Chapter 12 – The Village to the North
In the very beginning, before Purpose, before Wisdom, before everyone and everything else, Solas was not alone.
He came from a little village to the North. He'd told the Inquisitor that much of his past. It wasn't quite the truth. He was born in the North, specifically in what would eventually become Tevinter, but it was no village. It was ruins now, overgrown and desolate. No people would call the land home now. It smelled of decay. He came from a single property that spanned the size of a small village, like the rich manors in Orlais covering the countryside. It sprawled across the landscape with towering spires and massive walls, to keep the slaves in. Despite its opulence, the area the slaves lived in was little more than rowhomes with thatched roofs lining the area closest to the stables. In the winters it was cold and in the summers, it was oppressively hot. In those cramped confines lived over a hundred elves; Everything was owned by one man. Everyone on his land was a slave. There were only adults on the property, except for one child.
Solas was that child. He was born to one of the slaves that worked the fields. He couldn't remember his mother's face or her name. He couldn't remember her voice. He remembered she was kind.
He remembered her hands.
She had worn callused hands and yet, a gentle touch. He was too young to understand why she kept him swaddled well past infancy, tucked against her even in his toddling age, hid him in cupboards and under stairs, and made him learn to be silent as a mouse. She had smiled at him and told him it was a game. He had believed her, for his innocence was unmarred.
"You are a special gift", she had whispered to him "You must never be seen by the master".
He was a secret.
The other slaves knew he existed as they had also known her for their entire lives. Slaves had to band together for their own safety. They were a family, though they could not show it through actions. They were unified by their hearts. Regardless, if the master was around then they treated Solas like he was a ghost. No one would look at him, no one would interact with him. He thought the game was fun, though sometimes he wished to be held to spoken to. His mother would comfort him in her arms and whisper her love before he slept each night.
He never knew why she named him Pride. Someday he would find it to be a fitting name.
Solas knew that the garden was usually off-limits, but that day their master was showing the manor to his guests, so his mother shooed him outside. As a change of scenery, Solas joined his mother and the other slaves under the bright sky. The gardens were more like fields, massive tracts of land that the slaves had to till and weed and process daily. He did not squeal as little ones did when they felt delight, instead he dove under the plants and climbed between thick stalks and quickly covered himself in dirt. Solas was quite little and was easily swallowed up by the greenery in the gardens. Even standing, he only came up to his mother's thighs if he stood on his tip toes. His mother moved beside him and smiled. He always felt her presence close by. The magic in the air made things grow large and quickly. It also could make food spoil quickly if unattended. Hands were always grabbing at the earth. Solas felt like an adventurer as he navigated past the arms and hands that pulled the vegetables and fruits from the earth. Finding a comfortable spot not far from his mother's legs, he sat under leafy plants that grew up to the waist of the adults and smelled faintly of tea.
His little fingers found a twig and stone, perfect toys for a little boy who would never know a possession to his name. His small hands grasped the makeshift toys and mashed them together while he smiled, his bright eyes alight with joy. His hair had the fine qualities of early childhood, when it at times resembled the downy fluff of a new chick and the color of it would seemingly change with the seasons. He currently had hair that curled and coiled. It was bright red in most spots, though blonde in others, and wild, untamable despite his mother's best efforts. Freckles scattered across his face and arms, bright beacons against the pale white of his skin. He so rarely spent time outside that he was as pale as alabaster. A loose tooth wiggled as he breathed out of his mouth. His mother pulled weeds from the ground. She was always close, always watching him. She was always careful.
He remembered the smell of her skin, like earth and rain. He had been delighted to spend the day out in the fields. He smashed his toys together, a little harder than he should. A little louder than he should. His mother hissed at him through the greens, "Shush!". He pouted at her and tried to be quieter, still hitting stick to stone.
The master led his guest outside, smiling. He seemed to ooze with a sense of pride at all he commanded, all he owned. The master was tall, Solas remembered that much, with cruel looking eyes. He walked like he might swoop down and grab at someone or something, like a predator, and he liked to wear shiny armors with a flair for elegance. His armor was highly polished and inlaid with small gems which glistened in the sun. He was a blinding brightness as he spoke to his guest, who was an even taller man with skin that was taut over muscle. He was picturesque with a physique that must have been the pinnacle of performance, powerful and broad but also lithe and agile. He was suited in an armor that was far from decorative with a massive sword at his side that had to be the length of an entire person.
The slaves worked with a stiffness in their movement that belayed their fears. They dressed plainly and were relatively clean looking. They were sunken and hungry looking, but because they didn't resemble skeletons, they could be considered well fed. Their heads were shaved and their faces branded with the vallaslin of the patron god of their master.
"They are quite loyal. You should consider getting more of them", said the master with a nod of his head toward his slaves. They didn't dare look up at him, to meet his eyes.
The guest cast his gaze over them briefly. His bushy eyebrows knit together as he paused and looked thoughtful before he looked back to the master.
"The demand has over paced the supply. You know that", the guest said with a growl in his tone, as if the master was an idiot for even suggesting such a thing.
Slaves were another commodity to be bought, sold, and traded. His mother hovered nearby, keeping her eyes on her master and her work, never her boy. She could not dare to look in his direction. She would not give away his location. Solas mashed his toys together again, quietly enough that the sound was lost to the sound of slaves working the fields.
"Yes well-"
The stone flew across the garden and hit the masonry on the walkway. It made a faint click-clatter. The guest cocked his head, arching a brow. The master looked to the sound, the stone, and then looked up at the slaves. His eyes were cold, and every slave froze, a telling sign. Solas heard the sudden lack of movement and his head spun around to look to his mother.
The master forced a smile at his guest, "They are overzealous in their work", he said with a simpering warble in his voice.
"Is that so?" The guest's voice was an irritated growl.
The master glared at the slaves for embarrassing him. There would be punishment for that alone.
The guest then strode forward off the paving stones, armored greaves crashing through the leafy growth.
Solas felt a presence, a looming shape over the tiny canopy that shielded him from eyes. He shrank in upon himself, drawing his knees to his chest. He held his stick with a white knuckled grip, staring up at the shadow that seemed to be everywhere above him.
Suddenly, a hand came down among the plants. It was well manicured but also worn in places from repetitive use. He didn't move, not until the hand came down and swiped close enough that he felt the air move past his nose. Solas scrambled onto his hands and knees and crawled as quickly and as quietly as he could toward his mother. The garden betrayed his efforts. The greens shuddered as he brushed past them leaving a trail.
The guest smirked at the rustling movement of leaves.
Suddenly, he unsheathed his sword. The master opened his mouth as his eyes widened, but no sound came out. The guest was his better. He needed to watch his tongue.
Solas' mother called out, "It was nothing! I- I kept a pet…!", she said as sweat slid down her skin. She looked terrified. The man hesitated at the look of terror in her widening eyes, looking from her to her master before he moved like lightning.
"No!", she screamed.
The sword came crashing down. Solas was like game flushed from a field. The blade slammed into the dirt only scant inches in front of his face. He cried in alarm and there was a flurry of movement. The sword was torn out of the ground, spraying him with soil. Solas flinched.
His mother ran toward him.
Solas turned his head toward her.
She reached out for him.
He heard her voice yell something.
Another swing of the blade.
His eyes widened.
A thump followed, then a heavy thud that crushed the greenery nearby.
Solas held his breath. He stared at the stems jutting out of the dirt as it became a thickening mud, dark crimson poured around the crushed tea leaves. The coppery scent filled his nostrils alongside the earthy undertones. He didn't understand.
Solas's heart raced like a rabbit's, pounding so loudly that the world was shut out except for the sound and her - She was close. He just needed to grab onto her and he would be safe. She always kept him safe. She was his world.
"How dare you!", the master yelled with a hitch of fear making his voice squeak. The slaves shrank away, terrified and shocked and stunned.
"Shut your mouth", growled the guest as his hand snatched Solas from his mother's side.
He saw her hands in the dirt close enough to touch. He grabbed at them in terror, but they did not grab him back. They did not comfort him. He didn't understand.
He remembered her hands.
As he was torn from the protection of the leaves, he saw her there. His mother was prone and unmoving. She was a body without a head. It had rolled away somewhere in the dirt, leaving an arterial splatter on the greens around her. His eyes saw but his mind didn't comprehend it, didn't understand it. Not yet. He didn't want to remember this. He never wanted to remember this.
He screamed and tried to hold onto her. Five fingers reached down like talons of a monster, grabbed him, and crushed him against plated armor. The metal bit into his back as he thrashed and kicked but his grip on her hands intensified. He held on to her with all of the might he could muster, lungs screaming louder with his terror.
He remembered her hands.
Solas wouldn't let go of her, his fingernails cutting into her flesh as he tried to hold on. His fingers clawed with desperation. His grip tightened despite the slick of sweat between his small fingers and palms. The man snarled and stuck his blade in the earth with one hand as he jostled and throttled the boy with the other. Now with two hands, the man started to pry the screaming child off the corpse.
Solas was torn from his mother with a terrible scream, his fingers grasping at air and his limbs flailing.
The master stepped forward to interject, looking jerky in his movements. He hesitated, he feared.
"If I had known-", he whined and hoped to placate the man, his head bobbed like a chicken as he proffered his excuses.
The guest spun toward him with the boy in his arms, bucking, kicking, and screaming. Tears gushed and the boy's face was a bright red from his exertions against a foe so much bigger and stronger than himself. The man's eyes glowed a brilliant red in his fury. Magic flickered around the man, a mighty flame of yellow radiating from his person, his aura rippling ominously.
"If you had known?!"
The master gasped and stepped back, eyes widening in recoil. There were strict laws on slave ownership. A master needed permission to breed the slaves, and even so the process could take many years before it might offer any success. Immortality could have flooded their lands with mouths to feed, but the low fertility rates made it difficult to build numbers quickly. Solas was no blessing, he was property.
The man held Solas aloft by his arm, glaring at him. The boy screamed and cried, his voice hoarse and his face covered in tears, snot, and spittle. The volume was nearly deafening. The man glared back at the master before he shook the boy hard, his little body bending to and fro and his head whipping back and forth. If he had only been a bit younger, that act of violence would have been strong enough to kill him. Instead, it jostled him enough that his vision spun and his body hurt. A moment later and magic enveloped the child in a sudden flash of light. His little head sank to his chest as unconsciousness washed over him in an instant. Solas slept despite the horrors, the terror.
He never got to say goodbye to her, he never got to put her to rest.
"I will take him", snapped the guest as he repositioned the boy under his arm like a sack of grain.
"But you-", the master said with a cowed whimper as he gestured to the dead woman in his field. The master expected that he'd be recompensated for the loss of the woman. He was mistaken.
"I will take him!" He said with eyes that glowed that horrible red hue.
The master stepped back as if he'd been bit by a viper.
"Yes, yes – as is your right!", he said as he scuttled for a tone that was apologetic and not terrified.
Solas was bundled up in a satchel. The guest took his sword back with more care than he handled the child. The sword was a tool and had more value than the boy did. The child was a burden with potential.
Solas was taken immediately from the property. He left the village in the North.
The man who took him would become his master and he was not kind to Solas for the decades he kept him. He made him into a soldier, he made him into a killer. He would regret that.
Solas didn't remember much from the place of his birth. He remembered the pain of her loss. He remembered the scent of the tea leaves in the bloody dirt.
He remembered her hands.