The dawn broke, golden beams streaming through the holes in the thick foliage above. After the snowy expanse of Haven, the Hinterlands outside of Redcliffe Village seemed impossibly green and warm. Thick undergrowth and tall, heavy oaks interspersed with vibrant fields dotted with flowers trailed off at the base of the surrounding mountain range. The air was heavy with flora and the buzzing of insects. It was truly a different world. Solas was already seated at the fire, reading through a small leather-bound journal, when the first of the encampment began to rise. The bustle of the day began almost immediately, with supplies hauled from beneath canvas to be inventoried and distributed before they began their march. Breakfast looked to be a variety of game hens, meat sliced thin to better sizzle. It was nice, in a way, this constant feeling of being within a group of others. Something that he had not experienced for some time but found he missed, now granted by the Inquisition. Haven had always felt a temporary placement, a gathering of loosely-connected individuals who would scatter in the wind. Now, however, this was a coalition. A force to be reckoned with. Solas couldn't be happier to be a part of it.
Evelyn Trevelyan pushed open the flaps of her tent and stretched lazily in the sunlight. She smiled slightly, dropped her rucksack in the dirt, and settled down near him. He snapped the journal shut, arcane sketchings slipping from view, and leaned back. The past few days following the events at Redcliffe castle were inexplicably somber. Something had changed between them; a sudden shift that hit him like a punch in the chest. It started when she reappeared in an instant after the amulet attempted to pull her away, looking a bit more battle-worn than she had less than a minute prior, and staring at him with an intensity he had not before encountered. The look did not abate upon their return and he would frequently catch her lost in one of those meaningful stares: lips slightly parted, brow furrowed.
Dorian was also behaving quite strangely around him, making odd comments about him being a "sly dog," a baffling expression he meant to look into further. The Tevinter mage had taken up the habit of pointing out the Herald with much fanfare, whenever she came into view. Often this pointing would involve suggestions that Solas might have "something to share."
She did not discuss the events she witnessed in the false future, but he feared that terrible things befell him in that alternate reality. It was something in the way she stared, an inherent sadness undercut with what looked a great deal like longing. Like the kind of regret that only missed opportunities beget. Solas often wondered if she would ever confess what she saw. The future was often fluid, indeterminate; part of him felt he wanted to know what was very nearly his end. The longer she stared, the more he felt certain that she had lived through his death. It was... intriguing. Perhaps one day he would ask her.
Solas planted the base of his staff in the soft earth before him as he walked, marveling at how supple and spongy the ground was around the small lake. Ahead of him the dark, glowering Blackwall spoke in low tones, Evelyn inclining her head toward him in a way that made Solas' heart catch uncomfortably in his throat. He ignored the feeling, plodding ahead, watching as she nodded solemnly, the space between her eyebrows creasing slightly as Blackwall continued to murmur. This area had been ravaged by both war and petty looting, making the roads too dangerous for most common folk to travel. While this was certainly the topic of the conversation conducted before him, it couldn't help but make the elf's blood pound in his ears and raise all sorts of delusional fantasies about the secrets they whispered.
It was ridiculous, this feeble crush that he carried as if he were a child. Some sideways glances and a few careless words from the Herald and he was mooning over her as if he'd never seen a woman before. Deep within, he knew the true root of the attraction, but that reality was a topic best left buried. Kept secret, kept separate. No matter what new truths her mark would unlock, for now, she was just another woman. A human woman, at that. One bred of nobility, raised in a tradition of superstition and misremembered children's stories. A woman such as she, taught to follow the Chantry of the privileged, was now their Last Great Hope, a glittering effigy of their fallen Andraste, sprung to life and slicing a path through the world to glory. He heard the rumors at camp, knew of the resentment the Herald bred in some circles. If only the common rabble knew the true history of their beloved Andraste, perhaps they would not be so hasty to question her "chosen."
Not, of course, that he believed she was actually some sort of religious icon. She was just a woman.
They returned to camp as the sun slipped behind the easternmost mountains, flooding the valley with orange light. One by one, the members of their party shedded their gear and started to relax: Cassandra with her rigidity only slightly yielding; Varric kicking dirt and rock from his boots before heavily seating himself on the nearest log; Sera flopping into the dust in a positively childlike way, releasing a half sigh/half curse. Solas maneuvered himself near the cooking fire, undoing the laces on his own boots. The accouterments of modern warfare still felt stiff and unnatural to him, despite Evelyn's constant assurances that they would provide both safety and comfort.
Blackwall was introduced to Harding, handshakes exchanged, and the man was pointed in the direction of one of the tents. Solas was relieved to see it was not the one he begrudgingly shared with Varric and another man known only as "Knock." Knock's espionage skills were highly praised among the other recruits, but Solas had thus far only observed the man's penchants for overindulgence in wine, dirty jokes, and his irritating tendency to snore. The addition of another broad-shouldered hairy individual was not welcome in the already cramped quarters.
As the evening waned, their party slumped toward bedding, trickling away one by one until it was just the two of them on one side of the fire, a single scout dozing at the other. Evelyn looked over at him again in that manner, lips parted. He glanced up from the tome open on his lap. "Was there something you needed?"
"I," she began, worrying the ring that adorned the thumb of her left hand with the fingers of her right, "I wondered why you haven't asked..." She flushed red, taking in a deep breath. "It's just that you're the only one who hasn't asked me what happened. In Redcliffe. In the false future." The scout stirred, causing Evelyn to startle, her blush deepening. She quietly continued, "Beyond the debrief I gave to everyone, you haven't been curious...?"
Solas stared at her evenly, noting with concern the anxiety this conversation was clearly causing her; she wore the tension across her shoulders like a thick winter cloak. He glanced toward the scout and closed his book. "Herald, would you care to walk with me? I find it aids with digestion before bed." He raised his arm toward the ruined outbuildings beyond.
Away from the fires, the air was crisp and cold. He allowed her to lead, watching as she strode ahead, arms crossed before her in a defensive posture. They arrived at a half wall, toppled long enough ago that grass had overgrown most of the fallen stones. He inclined his head slightly toward her. "I will admit that I am curious. Anyone would be, given the opportunity to hear about a possible future for oneself. However, that curiosity is tempered by caution." He sat against the wall, gazing out over the wide expanse of dark mountains and foothills beyond. "I have come to believe that my fate was not altogether pleasant, judging from the sad looks you have thrown my way on more than one occasion. I sense that perhaps this fate was unpleasant for you to witness. Understandable. The falling of a comrade in battle is never easy for one to bear."
Fingers traced the spot where mortar had joined brick, the ages of wear making the groove deep enough to swallow his finger to the first joint. "If you are hesitant to tell me of my death, Herald, do not be. I no longer fear my own death, and neither should you. Besides, it would appear you prevented at least that untimely end from befalling me."
"Not quite yet, I haven't." Evelyn scowled. "We're still working on that part." With a heavy sigh, she allowed herself to sit on the wall beside him. "While it might be easy for you to hear, it wasn't all that easy to live through. To see you and Cassandra like that, tainted." She shivered slightly. "And then for you to sacrifice yourself..." she paused, "yourselves. All of you, I mean. To see you like that, when I wasn't sure if I could fix things."
So it was his death that she was so perturbed by, one facilitated by the insidious glowing rock that seemed to have spooked the entire party; Master Tethras in particular. "I am not surprised by any of our sacrifices, all things being equal. It sounds as if it was to assist in your erasing that rather unpleasant-sounding future. Besides, if it were an infection by red lyrium, we were all sentenced to death already. There is no recovering from that poison, I'm afraid." She did not look comforted by this, and his voice dropped lower. "I... I am sorry, Herald. I am sure it was difficult to see your followers cut down, especially ones who were already mortally wounded."
Her head shook. "But after Dorian-" she stopped the thought in its tracks, teeth catching her lower lip.
"Dorian? What did Dorian do?" Perhaps this was the secret behind the Tevinter's strange behavior as of late.
"He said he found a logbook, a journal of sorts. It said that there had been interrogations. Torture." Evelyn pushed herself off the wall, slowly wandering toward the distant windmill.
Solas fell into step beside her, hands folded behind his back. "I suspected as much. I wondered why they kept me alive that long. Tevinter magisters are not known for their kind treatment of elves. I was frankly surprised they hadn't dispatched me immediately. Perhaps they thought I had information, secrets, some access to you or your power that they wanted to mine." He frowned then, "It is not a shock to learn I was tortured, and the Tevinter are unique in their methods of torture. It would have been interesting to see what they tried to extract.. and how."
She had gone pale, positively horrified by his musings. He felt a rush of shame. "I am sorry, again. I cannot help that this fascinates me. As someone who has traveled the Fade, to actually come up against one who has glimpsed one of my alternate realities in the flesh... I am intrigued." They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant braying of horses, the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot. "There is no reason to blame yourself for our fates. We joined you willingly, and will gladly follow you, even unto our own deaths." She glanced at him, something unsaid staining her cheeks pink. "Did I speak out of turn?" His voice fell to a whisper. What was she not telling him?
"Herald!" the scout hurried along the path to interrupt them, her hand outstretched, parchment clenched in her fist. "There is a missive, from Haven. The mages have all arrived."
So the moment was nearly upon them. "We should be getting back, we will need to leave at first light... Herald?"
Evelyn stared at Solas a beat longer before collecting herself. "At once. We'll talk later, Solas."
He watched her with curiosity as she made her way back to camp, one of her hands twisting a lock of her hair into a curl. "Of course."
The route to his own tent took him past the horses, where Dorian surprised him. The mage had been lingering near the horses more and more, seeming to have developed an interest in one of the stablehands. Dorian called out to him. "You have been missed, my friend. Tell me, where have you been wandering so late?"
"I just needed... some time to think," Solas said cautiously. "I learned something disturbing, about the events of the future at Redcliffe. I needed to process them."
"So," Dorian smirked, backing up to allow the man to pass. As Solas rounded the path and turned toward the gates, Dorian called after him, "She told you, then. I am sorry, to have spilled all that. But we had been through a traumatic day, you see. We were bonding, as friends do. Besides, I thought it might have been important in a tactical sense, in case she needed to know your weaknesses going forward. To protect you, you see. Magisters do love their desire demons."
Solas paused for a moment. "She only said that I had been tortured."
"Ohhhh," Dorian's voice took on an edge of mock horror. "I am sorry. Had she not told you the details? Positively scandalous. But not at all surprising, even if it is a bit cliche." The Tevinter stepped closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "I mean, the Lady and the... apostate sidekick."
Ah. So there it was.
"Sweet dreams," Dorian drawled as he pushed past.