Ch 9 – Terrible Beasts
The heat of the sun was still beating down on the Inquisition party. Lavellan felt like she was going to get sick, but swallowed her excess saliva and tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. When they reached camp, the sun was finally low on the horizon and the heat was letting up. Varric put Bianca in his tent before heading over to the potions table to restock his pouches. Blackwall and Dorian left for their tents without a word.
"Wow.", Varric said when he looked at her. He really took her in and frowned. The sunburn wasn't doing her any favors, but he felt a bit surprised he hadn't really noticed sooner. It seemed remarkable, that she looked as she did. He was her friend. He should put it delicately. A careful choice of words to let her know…
"What?", she asked.
"You know, you look like shit.", Varric stated to the Inquisitor.
She snorted at his commentary.
"Oh thanks. You look fabulous too."
"No, really. You look awful. When was the last time you ate a full meal? You're wasting away."
She didn't remember. It was yesterday, or was it the day before? She ate. She tried to, anyway.
"It's called the Hissing Wastes for a reason.", she quipped irritably.
Varric shot her a concerned expression.
He had a point. She turned away and didn't meet his eyes. She thought of saying something but had nothing to say on the matter. It was easier for her to just ignore her own needs for the sake of others.
She just didn't want to deal with it. She was tired of having to deal with shit. She never wanted this job. Herald of Andraste? It was bullshit. Inquisitor? It sucked. She couldn't go anywhere without being recognized with her glowing hand and leagues of soldiers and party of misfits. She sometimes just wanted to blend in and disappear. There were always eyes on her. It was tiresome being looked after, looked at, looked up to.
I'm no fucking role model.
Lavellan couldn't just go back to the Dalish either. That bare face was testament that she was an other, untrustworthy. She didn't belong anywhere. Her heart beat steadily in her chest and she tried not to yell at her friend. He was right. She needed friends like him… Except her friends were leaving soon. She couldn't just relax. She always had some responsibility to attend to, people to look after. She wanted to run and hide and just shut out the whole world.
I wish I could have walked away…
In some ways, she was envious of Solas. She felt a growing bitterness. In her mind, he got the easy way out. He got to retreat into the wilds and disappear, as if he had never been there by her side. He was barefaced, but no one knew his face, he had no discernable markings to make him particularly noticeable. He had been helpful to the Inquisition, yes, but there was nothing he could have done would have made any impact on the world. The damage that he did was only to her heart.
He said he loved her, but it must have been that he loved what she could have been, not what she was. As Inquisitor, she'd destroyed enough of their people's history and made a mockery of being Dalish, being an elf. Solas had tried to help steer her to make better decisions, to preserve their culture, and she had tried to listen to his guidance. He could not be both her teacher and lover. The damage she'd caused to the people was done. There was no way to bring back that sliver of history, that glimpse of former glory. He had pushed her away, but Lavellan had thought it was just nerves before the final battle. He would want her back. He would take her back. He would wrap his arms around her and they would be together again. Instead, it felt like doom upon her.
The orb had been the last straw for him, she saw that as clear as day. He was done. Lavellan felt like a fool to think she could share her life with him. That someone like him would stay with her while she suffocated in the spotlight. No one should be subjected to such intense scrutiny. Solas was just a man, an elf that preferred the solitary quiet of the forests. He didn't want to bother, that was clear to her. He stepped away. He washed his hands of her. He got to go be alone and feel peace while she worked herself to death.
Her heart had broken, and she had taken him leaving deeply personally. She was envious and angry. She deserved some peace. She deserved so much more. She ground her teeth together, thinking of how he might be enjoying a leisurely nap and roaming the Fade, while she sweat her ass off in the desert trying to stop Venatori from bringing back dead gods and causing chaos.
He couldn't do this.
She felt that he could never do what she did; He could never run a massive organization that had spies under every nation's banner. He could build up a force such as hers, never train mages and soldiers to fight for the future of the world. He could never inspire hope and give the entirety of himself, body and soul, to a cause because it was just and right. She did.
Of course, he could just walk away from her, from the Inquisition. He didn't need to burden himself with such responsibilities. Instead, she just did her damn job.
I have shit to do.
Regardless, she turned away to get back to work. An Inquisitor's day never ended.
She waved him off and was stubbornly hesitant to consider taking the time to eat. She didn't want to; Her stomach was constantly unsettled. It churned and she swallowed hard. No, she didn't think she could eat just yet. Her eyes darted to her snack pouch. She frowned.
Maybe the jerky spoiled.
She could skip eating until later.
Varric watched her for a moment, as she strolled over to the nearest scout. He was honestly worried about her, for many reasons. He sighed in frustration. Sometimes he wondered what was going on in that head of hers. She was not a quiet woman when it came to opinions, but lately she'd been bottled up so tightly that he thought she might just burst. He knew his time with the Inquisition was coming to an end, but he'd watch her and make sure she was okay while he still could. That's what friends do. That's what he did. He tried to be a good friend.
Varric nodded to himself and headed to his tent. He pushed the flaps aside and barely had to duck to get inside. He felt the tents weren't much better than the outside, they were only escaping the heat for a slightly less oven-like but still stiflingly hot shaded space.
Lavellan checked in with the Inquisition soldier for an update on needed requisitions.
"Wait, we need that again? Why?", she asked the scout with an incensed and rising voice. The scout seemed to shrink back from her, then nervously shrugged and looked away. She rubbed her temples with irritation. She didn't want to raise her voice to them. It wasn't their fault. It still seemed stupid though.
How many fucking logs of wood do we need? There are trees everywhere! Fucking chop some down!
It was probably not very Dalish of her to think that way, but Lavellan considered herself a poor representation of a Dalish elf. They could plant new trees.
"Fine. Yes, I'll look into it." She said with a little less venom in her voice. She still sounded angry, but tried to not direct it at them.
Lavellan huffed and reached into her bag, rifling around until her fingers hit paper. It crinkled as she snatched it irritably and unfolded them in front of herself. Her body moved and she sat near the campfire with maps in hand.
When the Inquisition was formed they needed maps, detailed and accurate ones. Good maps cost a small fortune. They didn't have much in the way of funds. It might take them a month, maybe two, to scrounge and loot enough to purchase a small set of maps for Ferelden. The maps of Orlais cost twice as much. "Delicate paper", Josephine had stated as the explanation for what was tantamount to highway robbery. Lavellan had hoped to avoid such waste, when they had alternatives.
Solas was an artist. They had only just met, but Lavellan noticed him sketch in the field, or scratch quill to parchment late at night in their camps. She had been staring at him with a curious interest and had yet to be caught in the act. At Haven, he would sit in the back of the tavern, watch people, and draw. Despite his best efforts to blend in and disappear, she could always spot him. He really was good at hiding in plain sight, but something drew her to him, like a moth to a flame.
It seemed so obvious that he wanted to keep his distance from her, from everyone. He was the hahren, and she was the da'len. She felt foolish around him. He felt wise. She wondered what the age difference was, really. She was already in her third decade, and he was what? Perhaps ten years her senior? Maybe fifteen, if he took particularly good care of himself or was just lucky to look so – respectable. Yes, she nodded. He looked respectable.
Solas was a scholar. He was clearly brilliant. She was just interested in his thoughts, his mind. Maybe he was attractive. Just a little bit. That chin, the high cheek bones, those eyes that reminded her of the blue wisps of smoke from a just doused campfire, and the rare moments when he smiled – that was beauty. His voice though, that sent a thrill down her spine. She could have melted. He could really say almost anything; She chatted him up more than anyone else just so she could-
Oh.
Her cheeks had burned and she had smiled a little at how silly she was being. She was much too old for an infatuation. He was attractive but in that sort of untouchable way. She felt like she'd have to handle him like he was made of fine porcelain. Lavellan was aware of how he looked at her, at the Dalish. She was all rough edges and as sophisticated as a stubbed toe. He spoke with eloquence, his lilting voice seemed almost melodic to her ears. He was her senior, her better, and she should look to him for words of wisdom. At least, so she could listen to him speak more. His language choices in common seemed practiced and she wondered if perhaps he spoke something else as his mother tongue. He had said a little elvish but with a focused look on his face that showed he was concentrating. Did he worry he would embarrass himself in front of her for lack of knowledge of their language?
She barely knew enough to string together a few sentences, but his elvish sounded better than hers. He was no fool, but perhaps he didn't want to seem foolish. Solas. It meant Pride. He definitely had much of that. Even an ego, but probably well deserved. From what she could see, he was quite capable. All these thoughts mulled in her head as she took a sip of her drink and continued her new favorite activity. Lavellan was staring at him over a mug of ale in the quest for more wisdom; Nothing more. She was not interested in him except for his wise mind, not his handsome face, not his soothing voice, not the broad shoulders, or the way he moved his hips when he cast his magic, or when his hands–
Her had mind wandered and she dipped her head down to rub at her temples. It was just ridiculous. If she had wanted him, she could probably… She shook her head and took another drink. He wouldn't be interested. She was Dalish and he had some history that make him more than just a little bit wary, if not downright repelled by her. She needed to deal with this crazy chaos. Her mark flickered green and she grunted as pain flashed up her arm and down her spine. As she turned her back to room she held her hand to her chest, trying to hide the pain. Across the tavern blue-grey eyes locked onto her, emotions locked behind storm clouds. She didn't see him staring, eyes scanning every inch of her, with a flicker of concern escaping the carefully crafted mask of disinterest.
Lavellan was eager to impress him. She'd deny it, but she was. So it seemed to her that complimenting him would stoke his ego, and maybe win her some points. She had slept on it and decided that she'd speak with him as casually as possible, during their travels. She would act like everyone else, and he would be delighted at her interest in his skills. Maybe he would let her watch him with his masterful fingers manipulating - the quill. Yes, just a quill and ink. Or a stick of charcoal. She had to chase off little dirty thoughts as she went to bed that night, imagining those eyes smoldering for her. She still fell asleep with a smile, confident of her ability to charm him. She was charming, wasn't she?
They were walking through the Hinterlands, just past the Crossroads, looking for horse master Dennet. They really needed mounts but didn't have the coin for them. Lavellan rolled the thoughts around in her head and carefully chose her words. She tucked some errant strands of hair behind her ears and asked, "Solas, maybe we could make use of your artistic skills instead of throwing coin away on maps. What do you think?", she asked with a hopeful smile.
"Would you also have me mend your clothes? I already donate my skills, what else do you want of me?" He spoke with a stern look of reproachment. She had been rather stunned by his response.
"I'm sorry I just-"
He cut her off.
"You just assumed." He finished for her. Curtly.
She flinched and looked away.
Smooth.
Her first major misstep with him had taken her by surprise. After that, she was a little more cautious around him with her words. She let him talk during their travels and kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't want to look a bigger fool than she had felt just then and there. He would speak to the others, and she'd listen with rapt attention, hoping to discover some way to talk to him. She hoped he'd forget quickly, that speaking with him would get a bit easier. It had taken her almost a full week to build up the confidence to approach him again. She would insist he was not intimidating, but she felt as if their age difference spanned centuries and not probably a decade or two, at most. He made her feel like she was a child begging to be picked up, desperate for his attention. She didn't like that feeling.
Something about him made her feel like he was hiding, that he was just letting them see a sliver of himself. She assumed he'd lost many people in the past and likely didn't want to risk feeling for others. She felt like he was as prickly as a rose bush with thorns to keep others at a distance. It just made her want to be that much closer with him, to him. She wasn't afraid of a little prick.
Lavellan snorted loudly to herself at that thought, Sera would have appreciated that, then flipped through the stack of maps to find the locations she'd marked for resources. She wore a smirk that closer resembled a grimace. Thinking about him right now was not going to get her work done. She tried to push him out of her thoughts and focus on the task at hand. Resources. Logging stands…
The paper was dry and smooth against her fingers, except for areas of ink that were raised up or sunken slightly. Josephine had told her the maps were "engravings", Lavellan had nodded as if she knew what that meant. It meant they were expensive. Her fingertip skimmed the map of the Hinterlands, trailing over drawings of hills and past waterfalls. She scanned but saw no marks. An aggravated sort of growl escaped her clenched teeth.
Why didn't I mark the one we passed around here?
She always tried to mark resources immediately. This sort of oversight wasn't usual.
She tried to remember what they'd been doing. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Oh yes, the rifts, the Breach, and the big black wolves. Supposedly, these wolves were hunting people and killing druffalo northwest of the Crossroads. They had set out to rid the people of such a dangerous threat. They were little thing, unproven as a force for good or otherwise. No one trusted them yet. In fact, they didn't even trust one another.
At the sight of the black wolves, Solas offered up some of that indispensable knowledge.
"The Breach may have driven them mad... or perhaps a demon took command of the pack", he informed them.
Blackwall looked at Solas with a strange expression, "Do you know a lot about wolves?"
"I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts."
It was sort of strange, but she supposed Solas was educated in nature as well as the Fade. She knew a bit about animals, herself. The expression on his face though looked like he was unhappy. Well, Solas almost always looked unhappy, but he looked more unhappy. He usually moved more fluidly, but he trudged over grassy hills and paths and relied more heavily on his staff, using it as a walking stick.
He must have a fondness for them.
They tried to be quick to dispatch the wolves and end the threat to lives and livestock. Their newly formed Inquisition party was a mishmash of skills. They were not used to fighting together, so the battle was a bit clunky and each of them seemed to just get in the others' way. Varric had tossed some caltrops to slow the wolves, only for Blackwall to nearly run through them. Solas stayed back, further than usual. Lavellan felt like he was trying to distance himself and part of her felt uneasy. She was still learning to work with a team, in a group, and having someone behind her set off all sorts of her mental alarms. She dashed and struck quickly, but was almost shot by a bolt from Bianca. Blackwall's shield came down near her and almost clipped her shoulder. Fangs and claws wet met with metal. It was a wonder they survived long enough to become a well-functioning group. They managed though. The wolves were struck down. They laid dead at their feet. Some were killed by swords, others by daggers or bolts. Notably, none had been killed with magic.
Solas looked distant and his face was withdrawn as he stood over the dead animals. Their fur was matted in blood, their eyes open and wild looking. He looked pained as he took in the scene.
They moved on and headed west into the higher forest paths to get a better view of the area. Lavellan drank potions with them, as the day had been very long and they were what she considered 'banged up'. It helped her sore muscles a bit, but her energy was still flagging. The Dalish were nomadic to a degree, but she wasn't trekking across the entirety of Thedas daily before this Breach business began. She was not used to walking this much. Lavellan almost lost her footing a few times as they climbed and hiked higher and higher. She hated boots. She couldn't get a good purchase on the earth beneath her without her toes.
"There may be other predators", Solas said, breaking the silence that had settled uncomfortably on the group.
She had wanted to reply with 'No shit' but opted to be a little more heraldic. There was no need to be rude just because she was tired and cranky.
"I'll take that under advisement", she'd said in return before she hoisted herself up over some boulders to look around. The land below was a spread of farmlands and forest. There was a good spot in the hills east of them for a watchtower. Bandits had been plaguing the residents and they needed all the support possible for their burgeoning Inquisition. She spied something: a logging stand. It was nearly invisible behind the trees and thick bushes. Lavellan dug in her pouches looking for a stick of charcoal and their map. She never had the chance to-
A loud bellow sounded behind them. A massive furry creature lumbered out from behind the rocky crags. It was a bear. How had they not noticed sooner?
She grabbed her daggers. Blackwall mumbled something and drew his sword and shield. Varric let out an audible groan as he shifted his weight and pulled Bianca into his level grip. Solas blew air from his nose and drew his staff. They'd come too far to turn back now. She wasn't afraid of a bear. Neither were they.
A single bear, not a problem. Except there were two. The second roared and charged them from the side.
Elven profanities slipped from her mouth, profane enough that she was sure Solas would scold her. No scolding came. Blackwall held off the second as it rammed into his shield. As if the bears were master tacticians, they shepherded the group and split them apart, making them two small groups of two rather than a party of four. Varric was stuck with Blackwall on an expanse of rocky ground. They had the higher ground, better for Varric's aim but challenging for Blackwall to navigate with his heavy shield and sword. Lavellan flagged back with Solas behind her; They had to retreat further down the difficult terrain.
It was chaos. His staff swung, Varric's bolts fired, Blackwall swung his sword and charged with his shield. A fireball erupted and the second bear let out a horrible cry as its body was set ablaze. For a moment it seemed like they might be able to chase off the second bear so they could deal with the first. Then the second bear shook its bulk into the ground and extinguished the flames.
Fuck!
It rose back to its full height mauling Varric as its massive paws swung for him. The dwarf tumbled down the edge of the incline, his body meeting rocks and dirt rather than taking the full brunt of the bear's claws. She yelled something, looking nervous as Varric scrambled to his feet and attempted to fire on the bears from below. The angle was horrible. His arm was bleeding and he had a gash in his forehead that was just gushing into his left eye. Blackwall planted himself on the upper level, trying to force his way past the bear that had knocked his companion away. He was alone now, with a bear that was not backing down.
The first bear stormed toward Solas, and its size belied its speed. Corded muscle rippled under the brown fur. Lavellan dashed forward, but the bear snapped its jaws for her arm and she evaded, but just barely. He turned to cast frost at it. Ice flashed. A paw came swinging for his head. Lavellan leapt then onto the bear's back, daggers sinking into the meat of its shoulders instead of its throat. She could have bled it out, but instead she just pissed it off. It bucked and violently tossed her into a nearby tree. The trunk didn't cushion her so much as it broke two ribs on impact and her head cracked against the bark. It was not soft either and the skin of her forehead split open. She felt her teeth gnash and almost bit down on her tongue.
Shit!
She had still worn leathers back then, which in hindsight was practically suicidal. The blow stunned her so badly that she struggled to make sense of the visions swimming before her. The forest seemed to wobble. One bear, two bear, one Blackwall, Solas looked angry, Varric was somewhere below them all, and there were lots of trees. She pushed off of the tree trunk and a low hanging branch swatted her in the face. Pine needles scraped her cheek.
They were making more mistakes, and their exhaustion and lack of potions was making the battle more than just little bit challenging. She thought that this couldn't get any worse. She wasn't that unlucky, right?
It happened quickly. Blackwall yelled something and careened over the edge of the outcropping, smashing into Varric like a boulder thrown from a trebuchet, one made of a man in armor with a massive shield and a sharpened sword. They crashed and fell and rolled in a mass of limbs and grunts. Dirt flew up and left a dusky cloud in their wake.
A third bear showed its face over the spot that both Varric and Blackwall had fallen from. It roared and she felt her stomach drop. It was massive. It must have been almost twice the size of the other ones and took her breath away. Actually, no; Her ribs were doing that as they pressed dangerously into her lungs. Her breathing turned into a wheeze, and she struggled to get fully upright. Solas backed up further, shooting furtive glances at her then to the others. He stopped casting to conserve his mana. They all saw their chances of survival plummeting. The third bear was the largest bear she'd ever seen, almost twice the size of the other two, with gray matted fur. This had to be a Great Bear. She'd heard of them, but hadn't encountered one yet.
It wasn't. It was just a large bear, but large enough for them to know it was time to go.
Unfortunately, no one had told the bear that. It flew over the rocks and came crashing toward them. Maybe she screamed. She didn't remember.
"We must retreat!" Solas yelled to the others.
"No shit!", yelled Varric in a voice a little higher than his usual tenor. He didn't waste time to scurry and scramble down rocks and boulders and put distance between him and the massive beasts. Blackwall took the cue and hooked his shield on his back and leapt down to a section of earth that looked dangerously narrow. The man put his body through hell to run through the thick of the forest, trees and branches striking him in the face as he fled. She lost track of the two as her chest felt heavy and thick, pressure building and making her eyes water.
Solas grabbed her by the wrist and tore her away from where she stood, pulling her down the hill as quickly as he would dare. Her feet tripped and her chest burned, and she was making wet sucking sounds as she gasped. It didn't sound good. Solas didn't slow and his grip on her wrist only tightened. She remembered being stunned at how strong his grip was. Everything sort of blurred and they moved down, down, down. There were fields ahead, a little lower. She stumbled and Solas had to catch her as she fell. It wasn't the roots or rocky terrain or her feet failing that tripped her this time. She coughed up a mouthful of copper red blood. Her head was spinning and she laughed, but it came out like a croak.
"Fenedhis!", Solas swore.
He practically snarled as he moved her in his arms, none too gently, as if she were a thing to repair and not a companion in need of healing. The air felt colder suddenly as if she'd been plunged into not-quite- ice water. She smelled and tasted that magical scent she'd learned was completely Solas, like a fingerprint. It was like fresh mint and hibiscus. The flavor and scent mingled and made her skin tingle and her body calm. It was lovely. In her bloodied and addled state, she wondered why Solas' magic tasted like her favorite tea. She smiled and her head tilted as if she were drunk. Solas looked impatient, his eyes darting back to the bears, then back to her. He looked focused, concentrating with difficulty. The bears were getting closer. He made a split decision.
The minty freshness cut off as if someone had thrown Lavellan back into the Hinterlands and smashed her face into the dirt. She coughed and looked confused. Solas jostled her like awkward merchandise, hooked an arm behind her thighs and wrapped his other under her neck. He tipped her into his arms and lifted her without considerable effort, but her squirming limbs made it just that much more difficult. She was practically flailing. It was refreshing. She felt a wash of magic pouring over her, into her. It made it easier to breathe.
He then ran with her in her arms, as best as he could descend the steep cliffs toward the valley below. He never lost his footing. He was surprisingly fast, surprisingly agile. She was mostly aware of her face against his neck.
It's warm.
Oh, and she saw the bears being only a body's length away as they chased at his heels. She thought it was funny she wasn't scared at all. They were worried about her dealing with some major threat and here she was going to be eaten by bears. She almost giggled into his skin.
The bears probably would have overtaken them, but then Varric loosed a volley of arrows. The bolts rained down and stabbed into the ground around just shy of Solas' feet. They also sank into the bears. The closest bear crashed to a mighty halt and fell with an arrow shaft sunk into its eye, dead. The two others had their hides punctured and they crashed into the first, tumbling over themselves and sending their arrows deeper into their flesh. They bellowed and whipped around in pain, staggered and stiff. The bears snarled and drool and spit and blood spattered on the dirt. They momentarily ceased their pursuit.
It was the opening they needed.
Solas ran with her cradled against his chest. They got away. All of them.
"That was a shit show", Varric said when they were reunited. Blackwall was braced over his shield, using it to prop up his arms as he breathed heavier than the other two. He looked a little green, like he might get sick. Varric scooted away from him and closer to the angry bald elf. Blackwall would later complain he was a soldier, not a damn courier running letters. He was not one for running from a fight.
Solas breathed a little heavy, as one might after sprinting with excess baggage. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at Lavellan. She lay unconscious against him, looking small and more vulnerable than she usually did. His scowl softened slightly.
"I agree."
Fuck bears.
She scowled. She didn't want Josephine to judge her on leaving her 'immature comments' on the expensive maps. She pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment paper and used a quill and ink to write new notes for herself. She dipped the quill into the ink and scratched at it, writing her notes and including a tiny drawing made of a circle, four sticks for legs, two round ears, sharp teeth, and angry little dots for eyes. Under it, she crudely wrote "Fuck bears". She watched the ink dry rapidly in the dry heat and then folded the paper and stuffed it into a pouch on her belt.
When that was finished, she went to her tent and began to peel off her sweaty clothes. Her skin was raw, red, and just all sorts of uncomfortable when exposed to air. The tent felt too small suddenly, constricting. Her world span round and round. Lavellan swore under her breath and tried to focus on just one thing. She stared at the halla figurine. Her stomach heaved. Again the nausea swelled and her head swam. She choked on her spit as the bile rose. Varric was in his own tent, dumping sand out of his boots and inspecting his blisters. She shoved her head out of the tent and vomited into the sand, rather than her bedroll. Varric grimaced when he heard her.
"Clover, you need to take better care of yourself."
She would have rolled her eyes if not for the urge to gag that made her body shudder. She retched until only bile came, then only spit, before wiping at her mouth.
"I'll get right on that", she said with snark. She spit again and reached for her waterskin.
Varric had been saying the same things for the past year plus. He was trying to be a good friend and she kept being brusk and dismissing his concerns. It was easier to pretend she was untouchable, the Herald of Andraste. Sure, she should take care of herself but then she'd have to take a moment to breathe, to think. Thoughts and memories hurt. Her heart hurt. Physical pain was nothing in comparison.
She drank until she felt a little bit better. Sun sickness was common in the desert, but they'd avoided it until now. She supposed she was lucky it wasn't anything worse.
She had the best worst luck.