Stormy grey eyes narrowed on the Herald who sat with his sister, Elizabeth Trevelyan. He had dark circles under his blue eyes and his black hair was a mess, but he resolved to completing his paperwork by her bedside. As for the woman, he turned to look at her. Appearance wise she was a normal looking human. She had dark brown, appearing black, hair that curled into tight ringlets and fell to her waist, it complimented her darker skin tone. She was shorter than Cassandra in height and young, barely into her adulthood. She was a child in comparison to himself and half of Haven.
When delved deeper than simple appearance it was apparent that the woman was an anomaly. When she had been recovered with her brother, she had been unconsious and it appeared that she had been struck by debris of some sort. The blood on her skin and clothes was profuse enough to cause panic. It had struck her aortic artery, a spot that should have killed her easily and while the wound had been open; by the time the healer reached her the bleeding had ceased and the wound was clean of debris. As if that wasn't odd as is, she had sustained a fluctuating fever since that day, with no known cause, and spoke an unknown language. Of course he had considered blood loss hysteria, but he could not be sure. She was much more than her appearance provided and he was more than curious.
He approached the Herald, the man looked up and Solas froze. He realized in this moment that their would be no convincing him to leave the women's side, to properly work or rest, he sighed. Maybe he could at least...
"Herald why don't you go get something to eat, I will watch over the Lady Trevelyan."
The man's lips purse like he's going to argue, but he sighs a runs a hand through his disheveled curls, "Alright, let me know if she awakes." He stands and pauses at the door, "Thank you, Solas."
The elf responds with a sincere smile, "Of course, Herald."
The infirmary door shuts behind the human man and Solas turns back to the anomaly in female form. His aura twitched against his skin as his magic begged to examine her body. He had gotten a brief chance to look her over for any strange magicks, similar to the Herald, but when he found nothing except her own magical aura... he was sent away.
He pursed his lips, as he debated interally, and approached the whimpering woman. The Herald's survival made sense, with everything the mark entailed, but she had been with nothing to protect her. He shifted hesitantly for a moment, only for a moment though, before his aura reaches out to feel for her magical being. He frowns as it does not rush to meet him, as it had when she was in the dungeon, in fact he cannot even feel her at first. Suddenly it spikes out and shudders, she gasps and cries out in that same instance, then he feels it curl against her core. Solas' eyes widen and he inhales sharpy. As her aura reels like a feral animal, he can feel the damage her magic left in her veins.
He pulls his aura back to his skin, his frown deepens as thoughts raced below his brow.
Her magic is attacking her, creating a fever as the body defends itself. If it continues then the fever will claim her, but... Why is her magic attacking her?
"Fascinating..." Where one question is answered, more are found.
He could not help but wonder if the fade did this to her and he just did not notice it before. It was possible that the mark protected the herald and without protection, the fade damaged her human body. If she were an elf, he doubted it would have injured her, but she was human. He paused and sighed, he could not jump to conclusions without proper evidence to support his theory. The door opened during his musings.
"Ah, Herald, I have news regarding your sisters condition." Solas' words are hurried, he may have little care for humans, but suffering was not something he enjoyed watching, "I felt something with my magic."
The lord Trevelyan perks at his words, grasping at any solution to help his sister, "And?"
"I-" He hesitated, needing an answer first, "Has she always been a mage?"
The herald sighed, as if not wanting to have this conversation, but relenting in case it would help his sister, "Yes, she was raised mostly in a circle... she preferred to keep it secret after I helped her escape an annulment."
Solas frowns and glances down at the human woman, he had heard of annulments, how the templars would eradicate towers full of mages. He would change how mages were treated, he needed to, "You were a templar, yes?"
Maxwell Trevelyan exhales slowly and turns to look at his sister, "Yes, I was sent off to be a templar when I was ten, Faeya was four. I had barely started using lyrium."
"I get the impression that you did not want to be a templar."
The laugh that fall from the herald's lips is dark and sad, "I had known since my sister was born that she was a mage, her mother had felt it. I knew when I was sent away she would get discovered and she did."
Solas' eyebrows drew inward, he had many questions. Her mother, did they have different parentage? Was her mother a mage? What age was she was shipped off? All those and more, but looking at the herald, he realized that his questions would need to wait.
The elven mage clears his throat gently, "I believe the fade may have done something to her magic, whereas you were protected by the mark."
"Done... something? What is it doing?" His previous melancholy is replaced with concern.
"Her magic is attacking her body," Solas watched the man's eyes widen, "I have a few ideas that may stop it from continuing."
"Solas," His tone is firm with trust, it makes the apostate pause, "Anything to save my sister."
The elven apostate nodded, "I can visit her in the fade, to see what is causing her magic to attack her, but if that does not work then we may have to resort to smiting her."
Maxwell Trevelyan sucked in a sharp breath at the word, his eyes narrowing, "I cannot... I will not let my sister endure another smite."
"If my journey to the fade does not bear fruit then it may be the only course of action that will save your sister's life, Herald." Solas' expression softens to sympathy.
The man looks weary and tired, but his eyes are hardened, "If it comes to that... I will do it, Solas, I will take lyrium and perform the smite myself."
The elven mage nods, he understood why the Herald refused to trust another with this task, and laces his fingers behind his back, "I will attempt to reach her in the fade, immediately."
The Herald nods as the apostate sits on the floor to mediate, his legs crossed and hands placed on his knees. A deep inhale through his mouth and a slow exhale through his nose, as his eyelids shut.
When his eyes opened, he was in the fade. Being a dreamer made it easy to access the realm across the veil. He breathed a sigh and stood to his feet. He was in Haven still and it was full of spirits representing the people who lived long ago. They prayed before statues and whispered of dragons. This was before the Hero of Ferelden cleared it out while searching for Andraste's ashes. He stepped outside of the vision, having already learned all he could from the spirits of the area, and his eyes shut as he searched for the aura he would recognize as Elizabeth. As his aura searched, her magic glowed like a beacon, dragging his body towards the location.
When he opened his eyes he was met with complete darkness. It was thick like tar and deep as the sea. It made breathing impossible and moving difficult, but he moved outside of dreams. Although, it was curious that she chose this to dream of. A rumble of sound dragged his attention and he turned to see a dark figure laying among shadows. A frown creases his features and he approaches the figure. Suddenly the figure shudders and it is Elizabeth floating in the sea of dark, she is curled in on herself and wearing no clothes. His pace quickens to reach her. She whimpers and cries out before shuddering again. Her form flickers like a flame in the wind, her skin bubbles out and she curls further into herself. She writhes and screams in pain as the skin covering her back expands a tears. The pain appears to much, because with a sob she collapses limply against the black ground and her form solidifies again. Her skin is as if the process had never happened, the only evidence being, her shaking and sweating.
Solas is confused, why does she keep attempting to change her body? Especially since its obviously causing her pain. Why does it cause her pain?
"Elizabeth?" His voice echoes in the darkness and she lifts her head.
"Gaandeix... siid..." She whispers the plea softly, a sob wracking her body, "I am not this..."
Solas blinks and bends next to her, he could address what language she spoke later, "Elizabeth, what-"
"No!" She screeches out the word and writhes as her flesh tears revealing scales and claws. Blood pours from these wounds and suddenly she is sobbing again, her form flickers and she is normal again, but the blood remains. "I am no Elizabeth. I am no human..."
The elven apostate frowns deeply and sits down next to the girl, her pale blue eyes peer at him, "What do you mean?"
"I opened my eyes and... it was not me." She pulled up her hand and sneered at the sight of it, "But my spirit rejects it. Rejects this."
That's when Solas understood, it hadn't happened since the time of the elvhen and even then it was rare, but he knew exactly what was happening, "You are a spirit. "
"I am me, this is not me." She looks heartbroken and grabs at the hair connected to her scalp, "These... These memories are-are not mine!"
"Peace, spirit." He hesitantly touches her hair, bothered by her distress, "What were you? Before this."
"I... I was asleep in a dark room and then suddenly it was not sleep, but my state of being." Her eyes took on a faraway look, as she recalled her memories, "I was powerful and free. Ysabeau was my name."
"She will not listen to me."
Solas turns to the location of the feminine voice as Ysabeau growls, angered by the women's presence. He can feel the gentle magic that exudes from it and he quriks an eyebrow.
"A... spirit of courage?"
The spirit shares the same appearance as Elizabeth, but he knows that feeling and he knows better. He wonders what Elizabeth did to deserve such a pure spirit wanting to take her form.
"She was given the body, it was supposed to be, it was prophesied." Courage speaks softly, almost sympathetically.
Solas' face scrunches with an unspoken question and Courage smiles.
"Yavana, Antivian Witch of The Wilds predicted this. She watched dragons and tried to revive them, noble... if she had been noble, courageous if her thoughts pure." The spirit sighs, as if disappointed, "She predicted that the decendent of Ferelden, would wake her." She points at the woman.
The elven apostate turned to look at the shivering human, whose form flickered once again and she cried out before the form could even begin to try and change shape. Solas' eyebrows raise in surprise, if what she was was saying was true...
"Its not a suggestion, pride," Her sharp glowing eyes connected with his as he looked back at her, and her voice is firm, "It is what has come to pass and if she does not accept this form, she will die."
The last word whispers through the empty space as the spirit vanishes and he wishes he had been able to ask more questions. He would need to consult Wisdom later.
"I will die..?" Ysabeau's face pales and she leans up on her elbow, unconcerned with covering her unclothed body.
"Courage spoke the truth." Solas eyes her curiously, gauging her reaction.
The area around them darkened with her fear and he could feel demons press against the door to her dream. He sucked in a sharp breath with realization.
I... I was asleep in a dark room and then suddenly it was not sleep, but my state of being.
Was this where she was... before she was human? Was this what her death was like? And now it was her nightmare, her greatest nightmare. She looks so vulnerable and he... cannot stand it for some reason. He can't leave this alone.
For some reason. His thoughts mock him knowingly, it makes him swallow.
With a wave of his hand the room brightened and shattered, revealing a meadow. He watches, entralled, as she glances around. Her expression relaxes as she digs her fingertips into the grass. Her eyes close and sits up straighter. She inhales the smell on the wind slowly, as her curls are pulled over her shoulder and fall against her breast. A smile spreads across her lips, appreciative and soft.
And you smiled back. He ignores his nagging subconsious thoughts and he basks in the purity of her smile.
"Thank you."