Chapter 21

9:59, late Kingsway

His name was Mihanin, and Donna had no idea why Seith appeared to be absolutely terrified of the elf once he awoke. To complicate matters, Mihanin didn't speak a word of the common tongue, and even the other elves in their party seemed a bit leery of him, because the dialect he spoke – as Erin had explained – was so archaic it was nigh on incomprehensible.

On the third night out from their rescue mission, as they approached the Dales, Mihanin vanished. They'd set up camp, allocated sentry duties, and yet in the morning, the strange elf was simply gone, and no one had witnessed his departure. His bedding and sundry supplies were missing too, but from what Donna gathered, Louhan and the others were secretly grateful that the sullen creature had deserted them.

Sullen creature.

That really was the best way she could explain Mihanin's entire demeanour, and to be perfectly honest, Donna wasn't at all fazed that he'd elected to remove himself from their presence. It wasn't like the Inquisition was holding a dagger to anyone's throat forcing them to come along – though Leliana possibly would have wanted to question Mihanin. Something about his hollow, impenetrable glare had made her shrivel a little every time they'd made eye contact. As if she were somehow so unutterably beneath the elf's regard that she may as well have been a bug.

Donna shivered at the recollection. No. It was better that he was gone. The sooner they could forget about him, the better.

Evan, on the other hand, appeared to have made an about turn with regard to his attitude, and Donna couldn't quite figure out whether it was because he'd honestly re-evaluated his attitude or if he were so far out of his depth that he feared to tread on Louhan's toes. The lead scout, despite being a good head shorter than the others in their party, nevertheless demanded respect. Evan gathered wood, helped cook and strike camp without complaint, as if this were second nature to him. Then again, she supposed this sort of lifestyle wasn't new to him.

Fortunately, Donna was already well used to the punishing pace Louhan set as they travelled through the Dales, and they fell into an easy routine, rising at dawn and only making camp again late afternoon.

She took time to get to know the erstwhile prisoners, all of whom were amenable to a return to Skyhold for a debriefing before they decided where to move on from there. Rinth, for obvious reasons, was at odd ends, and Donna expected the former slave would possibly seek to join the Inquisition, much like Seith intended. The latter drew her attention more often than not. The fox-faced young elf kept to himself mostly, watchful of everyone and everything around him, as if he expected an enraged bronto to stampede out of the underbrush at any moment.

Yet it was Evan who surprised her that one evening in the Dales, when they'd gone out to collect firewood. The shadows were lengthening, and they'd been travelling down a wooded glen. Though the day had been warm, the wind that sighed through the pines bore an icy chill, no doubt directly off the Frostbacks' snowy heights.

She hadn't thought it odd that he'd volunteered to accompany her. More often than not, they'd shared various duties during the past week since the rescue, yet his mask of cheerfulness slipped from his face the moment they were outside of the camp.

"Donna…"

She paused in reaching for a branch then turned to face him.

Evan hugged his arms to his skinny frame – he had lost a lot of weight during his ordeal – and looked at her with beseeching eyes. "I… I don't know how to say this…"

"What?" Donna's pulse sped up. Was he apologising? "That you were a colossal idiot?" Maker's arse, had she actually just said that?

He hung his head, and when he looked up, tears were running down his cheeks.

Suspicion was her first response, oddly enough, but when he sat down on a nearby log and cradled his head in his hands, she reconsidered.

No one deserved what he'd gone through. No matter how callous and irresponsible they were. To ask him now whether he was all right when he so patently wasn't, would be terrible. To tell him to suck it up and grow a pair, would be even worse.

With a sigh she dropped her burden of wood then went to go sit next to him. Evan flinched when she put her arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. He'd never flinched from any contact before.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked.

He hissed an exhalation, shook his head.

It didn't take her much to imagine what had happened. She'd pieced together as much from Mina that the Vint mage and his cohorts had other uses for their victims before the ritual took place. And Evan had a pretty face. And pretty blond hair that some bastard would no doubt love grabbing a fistful of while … She shuddered. Better not to visit dark places.

So she did the best she could, and sat there next to him while he hunched into himself and sobbed silently. Presently, he straightened and wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his too-big salvaged tunic.

"You're a better friend than I deserve, Donna-love," he whispered, his voice raw, as he stared off into the trees.

Would he have done the same for her? She doubted it, but bit her tongue. "I'm just glad that you didn't die, and that you're safe now. That is all. I'm not going to lecture you and tell you what a shit you were."

Evan's laugh was without humour. "I… If I am brutally honest, I wanted to die. I couldn't help but think how I'd let everyone down. My mothers. That if my … that if others knew what had befallen me, they'd be sorely disappointed. It's amazing how facing death lends a person perspective. All the should-have-beens and could-have-beens."

"You've had your long dark teatime then."

"My what?"

Donna snorted in amusement. "Never mind the metaphor... A book I read. The author spoke about his life being like a long, dark teatime between an awful lunch and an unbearable dinner with dreadful people."

"Oh. I guess it kinda makes sense. Only I'm not sure what I want anymore. Not that I had a particularly great idea before they..." Evan sighed.

"Give it time," she said. For now, it was simply enough that they sat together, that neither of them was alone.

"What are you going to do now?" His question pierced her to her heart. That he cared what happened with her.

"I…" With her free hand, Donna fiddled with a loose thread hanging at the hem of her tunic. "I haven't really thought about that either. Merrim was right. I think the Inquisition wouldn't be a bad place for me. For now."

"What about your books?"

"Pfff, I can write while I travel." Her father had written some of his best works while allegedly on Inquisition business. Anything to stave off the fact that her road still pointed towards Kirkwall, towards that meeting with her father she was oddly reluctant to conclude.

"Why don't you go see your father?" she asked Evan.

He straightened and pulled away from her. "They told you, didn't they?"

"It was unavoidable, all things considered." Damn her stupid mouth. She'd said the wrong thing.

"And that's why the Inquisition got involved, didn't they?" Evan's hurt soured his words. "They wouldn't have sent their scouts otherwise. I suspected as much."

"You could have told me sooner, perhaps?"

"What? And have you get all weirded out on me? That you wouldn't like me for me, and not because of –"

"I'd like to think I'm your friend, that you trust me enough."

"Andraste's tits, you are so naïve." He rose, brushed off his breeches and stalked off.

"Evan!" Donna called. "Talk to me, damn it!"

He didn't stop, didn't turn around, and she stood there, watching until she was alone among the trees, with only wind mourning through the boughs.

#

Seith hadn't meant to eavesdrop but he'd wandered after the pair on a whim and picked up the tail end of Donna's conversation with Evan, whose father was clearly someone of note. Enough for the Inquisition to get involved and send a rescue team. Interesting. His ears were burning. Figuratively speaking, that is. Dull realisation settled that if it hadn't been for Evan, Seith'd probably have bled out tied to a stake in the middle of a blasted ruin by now. Not important. Then again, the mere thought that he would've had to rely on his father for a rescue, now that stuck in Seith's craw.

Donna's shoulders were hunched, and she looked so utterly defeated it made him uncomfortable. Should he approach her, offer kind words? What did one even say to someone who was a near-perfect stranger? Should he beat a quiet retreat so as to not discomfort her further?

Seith backed away gradually, but evidently not quietly enough, because Donna glanced up sharply and turned in his direction.

Seith pressed himself against the trunk of a pine and froze, hardly daring to breathe.

"I saw you, Seith. You can come out." Donna sounded weary.

Fenedhis. Awkward.

"Ir abelas," he murmured as he came out from his hiding place.

"Dare I ask how much you heard of that conversation?"

He cringed inwardly. "Enough, I think. But certainly enough to be grateful that however important your friend is, that I basically owe him my life." Because for whatever reason, this time there'd been no Solas to blaze in to the rescue. He grimaced.

"I'm sorry this all happened," Donna said.

"As am I. Now what?"

"Well, I certainly hope you'll keep whatever suspicions you have to yourself."

"I have enough secrets of my own," Seith said. "I don't need to draw attention to myself by peddling others'."

Donna snorted. "Isn't that a truth."

Though their friendship had a difficult start, when Seith looked back during the weeks that followed, that was where it started – with him and Donna having a wry conversation around the fact that each carried stories they couldn't share, and that they respected each other enough not to pry.

He was fine with that. Really.

Also, maybe, and perhaps more than just a bit maybe, he admitted he was starved for the easy companionship of someone closer to him in age. Donna was easy to get on with. She laughed. She told stories. Also, she hurt – that much Seith could see. She never mentioned her family and whatever schism had formed between her and Evan after that evening collecting firewood, her friend remained aloof.

Seith and Donna didn't have to talk about their hurt yet somehow having someone else share that silent companionship made the pain recede a bit.

He still took precautions to avoid Solas, spending an hour or so before going to sleep setting wards so that he could rest in a space cut off from the Fade. The lack of dreams was a small price to pay for his privacy, though his conscience nagged that he should by all rights tell Solas about Mihanin and the unknown vallaslin. Yet to go crawling back to his father now… To admit that his flight had been ill considered and that Seith had run into trouble after all. Now that was too much.

Besides, he needed to conduct a bit more research of his own to find out more about Mihanin's vallaslin; imagine if he went to Solas with a discovery his father knew nothing about? Though in truth he knew he was being a fool for wanting his his father's approval. Yet… How much trouble could one ancient Elvhen, out of time, without any friends, wreak?

Their return journey to Skyhold took three weeks. By the time their party had reached a small farmstead in the Dales, they had been able to requisition horses, and though Seith hadn't sat on a horse's back since he left Skyhold, Donna was kind enough to stay close to him until he got the hang of things again. His opinion about the beasts declined greatly after the first day's sore muscles, which wasn't helped by his falling off the bad-tempered gelding he'd been given on four separate occasions throughout their journey. Not to mention the times the bastard creature swung its head around so it could nip at Seith's legs.

The day they arrived in Redcliffe, Donna grew especially quiet, and Evan even more withdrawn. It was also abundantly clear that Evan and Donna still hadn't patched things up after that conversation that Seith had accidentally eavesdropped. Even Erin remarked upon the moodiness of their party, but since it was early in the day still, Louhan pressed for them to pause only so long at the market to buy fresh supplies before she had them on the road leading up to Haven.

They camped that night in a lean-to that had clearly been set up for travellers. Judging from the neat piles of firewood, it was regularly supplied by the Inquisition. The shelter did little more than keep the worst of the sifting rain off them and the occasional cold drips of moisture added to their general low mood.

"It's Orlesian water torture, I tell you," Frith muttered when the umpteenth drop smacked her forehead.

Every mile that they traversed through the eastern foothills of the Frostbacks brought Seith closer to the reckoning he hadn't admitted to himself had preyed on his conscience as much as it had. Seith's stomach twisted itself into knots and he could barely eat, let alone sleep. The lack of rest didn't help his state of mind, and he imagined one awful scenario after the other, the worst being the Commander denying him and having him interred in the Skyhold prison on sight.

The further they ascended, the colder it became. The sky wasn't the deep blue he recalled from the better days – somehow the sun had always shone on his memories – and flurries of snow were driven against them. His extremities felt as if they'd drop off and not only was he cold, but he couldn't quite shake the damp either. The mountain peaks frowned down, the exposed rock dark where the icing of snow didn't quite reach. Skyhold proper, when it revealed itself, sent a thrill through him. The crenelated towers rose proudly from the heights and, even from this distance, he could make out the Inquisition banners snapping in the wind. People marched like ants, and further reinforced sheer scale of the ancient structure.

By the time they reached the snowfields, Seith did quietly get sick. He'd hung near the back of the group and slid off his gelding so that he dash behind a rock. By the time he'd finished retching and had cleaned his mouth out with snow, Donna had found him, and had dismounted and led over her pony.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Actually, that's a really stupid question. You're not all right, are you?"

Seith leaned against the rock and pressed shaking hands to his eyes. He should tell the truth. It was going to come out sooner rather than later if he went through with this. There's still time to run… He glanced down the track they'd followed so far.

"I've –" He drew a deep breath. The others had stopped. He felt terrible for making them wait. They all needed to get indoors as soon as possible. Hot food. A bed. Damn, even a hot bath would work.

Donna's expression displayed only concern. How would she respond once she knew? One thing he recalled from his childhood was how his father had been turned into a villain. Granted, he hadn't heard anyone so much as mention Solas during the past few weeks but that didn't mean that his reputation didn't linger like a foul taste.

"What?" Donna asked, frowning.

Seith wet his lips. "I… I guess I need to tell someone at some point. Might as well start with you."

Her dismay was obvious. "What?"

He shook his head, grabbed at his hair, which had come loose from its tie. Then he blurted, "My mother was the previous Inquisitor. Teniël Lavellan. My fath –" He choked. "My father is the one everyone goes on about as –"

"The Apostate," Donna finished for him. "Damn."

Seith struggled to breathe and half cringed, waiting for her to shout, say something horrid.

When she turned to the rest, she called, "Go on ahead. Seith's not feeling well. We'll follow."

He sagged in relief and Donna came to lean against the rock next to him, close enough without crowding him yet not so far that she gave the appearance of loathing him.

"I heard about you," Donna said. "Or should I rather say I read about you. One of Varric Tethras's tales. The book's called The Broken Orb. He's apparently waiting to see how it will finish so he can write part two." She gave a rough laugh. "You know, this is really weird, but your father and mine… They knew… They were…" She shook her head. "I shouldn't be telling anyone about this but with you it just. It feels right."

She told him.

After they'd finished laughing – and crying – Seith realised something important. He was not alone. Donna had his back, and whatever happened once he set foot in Skyhold, he would be all right. More than all right, in fact.