Dalish woman winked at him, replying to him in elven, "Isamalin and I will play honest and fair. There's plenty we don't know about each other." Breaking off, she shot Tal a playful look. "Isn't that right, Tal?"

"Yes, yes it is," he said in a mock-solemn voice, as though taking a very solemn vow.

"Enough chatter," Varric scolded with a mild frown. "Let's start. Revas?"

Pinching his lips tightly together, Solas considered what he'd tell them. Hundreds of obscure facts circled about his mind, but most of them were related to Elvhenan or the Fade—subjects that his audience, particularly Rosa, could question just how he'd come to know such things. To stall for time, he asked, "We did not discuss punishments or prizes."

"Normally it's booze," Rosa answered with a shrug. "But since we're short on that, how about food?"

"Or favors," Tal suggested, winking in Solas' direction.

There'd been a time, long before he'd been the Dread Wolf, that Solas had been thrilled to engage in high stakes betting. Nobles traded slaves, sexual favors, magic, spells, exotic food, secrets, and countless other treasures in games of wits. Solas had grown quite adept at winning in such events, and had used it at first for his own selfish enjoyment—though he never accepted slaves and if he did win them, he promptly freed them.

His heart picked up its pace just at the thought, remembering that he'd more than once won sexual favors in such games, but he smothered the idea now. He'd long ago grown tired of the frivolous opulence of Arlathan's court, rife as it was with casual cruelty to those of the lower classes. As such, he'd sworn off gambling, refusing to be a part of it. But now he was not an upper class noble at court, seeking conquest and the thrill of victory. Now he was just Revas, lowly and weak, passing the time in camaraderie.

Still…he had to be cautious. Because he was not just Revas. He wasn't even just Solas.

"Very well," he hedged, not bothering to hide his wariness. "But I must know what is at stake beforehand."

"If you win by tricking us you get to pick off the losers' plates," Tal suggested. "Whatever you want. No holds barred. And if we win—meaning all of us guess right—we get to take whatever we want from your tray. Sound fair?"

"Hold on a minute," Varric said, chuckling as he screwed on the cap to his whiskey flask and tucked it back into his coat. "There we go."

"Damn," Tal said, laughing at the dwarf. "That was just what I wanted from your tray!"

"Exactly," Varric said, chuckling. He wagged a finger at Tal. "I'm onto you, Stoic."

"Okay, okay," Rosa said with a wave of both hands, impatient to begin. "Go already, Revas."

"There are extensive elven ruins beneath Hasmal," Solas said quickly, dropping his volume until his audience leaned closer to hear him better. "That is my first story. The second is that all high dragons are—"

"Oh, c'mon," Rosa interrupted him, huffing. "This isn't any fun if you don't tell personal stories."

"Let him play the way he wants," Tal reprimanded.

"Thank you," Solas said with an appreciative nod. He shot Rosa a little glare before he finished. "All high dragons are female."

Varric sighed and rubbed one hand over the stubble over his chin. "I have to agree with Violet now. Chuckles—how about I show you how it's supposed to be done and we'll come back to you."

Solas frowned, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "Very well then, Master Tethras. Impress me."

"All right," Varric said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. "First story. I have a crossbow named Bianca. She's not just any crossbow, either. She's a repeating crossbow. Lets me fire continuously. I found her in a wreck off the coast around Kirkwall, in a crate that was enchanted so it wouldn't sink even though it was heavier than a herd of brontos. Knew she was a one of a kind from the moment I laid eyes on her." He sighed, as if with contentment or longing.

"A repeating crossbow?" Tal asked, arching his brow. "I can't help but notice you don't have it right now."

"It's not as if the Templars would let me carry her in here," Varric said.

"Hush, Tal," Rosa said. "It's time for the second story."

Nodding to her, Varric said, "A while back, the Champion—Hawke, that is—was low on coin. So, he went to my bastard brother, Bartrand, looking to join his expedition into the Deep Roads. This was back around the end of the Blight, when we knew the Deep Roads would be relatively empty of Darkspawn. Bartrand, being the nug-licker he was, turned him down flat and sent him packing. See, thing is, Bartrand ran our business on the outside, but it was me who actually did everything. Anyway, so I was waiting outside and when I saw Hawke, I could guess what'd happened. I was going to go up to him, introduce myself, but about then some pickpocket decided to step in and rob Hawke. I saw it was my moment of opportunity and shot that bastard clean through the shoulder so Hawke could reclaim what'd been stolen." With a grin, he leaned back in his seat, kicking up his feet. "And that was how I met the Champion of Kirkwall."

Solas suspected there was more to that tale, but Varric either didn't wish to go into it or he was lying. The smug look on the dwarf's face suggested that he was proud of his tales and confident none of the elves would see through him. Solas kept his mouth shut, weighing the stories in his mind with what he knew of the dwarf so far.

"Classic trick," Tal said, humming as he stared Varric down. "You fake us out by telling one story that has elements of truth but a few falsehoods while the other is all true. It's a bait and switch."

Varric grinned. "That so, Stoic? You gonna call me on my bullshit?"

"The crossbow story is the lie," Solas announced, reaching a conclusion. He suspected Tal's read of the dwarf was correct. Varric had likely spun truth into both tales, but embellished one with falsehoods. The crossbow tale seemed the most suspicious in that light.

Rosa nodded. "I agree with Revas. The crossbow story is fake."

"I still think it's a bait and switch," Tal said. "We know about Bartrand and we know about Hawke. Those are all true, but just one lie in there could make the story a fake. It's a trick." Tal grinned, beaming with confidence. "It's the second tale. That's the fake. The crossbow is real."

Now Varric dropped his feet from the table, his eyes flicking between the three elves as his knowing smile spread wider. "Well," he finally said, grinning. "I got Stoic at least."

"What?" Tal asked, his mouth falling open. "Fenedhis. Dread Wolf take me and my stupid brain."

Solas grimaced at the curse but cleared his expression immediately when he saw Rosa's gaze on him, the coy smile in place.

Groaning, Tal pushed his tray toward Varric. "Fair's fair. Take what you want."

Looking smug, Varric snatched Tal's bread roll from the tray and bit into it. His smile remained in place as he chewed. After swallowing he said, "Turns out Stoic's right, but he was wrong about which story I was baiting and switching. I do have a repeating crossbow named Bianca. I just didn't find her on a ship off the coast of Kirkwall." He winked at Tal as the young elf groaned again.

"Loser should get the next round," Rosa suggested, jerking her chin toward her brother. "Go for it, isamalin."

Grunting, Tal shifting in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Back in my clan our First was a girl about my age named Shila. Our Keeper was her uncle—a real prick. He hated my guts because he wanted to bond with my mother, but my father was such a funny, suave—"

Rosa interrupted him sharply, "Stay on topic, isamalin."

Blushing, Tal stammered a moment before recovering. "Yeah, okay. Anyway, Shila was everyone's favorite. She was beautiful and gifted at anything she tried, while I was clumsy and awkward and our Keeper wouldn't train me as Second. Ever. Anyway, she used to take pity on me and share some of the knowledge our Keeper taught her, even though it made her uncle furious. Then, one night after a bonding ceremony when everyone was drunk off Orlesian wine, Shila asked me to sneak off with her into the woods. She told me she was going to give me another lesson in magic." He broke off, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Turned out it wasn't that type of magic. And that was my first time."

Rosa snorted. "Maybe your first time with a woman."

Solas clamped his mouth shut and pretended to ignore that comment. A few times he had enjoyed male company over the years, but he far preferred female partners. Or spirits, truth be told. Now that would be something to tell them in this game. Once, I joined half a dozen nuvenathe—you would call them desire demons—for a weeklong tryst involving endless sex and magic.

"Quiet, you," Tal told Rosa with a playful frown. "My second story is about my vallaslin. See, my mother devoted herself to Sylaise. Makes perfect sense for her, because she's our clan's hearth keeper and serves as the midwife and she's a fabulous cook. Anyway, once I'd reached adulthood and proved I could provide for the clan as a hunter even if the Keeper would never let me be his apprentice, it was time for my vallaslin. I knew the Keeper would be an ass about it, but what could I do? I performed the ritual fasting and prayer. I agonized over which god I would devote myself to. Mother thought I would choose Sylaise, just as she had. I decided I would choose Sylaise too and when I told the Keeper, he set to work tattooing me. But I soon realized it wasn't Sylaise's mark he was putting on my skin."

Rosa covered her mouth with her hand. "That son of a bitch."

Solas didn't miss the genuine anger clouding Tal's eyes as he went on. "We are not allowed to speak during the process," he explained to both Solas and Varric. "But when it was finished and I looked in the mirror, I saw that he had placed Mythal's mark on me instead." He brushed a hand over his face to indicate the tattoos, which were indeed Mythal's. "I asked him why and the Keeper spit in my face and told me I could not wear the same vallaslin as my mother. So, he had given me the same markings my father wore." He shrugged. "I didn't mind too much after a while. Mythal is the All-Mother, after all. It's a great vallaslin."

"Even if you did not pick it, I agree," Solas said, nodding in respect to the younger man. "It suits you." He bit his tongue to prevent himself from adding something more regarding Mythal.

"Well," Tal said, spreading his palms in a gesture of openness. "I could be lying, remember?"

"Frankly," Varric said with a shake of his head. "I hope you are lying about the second one. Shit. I'm not Dalish, but…wow."

"So, which is the lie?" Tal asked, eyeing the three other people sitting around him. "My first time, or my vallaslin?" Then, with his mouth shaped into an O shape, he jabbed a finger at Rosa and said, "You guess last. You know me too well and I don't want you tipping Revas and Varric off."

"I'd never do something like that to you," Rosa murmured, though her eyes held a glint of amusement. "But I'll hold my guess for last."

"The first story is the lie," Varric said, making his guess. "Too much emotion in that second one to be fake."

Clenching his jaw, Solas watched Tal's face as he smiled at the dwarf, eyes crinkling slightly. There had been true emotion in the second tale, but Solas had seen Tal react convincingly before. It was the youth's earnestness that so often disarmed others around him. Tal possessed an easygoing demeanor that belied the keen intelligence underlying it. Rosa claimed her brother was too trusting and naïve, but Solas wasn't so sure. As with Varric's story, Solas suspected Tal had used tales that carried more than a bit of truth within them in both instances. He also knew both had at least one correct detail: the Keeper's hatred for Tal.

Odd that his clan's Keeper would despise him, Solas thought, brow furrowing with concentration. So many others seemed drawn to Tal's natural, innocent air of charisma. Yet his own Keeper had not been one of them. And, assuming it was the truth, Tal had let slip why that was the case: the Keeper had apparently resented Tal because of some past history with his father.

"Hurry, Revas," Rosa urged him, shifting in her chair to glance for the doorway. "I think they're about to send us back to work."

Making his decision, Solas drew in a breath and said, "The second story is false. I can believe your Keeper was cruel and refused to train you, but I do not believe he would go so far as to deny you your chosen vallaslin."

Tal's eyebrows shot up with surprise and his lips parted slightly. "Well," he said, schooling his expression again. "We'll see. What about you, Rosa?"

"The second story is the lie," she said, smirking. "You can't fool me, Tal."

From the doorway then a mage's voice called to the apprentices, ordering them to return to their classes or afternoon chores. The three elves and Varric remained seated, hunkering closer to the table as chairs scraped over the floor and feet shuffled. The dwarf was the one who asked in his gravelly voice, "So, who's right, Stoic?"

Tal grinned. "Sorry, Varric. They were right. My Keeper was a bastard, but he'd never give me the wrong vallaslin." His smile widened with mischievous glee as he scooted back from the table and rose to his feet. "In fact, I was the one to spite him. I chose Mythal to remind him of my father, who he hated so much. It was so hard not to smirk at him while he tattooed me, scowling the whole time."

Varric let out a grunting, dry laugh. "Well played, kid."

"I'll claim my prize from your tray at dinner," Tal promised, still grinning.

Elven Used (all props to FenxShiral's Project Elvhen!)

Isamalin meaning "brother." (More properly: isa'ma'lin but I like to mash the words together)

Next Chapter

Clearing her throat, Rosa leaned closer to the table to rest her elbows upon it and spoke in a hushed, melodic voice. "Before I left my clan, I was First to the Keeper. My clan lives in the Brecilian forest, so isolated that we only ever traded with shemlen once a year, and to get to their settlement we had to walk for a week from our usual hunting grounds. One night, in the middle of our journey to the shemlen city, we camped in the midst of some ancient ruins from before the fall of Arlathan. That night, as I slept, I dreamt of two ravens cawing to me from where they perched atop the white stone columns. At first I couldn't understand them, but then I felt their words inside the cawing, like whispers carried through my bones. They called my name," she altered the pitch of her voice into a breathy rasp, "'Rosa, Rosa. Do you wish to know a secret?' I was just a child then, not even ten summers. Of course I wanted to know a secret!"

"Anyway," Rosa went on and Solas caught the abrupt darkness that screened her eyes—but only for an instant. "So I tell the birds I'm listening and they caw back to me, 'You have a brother, but you will never know him.' And I told them they were daft and walked away again."

A/N: Ugh. The last week I've had a cold. Suuuuucks. I just adore Tal, BTW. I hope you all like him too.

I'm writing into chapter 23 well ahead of all of you and secrets are still trickling out of Rosa. My beta finally caught up to me and she's still stumped, I think, as to my biggest mystery. This chapter and the next are quiet ones before chapter 13 will introduce a bit of a roller coaster, at which point I write from Rosa's POV. *gasp* I only do that during hugely pivotal moments when I can't feasibly put Solas in the scene. So you know it'll be big.

So...if you felt this ended on a bit of a cliffhanger and want the next one early, write in and let me know and I will post the next chapter probably within 24 hours. Because I'm responsive like that since I have the chapter already done...