Chapter 12: Sickness and Sorrow

The next morning she awoke feeling slightly ill. She wasn't surprised by it; this was not a day she had been looking forward to and after last night's reminiscing about her mother, it was no surprise a day of mourning would set her ill at ease.

"You look terrible," Zarrak commented when she came back to camp with a bouquet of flowers she had purchased from a nearby vendor.

"Thanks. I feel rather rotten," she said, sitting down beside him and unbundling the bouquet to select her flowers.

"Was it the sausages from the lady with the gray hair?" he asked, casting his eye about in case she was around.

"No, I just think I feel lousy and it makes my stomach turn."

Zarrak squinted, but switched topics. "What are the flowers for?"

"On the second day of Arlathvhen we pay homage to those we have lost. I am picking out my favorites to give as offerings for the people I have lost personally."

He squinted quizically, picking up a discarded flower with a bent stem. "How does it work?"

"Everyone has their own way. I like to pick a flower I think the person would have liked and say a prayer. Some people burn them and some people bury them. Others toss the flowers into the water."

Zarrak spun the flower in his hand. "Is that so? Interesting. You Dalish have odd customs."

"Would you like one? I have a few to spare," she offered, handing over the remaining flowers.

Zarrak eyed them each and picked up one with several small blue blooms on the stem. "Which method do you prefer? Burning, burying, or casting them into the water?"

"I toss mine into the river. Would you like to walk down with me?"

"Is that wise?" he asked, glancing at Trissa and Hamin, who were eating breakfast on the opposite side of the cookfire.

"It isn't far. But I can ask Trissa to come too, if you'd like."

"Leave the lovers be. They have had precious few moments together."

Lavellan laughed. "So you know?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Of course. With the lovely Trissa at the end of my lead it was very difficult to ignore the signs."

"Yes, I suppose that must be true."

She led the way down along the bank, winding carefully so as not to intrude on others in their own moments of reflection. A woman wept into the arms of her beloved. Two sisters held hands and watched their flowers burn in the morning's campfire. A small child made faces to try and make their father smile, but with no success. Standing upon a rock, a lone warrior ducked his head to hide his tears as they passed.

"Plenty of grim faces around…" Zarrak said quietly so as not to disturb the almost eerie silence as they slipped by a group standing in a circle with their heads bowed in silent prayer.

She said nothing, leading on in quiet contemplation. They reached the shore some fifteen minutes later.

"Are we supposed to pray or… just toss 'em in?" Zarrak asked, eyeing the slippery rocks as he made his way to the waterline.

"However you wish," she said, turning her back and facing the water. A solemn moment passed as she reflected on those she lost. The list was long; she had known many good people from the Inquisition who had served and died under her banner. And many others whom she cared for and lost from her life before she became the Inquisitor. One by one, she tossed the flowers into the waters and watched the current carry them away. A few caught on rocks or in small clumps where natural dams had formed from other debris or other offerings. "Dareth shiral," she murmured softly, folding her arms across her chest. She watched the last flower, the one for her mother, float away downstream until it was out of sight.

When she turned back, however, Zarrak's head was bowed in respect, silently waiting for her to finish. Gesturing for him to join her, she stepped aside and he hesitantly stepped forward, pinching the flower stems in his hands. Two small daisies he tossed in without much regard.

"Who are your flowers for?" she asked quietly, watching as the flowers trailed downstream.

"For the Crows. They were my brothers in arms. As close to family as I've ever had. The ones Fen'Harel turned to stone." His face remained carefully composed as he picked the blossoms one by one. "Sandrina. Baldor. Vivie the Viper. Steel-eyed Samson. Gortu. Alee. Ray. Baltok-Sovar. Leeto. And the rest, who were mostly assholes. So was Leeto, but only when he was drunk. Which was most of the time now that I think about it." His body sagged under the weight of their memories as he plucked the flowers and finally tossed the whole stem and all the remaining buds into the water. Then he held up the broken one, twisting it between his fingers for a brief moment before flinging it into the water.

"Who was that one for?"

"Me. Or maybe the old me, I should say."

Struck by inspiration, she picked a small purple flower growing from a bud between a pair of rocks and tossed it in.

"What was that one for? Did you forget someone?"

She shook her head. "No. That's for my arm."

"Are you really going to marry Fen'Harel after he...?" Zarrak gestured to her false limb.

"Yes," she grinned, though there was something sad and somber behind those clever eyes. "Although, it's called 'bonding' in our culture."

He gave her a curious, but carefully guarded look. "I do not understand you sometimes. You do not make sense."

"I like to think that's part of my charm," she grinned, tucking her hair back behind her ears.

"Yes, charming," he grunted. "But still, why bond to a man who has caused you such… personal loss?"

"Have you never loved someone even though they hurt you?" When he did not reply, she shrugged. "That is the risk of caring for someone. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes other things pull us apart. But that doesn't necessarily mean it isn't worth having."

Zarrak mulled this over, scratching his chin. "Well, let me return you to your betrothed before we are missed," he said, offering his arm.

She raised an eyebrow, particularly as it was the right arm he raised, which she was expected to take with her left hand… "Amusing," she said dryly, striding past him and making her way back to camp.

Solas breathed a sigh of relief when she returned. It shouldn't have worried him, but there was still something about the assassin that he did not like or trust. And the thought of the Crow escorting his beloved alone made him uneasy. He knew she could handle herself in a fight if it came down to it, but he didn't want to increase the chance that she may need to defend herself.

"Good morning, vhenan. Are you well?" he asked, noting her grayish pallor.

"Good morning to you, handsome," she said, smiling at him. "I must admit, I'm not feeling my best today. Though that isn't so surprising on a day like this."

"Shall I brew you a cup of tea? Or fetch you something to eat?"

"Tea would be nice. I don't think I can stomach breakfast quite yet."

"Of course," he said, kissing her on the forehead.

She managed to drink tea, though it was slow going. In truth, she felt downright rotten as the morning wore on, though whether it was worse than the emotional strain, she could not say.

Solas stayed with her, a worried line between his brows each time he looked at her face. "Are you alright, vhenan? You do not look well."

Wiping her forehead, she sighed and leaned back against the stone boulder she sat on. "I will be alright. It happens sometimes. And today always puts my guts in a knot. It's not that surprising that I feel ill." She drew in a long, deep breath. The cool air helped her feel a little better. "Do you ever think about the people we killed?" she asked quietly, looking out over the water. They were far enough away that her voice would not carry to the others.

Solas studied her for a moment and then glanced out across the lake as well. "Sometimes. I cannot pretend my hands are clean. There are many I have slain. Enemies and friends, I find myself mourning their losses. All the potential for who they were and who they could have been. I take it you face a similar struggle, particularly on this day?"

She nodded, her face growing paler at the thought. "I am not naive. I knew that in our battle I would have to take lives. Just as I had done countless times before, when bandits came to raid against my clan. I suppose you never get used to it… the weight of it upon your soul."

"No. There are those for whom killing comes easily. Those who do not feel the weight of the dead upon their shoulders. There are those who relish in it, for the power they command over life itself. The world is full of such men and women. They are monsters worse than any demon, for they seek out others to kill. You are different. The fact that you mourn your enemies and not only your friends sets you apart. You are decent and kind-hearted. You offer mercy and forgiveness to those others would deem unworthy." When he said the last part his eyes lingered on Zarrak, lounging on the outskirts of the campfire; situated so that they were in his line of sight at all times.

She followed his gaze and frowned. "You think I should have killed Zarrak rather than spare his life?"

"Yes," he admitted, turning instead to look at her. "I think sparing his life comes at a significant risk. Keeping him near increases that risk significantly."

"Do you not consider the life debt he owes me?"

"I think a life debt only applies to a person with honor. An assassin is not such a person."

"Well, I think it is safe to say he will not slit my throat in my sleep. He could have done that already if that was his aim."

His eyes darkened. "Do not jest about such matters, vhenan. He is dangerous. I fear for your safety in his company. Please, do not go wandering off with him alone again."

A part of her wanted to refuse on principle, but she saw the concern in his eyes and knew he had grounds to be worried. "Alright," she promised. "I won't go off with him alone. I swear it."

Solas breathed a sigh of relief.

She, on the other hand, felt a wave of nausea come over her as her gut clenched into a tight knot. "I think I'm going to be sick," she said, leaning against the rock. A moment later she was violently ill, vomiting into the grass. Banishing the mess with a spell, she sunk to the ground, knees weak and shaky.

"Vhenan!" Solas exclaimed, reaching to support her and brushing her hair back from her face as she vomited again. When the heaving stopped he waved away the mess with a vanishing spell and looked at her with concern. "Vhenan, you are not well. What is wrong?"

She groaned and trudged to the side of the lake, bending down to splash her face with water. "I don't know. Maybe I ate something that disagreed with me."

"Are you certain? Is there a chance it could be poison?" He shot a glare at Zarrak, who was amongst those from their party who had come to her aid and were standing nearby in case they could help.

Zarrak glared back at Solas. "This is not my doing."

"You must realize why I jump to that conclusion, Crow," he snapped in a dangerous voice.

"Please. My stomach is off. It was likely some bad food."

"Has anyone else been ill?" Solas glanced around at the others, but they all shook their heads.

"My love, relax. It's likely nothing serious. It could just be stress or the heat or a normal illness. In all likelihood, I ate something off. There's no need to worry."

"That would be far easier to do if we did not have a poisoner in our midst," he narrowed his eyes angrily at Zarrak.

"Stop it. You worry too much. It is nothing, I'm sure. I'll go lie down for a little bit and then I will come find you when I am better, alright? All is well. You'll see." She managed a small smile that was mostly a grimace as she brushed the sand off her hands.

Solas said nothing, but escorted her to her tent and made sure Hamin stood guard outside in case she needed anything.

While she rested, he fretted over her wellbeing, pacing along the shoreline, only vaguely aware of the other camps and the people.

A sharp wail from somewhere nearby pierced his worried thoughts. He sought the source and saw an elderly woman sobbing over a bundle of blue pansies clutched tightly in her hands. Bearing witness to such a private emotion stirred his discomfort. He tore his eyes away and turned back from the direction he had come when he noticed flowers washed ashore by his feet: cerulean dewdrops. With care he picked them up and tossed them back into the water. Then he froze. Hundreds of flowers bobbed along the surface. Possibly thousands. Each one marking a lost loved one. He knew the Dalish suffered heavy losses; even Clan Lavellan had nearly been wiped out during the days of the Inquisition. But to see the calm waters of the lake slowly drifting by with vivid hues of yellow, pink, purple, blue, white, violet… and every other color, was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. Perhaps he had overreacted by jumping to conclusions earlier. This was a grim day, full of painful, gut-wrenching memories. It was not so strange that she should feel unwell.

Much to his relief, she emerged a couple hours later after a nap, feeling much recovered. "I told you it was probably just something I ate. I think it was that spicy meat pie from Dalish. Did you see her yesterday? I meant to grab a drink with her, but I forgot…"

But Solas didn't hear the rest. He was too busy basking in relief that she was well again. She chided him for overreacting, but it did not bother him. He was glad to have been wrong.

Despite her recovery, he kept a close eye on Zarrak.

Though Lavellan's physical health had been restored with some rest, her melancholy grew worse over the course of the day. Every time a person cried she fell deeper into a pit of despair.

Solas noticed and pulled her aside after a mother came to her, crying over her dead son who had given his life fighting for the Inquisition. "Harellan!" the woman shouted at her before storming off.

"Do not listen to her, vhenan. She speaks from a place of suffering," he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She reached for his hand, but his comfort did not raise her spirits. "I'm the reason her son is dead. She has a right to hate me and call me foul names. It's okay. I can take it." She stared out at the lake, wondering how many of the flowers represented those who had fought and died under her banner. "Does it ever get easier?" she asked Solas, some time later. "Carrying the burden of the dead?" It was not hope that filled her voice as she asked the question, for she was too full of somber soberness to feel hope at the moment.

Solas took a deep breath, hands clasped behind his back. "Not for me," he replied quietly. "The burden only grows. Yet somehow we manage to find the strength to shoulder it. But there are days when the weight is too great and we fall into grief."

She waved her hand, drawing in the water to carry away a few flowers that had washed ashore. The current carried them back along with the others, slowly bobbing down to the river. "I remember when she died," she said, tucking her hair back behind her ear.

"Your mother?"

She shook her head. "No. The spirit of wisdom the mages had ensnared. I remember you killed the mages and left."

Solas remembered it well. A cold chill cut through his heart at the memory.

"I had never seen you so angry before. You were always so… composed. As if nothing ever affected you emotionally. But that day, I saw you snap. When you left… I feared you would not return." She clutched her wooden arm, biting her lip. "And then you came back. I felt so relieved that I had not lost you too."

A pang of guilt washed over him. He had lost himself that day. It had all been too much to bear. His lips parted to apologize, but then he closed them again.

"I'm glad that you came back. I want you to know that. Having you by my side again… It was nice not to feel alone. I missed you," she said softly, looking up at him.

Despite the pain of memories bearing down upon him, her words touched him. "And I missed you as well. Your presence was a comfort."

A small smile graced her lips. She held out her hand in offering. "Come. Walk with me. I know you cannot meet her, but I would like to tell you about my mother. And if you are willing, would you kindly tell me about the spirit of wisdom you knew?"

A warmth flickered in his chest at her kindheartedness. "Yes. I would like that."

Taking her hand in his, they walked along the shoreline.

"I think she would have liked you, you know. She was sweet and caring. It didn't really matter what the circumstance was, she always gave a person the benefit of the doubt."

"Then she would not have objected to you bonding yourself to Fen'Harel?" he asked, raising an eyebrow sardonically.

"Oh well, yes, she might have objected at first. But I think if she had met you, that would be a different story. She liked meeting new people. And like I said, she always gave people a chance. 'Folks will always show their true colors in their actions' was one of her favorite sayings. She would always go out of her way to help people. As our clan's crafter she would always make odds and ends for others. If she saw that a wheel needed fixing she would just make a new one and give it to the person who needed it. That sort of thing. And she was friendly with everyone. Always checking in and seeing how everyone was doing. She always listened well if someone had a problem and she was never quick to judge if someone had done wrong. Which was good because I was a temperamental child."

"She sounds like a good person with a kind heart."

She smiled. "She was. Very kind. Very selfless."

"I hope you do not mind me saying, but it sounds as if your parents had conflicting personalities."

She stifled a grim laugh. "Oh, no. Trust me, I am aware of it. But they weren't so different back when I was younger. I think she had a way of tempering his edges with her calming ways. My father and I struggle, I think, because we're too similar. Both bullheaded and strong-willed, stubborn old mules." She sighed. "It wasn't easy for my father and I after she passed. My father didn't know what to do with me; his caring efforts had always been helped along by my mother. Without her, he grew angry. First with the gods. Then, when they would not answer, he became angry with me. I know adolescence is not an easy age, but we didn't see eye to eye. He wanted me to be a warrior like him, but when I didn't and I showed signs of magic, he didn't adjust well to the change in plan. And I think after the healer couldn't save my mother, he resented magic and its limitations. I don't know, but as I grew older, it just became harder for us. I think we were both pretty lost without her."

"Was theirs a happy union? Did they bond by choice or was it arranged?"

"By choice. My mother was very beautiful, as well as kind. And funny. I'm told I look just like her, though she was shorter than I am now, if memory serves. And a bit more rosy-cheeked too. She used to keep her hair in a long braid down her back. When I was little, I used to put daisies in her braid. It always made her smile." The memory brought a smile to her own lips. "And she always had a bit of sawdust on her clothes. Her hand always smelled like freshly shaven wood. And apples. She was very fond of apples. Whenever we would visit the bakery of a town, she would always get apple turnovers or a pie as a treat. I liked the tart apples, but she liked the sweet yellow ones best."

"Are you like her in other ways?"

"Oh yes. I took the vallaslin in honor of her god, June."

"I had wondered why you chose that one when you were not the clan's crafter."

"I did it to honor her. None of the other gods ever answered my prayers anyway."

He paused and she turned around to face him. "Do you regret removing it? When I asked…" he trailed off, his expression pained. "I did not know they were meant to honor your mother."

Her face fell, recalling the moment with a bitter taste in her mouth. There was a reason she preferred not to think of the removal of her vallaslin. "I think I did, at first. It was why I hesitated. But slave markings are not how I wanted to honor my mother. I think she would've understood and respected my decision. So I find other ways to honor her memory."

"I'm sure she would be immensely proud of the person you have become," he said kindly.

"I hope so."

They continued down the shoreline in companionable silence for a time. "Will you tell me about the spirit of wisdom? You must have cared for her a great deal," she began, gently touching his hand with her thumb.

"Yes. Though I find it difficult to know where to begin."

"How did you meet? What was she like?" she suggested.

Solas paused, resting against a log on a quiet part of the shore. "I met her in the forest, long ago. She studied the habits of birds and other living things. I sat with her for a long time, listening to her tell me about the stretch of forest and all the different creatures that lived there. Some spirits of wisdom seek out knowledge with an insatiable thirst. But she was different. Kind. Patient. She taught me that knowledge came to the observer. As we sat together, she pointed out all the things I would have otherwise missed had I passed through that part of the forest focused solely on my destination: a line of beetles whose coloring matched the leaves of the local shrubs, a spider's web strung up in the branches of a dead oak, a bird gathering twigs for its nest. There was so much happening all around us, if only I stopped to look. She lived a peaceful existence, observing the majesty of the small region around her. Her perspective humbled me. So I stayed to learn from her. It was pleasant and peaceful. I had known much of war and conflict. Her life, tucked away in the forest, was something I envied. And so I stayed. But war and conflict came to that region in the forest as well. It sparked a fury in me to fight back, though that was not the case for her. I think she had seen enough of nature to know that conflict was a part of the natural order. Just as fire destroys the trees, so too does it crack the seeds to grow new ones. But all I saw was the injustice of it. So I fought against it and she stayed in the forest. She would never have wanted to be pulled into this world the way those mages forced her to become a demon. She was not a violent soul. They corrupted her nature and they-" He bit his tongue, balling his fists up in anger. "They were cruel. And she was only ever kind."

"What they did was wrong. I'm sorry they corrupted her nature. I'm sorry she died," she said quietly.

"Thank you," he said, a strain in his voice as his throat constricted. "It means a great deal that you went with me to help. Others… might not have understood."

"It was important. She was important."

Tears burned in his eyes at her words, touched by her compassion. She always approached things with such kind-hearted thoughtfulness and understanding. "I wish… I wish you could have known her."

She took his hand in hers. "I would have liked that as well. I know it is not the same, but I hope that you will tell me more, when you are ready."

He kissed the back of her hand, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "Of course."

The third day of Arlathvhen took on an entirely different tone from the previous day. Small children ran about, collecting sweets and strings of wooden beads. Lacking the social awareness to hold themselves back, many of the younger ones rushed up to Lavellan, waving their green painted hands at her and begging her to show off her prosthetic hand. As the children stared in awe she pulled out three plums and juggled them up in the air, just as she had shown Solas before. She turned to him with a wink after she caught them and took a bow. The children clapped and begged her to show them the trick again. "What, you mean this?" she said with a mischievous grin, tossing the plums back into the air.

Solas watched in amusement as the children clamored to get a good view and asked her how she did the trick. She was good with them. The observation tugged at something within him. He had never seen her around children much, but watching her send out an illusion of sparking blue butterflies from her hand followed by the squeals of excitement from the children who chased after them made images he hadn't considered at length before come to mind. In his head, he saw her with a child of her own: scooping him up into a big bear hug; placing a healing hand on a scraped knee and whispering words of comfort; and telling him bedtime stories of their adventures. The more he thought of it the more he longed for it to be real.

He wondered why he felt this way now. Knowing he walked the Din'anshiral had set limits on his wants and desires. But watching her smile light up in this way… he wanted a life with her. A long, happy life. And a family.

The part of him that knew he would likely not survive long enough to see that peaceful future cut into his heart like sharp thorns. In a few days he would bond himself to her. But how long would he live? Could he protect her if she was bonded to him? Bonding their lives together would put a target on her back, just as the former keeper had said. He would have to keep her close. The Evanuris, once freed, would try to use her to get to him. Would he be strong enough to stop them when the time came? Or was he dooming her by agreeing to bond with her? His throat constricted at the thought. They had survived so much together. But with another person… She could have more. She could have a peaceful life in a remote part of the world, somewhere safe from all the conflict that plagued Thedas. She could have children and raise them in the comfort of a stable home. She could…

His thoughts trailed off as a mother came up to her and asked for a blessing. Glancing over her shoulder at him she raised an eyebrow as if to say, "How does one bless a baby?" Assuming an air of composure and doing her best to mimic Josepine's regal posture, she touched the baby's forehead and her hand glowed as she said, "May the light of your heart guide you through life as the stars guide our people home." The woman thanked her and drew back. When she was out of sight, she turned to Solas and asked, "How was that? I haven't given many blessings before. I'm much better at cursing, I think."

He smiled. "It was perfect. And the mother seemed to appreciate it."

Her brows drew together and she frowned. "Then why do you look so sad?"

He beckoned her away from the children and looked down into her eyes. "You are good with them. The children."

She raised an eyebrow, confused. "And that is the reason why you're sad? Would you rather I behaved poorly with them?"

He rolled the words around in his mouth before he spoke, lest he cause her distress. "You would make an excellent mother, I mean. And you could have a better life with another man who could give you peace and a family-"

She stopped him by putting a finger to his lips. "I do not want another man or another life, Solas. I want you. Whatever that means. I would not want another man or his children or whatever life we might have. I want to be with you." She touched his cheek with her thumb and then pulled it away rather suddenly. "Varitan didn't come back, did he? Because if you think for a moment that I am going to-"

"-No. No, it is not that," he said, shaking his head. "I only want you to have a life of your choosing. One that will give you happiness and peace."

She smiled sadly at him. "I have not lived a life of peace, Solas. I am not afraid of what lies ahead, so long as I am with you. I love you. We will face what comes next together."

But when he looked at her his expression was pained. "Are you certain that is what you want?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

To his surprise, she smiled at him and touched his cheek. "Yes, Solas. I am certain. I want you." She took his hand in hers and tugged him back towards the group of children. "Now come. I'm sure between the two of us we can put on a real show," she teased.

And they did. Sparkling violet rabbits hopped after darting green dragonflies conjured from thin air and the children laughed and ran after them, jumping and leaping to try and catch the glittering creatures before they burst into a shower of sparks. As the onlookers laughed in delight and awe at the display, Solas couldn't help the pull of a private smile as he watched the sparkling reflections in the eyes of the woman he loved. When she turned to him, her joyous smile lighting up her face, he recalled precisely what he had missed about her: the freedom, the fun, the pure celebration of the moment they were in together. Caught up in his own head after he first awoke, he had found this war-torn world worse off than he had left it millenia before. But she changed all that. Her heart, her spirit, her character had never been corrupted by the darkness of the world. And it was moments like this, where he could see her shining in the darkness, untouched by the shadows that plagued him. If there was a beacon to follow in this world, he felt assured that she was the one to guide him through the dark.