The sun had begun to set not long after Nyssa and the Inquisitor's party returned to camp. Far from slowing down, the place only became busier: soldiers changed shifts, scouts began to return from the Plains, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air as the cooks began to prepare the evening meal. Despite the rapidly fading light, the Inquisitor headed straight for the cluttered table in the centre of camp. Iron Bull and Dorian followed.
Nyssa hesitated, caught between curiosity and a desire not to overstep boundaries—then hurried after hir new associates. The worst they could do was tell hir to go away.
"How did it go?" Harding asked, as Lavellan, Dorian, Bull and Nyssa gathered around the table.
"Sealed," Lavellan said promptly. He launched into an account of the mission they'd undertaken, and Nyssa let hir mind wander as zie examined the map.
"Good. That's one sorted." Harding pointed at the map. "I've reports of other Fade rifts here and here. The other scouts haven't reported back yet, but I doubt that's all of them. All the reports mention other things in the Plains. Demons, corpses, Orlesians."
Lavellan stared down at the map with his brows furrowed, chewing on his lip thoughtfully.
"What do we actually know about this region?" he asked after a moment. His fingers curled around a rough wooden token pinned to the map just over Riel. "Not just the recent events. A place like this doesn't just collapse on its own overnight."
Harding indicated Nyssa with a jerk of her head. "For that, asking your new friend is your best bet. Dalish Keepers know their history."
A pause, and all eyes turned to Nyssa. Zie took a deep breath.
"I didn't quite reach that rank," zie said, "but I know the history. Do you want the short version or the long version?"
"What's the short version?"
"The short version is that our people were given the Dales, lived here for three hundred years and were crushed by a holy war, which caused permanent damage to the land."
"Well, I know that," Lavellan replied, his lips twitching. "I was hoping for something more in-depth."
Nyssa smiled. "Very well. Do you know the story of Andraste? The historical account I mean, not that book of purple prose the Chantry preaches."
"Don't let the Seeker hear you say that," Harding muttered, as the others chuckled. Lavellan ignored their laughs, only nodding silently.
"Good," Nyssa continued. "Then you know that after the death of Andraste, the Dales were gifted to Shartan's people in thanks for their assistance in the war. Many elven slaves left the Imperium, travelled to the Dales and founded its capital, Halamshiral. For context, this occurred prior to the spread of Andrastianism, perhaps around two hundred years before. You might know this date as around a thousand years after the founding of the Tevinter Imperium," zie added, with a nod to Dorian.
"One thousand and twenty five years, precisely."
"Good. You know your history."
"I had an obnoxiously thorough education." Dorian didn't look pleased at that fact, only bored—an observation Nyssa packed away for later. "Don't stop on my account."
Zie hesitated, casting a glance at Lavellan's patient expression. Best not to overwhelm the man with too much information, zie thought. Stick to what's relevant.
"The Orlesian Chantry called an Exalted March on the Dales around three hundred years after its founding," zie continued. "They crushed our people, forcing them either to submit to human rule or to wander without a homeland. The elves who did not submit became the Dalish... and the result is what you see today. There are many ruins in this place, elven and human alike. In recent months, the Empress and Duke Gaspard have been squabbling over it."
Dorian made a face. "It figures most of the fighting happened here instead of Orlais. Though why anyone would want a place full of walking corpses is beyond me."
"They're Orlesians," Nyssa said. "It's all for the Grand Game."
"Quite."
"Anyway, as I've said, there are many places of importance for my people as well as humans. Ville Montevelan comes to mind. The east and west ramparts. I've seen... " Nyssa closed hir eyes, trying to recall the memories. "I have put down wandering corpses, some of them no more than bones strung together with magic. Demons of rage and despair. A fear demon over near the Dalish encampment. I had to flee from an era'harel—an arcane horror—that took up residence in one of the ramparts."
"Dalish?" Lavellan repeated, then nodded. "Ah, I remember."
"South of here, by the river. I know their Keeper; I worked with him a few weeks ago."
"We should go see them, boss," Iron Bull said.
Nyssa straightened up in alarm. "No, you absolutely should not."
Scout Harding frowned. "Why?"
"This place is a mess right now," zie said, with an exasperated glance at Iron Bull. "If the Dalish so much as spot a single mercenary within a hundred feet of their camp, they will fill you with arrows before you can say so much as a hello."
Iron Bull grumbled. "Trigger happy little assholes."
"Bringing a score of armed forces near a Dalish camp would be a foolish move," Nyssa said heatedly. "It would be tantamount to suicide."
"Too many people hurting," Cole said, and the others looked at him. He stared off to the right, at the broken archways framing the camp's eastern perimeter. "Harming, hacking open a hole for the demons to pour in. They're afraid."
"Who, the demons?" Harding asked.
"No. Yes? Sorry."
"If I may make a suggestion," Nyssa said. "I can go to the camp and speak to the Keeper. Perhaps if I can convince him to make an alliance... "
The Inquisitor held up a hand, and the others fell silent.
"Nyssa is right," he said. "We'll wait until Solas gets here."
"Who is this Solas?" Nyssa asked.
Once the sun set and the light faded, they moved to the central campfire and took the evening meal; joints of roasted meat, potatoes and a salad of arugula and wilted elfroot. Heavier food than what zie was used to, but zie couldn't complain: it was free.
Dorian and Iron Bull sat on one side on makeshift stools. Lavellan sat on the other, long legs splayed to one side, mopping up gravy with a crust of bread. Nyssa sat between them on the ground, plate balanced on hir knees.
"He's an elven mage," Lavellan said between mouthfuls. "He's been helping the Inquisition since the Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed."
"Is he Dalish? Or from the Circles?"
"No. He's... well, you'll see, anyway. He'll be here in two days, assuming nothing delays him." Lavellan glanced at Dorian. "You can head back to Skyhold, Dorian. I assume you'd rather not stay out here?"
Dorian made a face. "A tempting offer, but would I choose grubbing in the mud over the library at Skyhold? Please. Solas can run around this place talking to all the spirits he wants."
Nyssa perked up at that. "He is a spirit medium?"
"Dorian is joking," Lavellan said, with a roll of his eyes. "Solas has some... unusual ideas about spirits, but he certainly knows a lot about the Fade. And speaking of knowing a lot... "
The elven man trailed off, but his eyes remained fixed on Nyssa with a shrewd gaze. "I think it's time you tell me about that artifact you mentioned."
Zie took a deep breath and forced hirself to calm.
"The dirth'ena evanuris," zie said. The term had a literal translation, 'secrets of the Evanuris', but the actual meaning was beyond hir ability to explain to those who didn't know the language. "An ancient relic of elven origin, dating back to before the fall of Arlathan."
Another pause. Lavellan, Iron Bull and Dorian all had eyes on hir now.
"They are supposed to be capable of incredible power," zie continued. "Theoretically, enough magical energy channelled into such an artifact could create a catastrophic tear in the Veil. Though... I doubt that was its intended purpose."
Dorian and Iron Bull eventually went to seek their beds as the Inquisitor and Nyssa talked into the night. Lavellan asked hir the basic questions zie had expected—where was hir clan settled? What was zie doing in the Dales? What kind of spells did zie cast?
Nyssa hadn't been looking to deceive, so zie answered honestly and was impressed by the man's cunning. Zie had little knowledge of what to expect from a Dalish elf so far removed from his clan, but zie supposed it would be unfair to judge him based on that. It had been a long time since zie had seen hir clan, and months since zie had spoken to any Dalish other than the locals.
"I have a curiosity," Nyssa said eventually, after the campfire began to die down, and a young servant took their plates to be washed. "How does a Dalish elf come to attend a Conclave for the Chantry?"
Lavellan shrugged. "Keeper Deshanna sent three of us to the Conclave to observe the negotiations, including her First. I was the only one who survived; Ellana and Mahanon didn't make it."
"Falon'Din enasal enaste," Nyssa murmured, with a look of sympathy. "Losing our people is never easy."
"Yes." Lavellan sighed heavily. "But they were two among thousands of people who perished. There were many at the Conclave, not just mages and templars. Dwarves from the Carta, human nobles. Soldiers. Even Tal-Vashoth."
"Oh?"
Zie had heard of the Tal-Vashoth—Qunari who refused to follow the Qun and were considered outcasts. They had been a menace around Sundermount for many years.
Lavellan glanced at hir, sensing hir interest. "You've seen them before?"
"Once," Nyssa replied. "Years ago, the hunters brought a captive into our camp in the Vimmarks. A Qunari, the only survivor of a group that mounted an attack on one of the aravels. Traveling wagons, or landships, as the humans call them."
"I take it that didn't end well."
"They executed him, I think." Zie cast him an embarrassed glance. "I was only nine, and they would never do such things in front of the children. Normally they would have sent him off into the mountains, but his party killed two boys who tried to protect the aravel."
"Ah. Well, you can hardly call him an innocent man, then," Lavellan said, and stood. "We can put that information of yours to good use when we head out tomorrow. When you retire, there's a tent next to mine."
Nyssa nodded, and the Inquisitor turned and walked away, greeting a passing soldier with a friendly murmur.
Zie leaned back on hir hands and gazed at the sky above. Smoky haze hung over the camp, from the half dozen fires set up for the soldiers and scouts and for the food, but the night sky was clear as always.
It had been weeks since zie had seen a view of the sky unobscured by tree canopies or closed-in spaces. Perhaps zie was forgetting what it was like to be Dalish—now there was an unpleasant idea.
Nyssa got to hir feet with a heavy sigh. Joining the Inquisition likely meant zie would have to sleep in buildings and tents for the foreseeable future. A small inconvenience for a much greater purpose, zie thought, as zie headed in the direction Lavellan had left. Still, it remained to be seen how great the Inquisition really was.
Two days passed, and their little party worked themselves to the bone from dawn to dusk.
The information zie had given the Inquisition paid off; they paid a visit to the western ramparts and cleared the place of restless corpses and the cursed era'harel zie had fled from a week earlier.
The Dirth was a mess: destroyed villages, bands of roaming deserters, burned trees and demons leaving trails of destruction wherever they went. It hurt hir to see the elves' historic land used and scarred and repurposed for greed and bloodshed, but... it was an old hurt, easily buried behind a veneer of numb indifference. What mattered at the moment was restoring order in the region, and ensuring those who still lived in the Dales could be safe. Humans most of them might be, but they had done no wrong that could justify forcing them from their homes.
The Inquisition set up a secondary camp that Scout Harding named 'Riverwatch', nearer to Ville Montevelan and the nearby Fade rifts, and most of the scouts and soldiers moved there. It was a little more open than Nyssa would have liked, given the regular appearance of demons and wolves along the river banks. To hir surprise the Inquisitor and Harding agreed to double the patrols, and so far there had been only one skirmish.
The human scout's pale, sweaty face rose over the horizon of his breastplate.
"How bad is it?" he asked, voice shaking. His expression twisted into a grimace when zie elevated his leg on a spare rolled blanket.
"Not bad." This was the truth. The young man had taken a sword cut to the leg in the aforementioned tussle—a brief clash with some Freemen out to cause trouble. One of Harding's scouts had woken hir; another had gone to fetch a bucket of water and embrium. The wound was nothing some stitches couldn't fix.
Nyssa conjured an arcane light above their heads and focused on cleaning the cut, blocking out the sounds of the camp rousing around them. The scout kept himself raised on his elbows to watch, his only reaction the occasional grimace when zie pressed a little too hard on the wound. Finally zie retrieved hir healer's kit, washed hir hands and began to stitch it closed.
After the first few deep sutures the scout lay back down, face white as a sheet. "Don't think I want to watch that."
Nyssa laughed softly.
"Fascinating," said a voice from behind hir.
Physician's training kept hir from flinching as zie carefully maneuvered the curved needle through the skin. The voice had a smooth cadence and hint of an accent zie couldn't quite place, and zie was certain zie had not heard it in either of the Inquisition camps before. One of the other scouts perhaps, returning to report to Harding. Evidently the hasty medical treatment had caught his eye.
The scout zie was treating glanced over Nyssa's shoulder, but made no protest at the extra pair of eyes on him. He lay back with a bored sigh and turned to watch the bustle of the camp.
Leather and fabric creaked as the person behind hir leaned closer. "What is the purpose of the suture you placed at the apex of the wound?"
"To anchor it," Nyssa replied. Hir eyes never left hir work, though curiosity prodded at hir to turn and see who the voice belonged to. "When his stitches are removed, I can cut the knot and the thread will come out with ease. Or someone else can do it, I suppose, though I would prefer to finish my own work."
"Aren't you a mage or somethin'?" the scout piped up. "Can't you just heal it?"
"For a tiny little cut like this? Nonsense. Not worth the effort."
Nyssa secured the last stitch, wiped the wound and applied a bandage soaked in a mixture of crushed elfroot and embrium.
"Now," zie said, addressing the scout directly. "Leave this on until tomorrow morning, then you may remove and wash it off gently. Keep it dry otherwise. You're not to do any fighting or running, in case your stitches pop. Light duties around camp for five days, then you can return to the Plains. Do you understand?"
"No scouting for five days, don't bathe."
Nyssa grimaced. "You're allowed to bathe, just keep your wound dry. If it itches, see me for a salve."
The scout thanked hir and left, and zie began to tidy up hir tools. No voice from behind hir, but zie could feel their presence mere feet away. Then moments later they spoke again.
"Are you familiar with healing magic?"
"Yes." Zie poured a little alcohol into the bowl zie had commissioned from the cooks, and dropped in hir forceps and needle. From across the camp zie could now hear the Inquisitor's voice as he spoke to the requisition officer. "I told him the truth. Using magic to heal a wound that small is a waste of my energy, and it does not do anyone good to rely too much upon it. His body must learn to heal itself."
"Hmm," they replied, and something about the soft hum of their voice made hir flush unexpectedly. Zie looked over hir shoulder and laid eyes on the speaker for the first time. An elven man, wearing simple traveler's garb, with a wolf pelt tied over one shoulder. Striking blue eyes crinkled as he smiled at hir.
Nyssa blinked, the blush spreading to hir ears.
"Solas!" Lavellan called, and the man glanced up. Boots crunched on dry grass as the Inquisitor approached, dressed in his dark leathers and carrying a bow. "Oh, I see you've met Nyssa."
After hearing the name Solas spoken with no small measure of respect, zie had been half-expecting a powerful persona; perhaps a Keeper from a clan zie didn't know about, or — though less likely — an Enchanter or Archmage from the Circles.
"Indeed," Solas replied. He stood, bent to retrieve the bowl and handed it to Nyssa, who accepted it with a quiet thanks. "I passed Dorian on the road a day prior, and he mentioned you were receiving assistance from a Dalish clan in the area. I take it you are here on their behalf," he added, addressing Nyssa directly.
His accent was... odd. It wasn't unusual for city elves to retain the accent of the region they lived in; most spoke little to no elven. The clans spoke varying degrees of elven, but like Inquisitor Lavellan, most had a rolling lilt to their voices that marked them as Dalish. Nyssa hirself had the same, though traces of Starkhaven brogue crept in from time to time.
"Andaran atish'an, lethallen," Nyssa said formally, and Solas inclined his head. So he understood elven, too. "I'm not from the local clan. I just happen to know their Keeper."
"Nyssa helped us clear out a Fade rift we missed," Lavellan said, "and offered to speak to the Keeper on the Inquisition's behalf. I would want you to be there, also."
"Of course," Solas replied, "but there is the matter of what we spoke of... "
"And that's why I'm all ready to go. Iron Bull and Cole are waiting."
Nyssa didn't miss the naked relief on Solas's face. "Thank you, Inquisitor."
There was a story there, for certain. Nyssa excused hirself and hurried back to hir tent to grab hir things.
No doubt learning more about this Solas would be interesting.