Disclaimer: So. From this point forward, as soon as our dear elf has found his tongue, you'll start to see some changes in his "sweet personality", but all in time, ofcourse. ;) Hope you like.
Lessons were gruelling, but Mehenion seemed to take to them like a fish to water. It was clear that he wanted to master the language as fast as possible as well. Ambassador Josephine took her extra job as teacher seriously and taught him not only Thedasian, but etiquette as well. And when she didn't have time, one of the lay sisters of the chantry took over. He had lessons all day and in the evening, it felt like his head was about to burst.
He was usually found in the inn where he was doing his best to strike up conversation with the local inhabitants. They found the pale elf strange, though, and the fact that he was a mage, scared many of them. But he was also the Herald, now. So they did their best not to show him.
And in the evenings, when they finally let him go for some down time, he was usually found around the fireplace, sitting on a log and listening to Varric's wild tales. This one evening wasn't any different. And as Mehenion was the first to arrive, Varric had a chance to talk to him, alone.
"So, are you holding up alright?" Mehenion looked confused. "How are you, kid? You go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas, to joining the armies of the faithful." He explained. "Most of them would have spread that out a little." Mehenion didn't know how to reply. "Fine. I guessing. They make prepare...prepa...they make ready. I study." Varric laughed at his loss for words.
"You mean preparations. Yeah. And I've seen you study hard. Make sure that head of yours doesn't explode." He winked, earning him a chuckle. "So..." He started. They both went to sit down. "Can you tell me a bit more about yourself? Like how come you couldn't speak our language? You look Dalish, but I know even the Dalish have a decent understanding of the common tongue."
Mehenion frowned. That was all there was, basically. He looked Dalish. But he didn't have any memories of his clan family. "Not yet. Not remembering enough. Not knowing enough words. In time." He said. "Alright Snowwhite." Varric chuckled. "Snowwhite?" Mehenion repeated. "Yeah because you look...well…you know…" Mehenion laughed. He had some fair chances to look at himself in a mirror or a puddle or anything lately. One might even say it made him rather vain, looking for his reflection. And...Snow white fitted his description better than that woman out of a fairytale. Mehenion stretched his hands to warm them by the fire.
"So...How do you like this...inquisition?" Varric asked to start a conversation. "Restoring order, yes...name...no...bad memories…" The boy slurred his sentences, still looking for the words. But it was a major improvement. Sure, his sentences weren't grammatically correct yet. But Varric seemed to make an effort of gently correcting his mistakes. Some of the people of Haven seemed to shy away from that. After all, he was the Herald.
Varric looked up. "Where do you have memories from the Inquisition?" His tone wasn't accusing, just really interested. "Home. Reading history." Mehenion explained, while stretching the stiffness out of his body. "So you like to read." Varric tried. The elf nodded. "But cannot read this yet." He sounded sad. "All in time, kid." He chuckled.
"How are you doing?" Mehenion now asked. Varric expressed his doubts. "For days now we've been staring at the breach, seeing demons and maker knows what fall out of it. Bad for morale would be an understatement." He sighed. "Cassandra saying you free to go…" Mehenion half mumbled. "Yeah. I'd like to think I'm as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy but this…" He looked at the boy. Most likely he still only half understood of what he said, but being able to unwind, felt good for once. He didn't really get the feeling he could do that with many people around Haven.
"Many people died on that mountain...Thousands. I was almost one of them. And now there's that hole in the sky. Even I can't just walk away from that." Varric explained. "Not me.."He frowned "...also?" Varric gave him the right word. "Perhaps especially not you. I mean, you've got that mark on your hand." Mehenion looked at it. "Does it bother you?" Mehenion shaked his head. "Tingling, sometimes, like falling asleep…Will put it to good use." He promised. They were silent for a while and Mehenion looked at the sky as night was starting to fall.
He was almost startled out of a dream when Varric started to speak again. "So...I saw you fight. The least I can say is that your techniques are...interesting.." Mehenion chuckled. "Yeah...hearing that more." He replied. "I not think normal staff is...good for me. I will go seeing smith tomorrow to make it better." Varric seemed surprised. "Most mages seem quite comfortable with a staff...a little too comfortable, if you ask me." He said. But the boy's reply surprised him even more. "Yes, but they used to it. Never knew any way...any other way. Me not like most mages." "You can say that alright."
The next morning he went to see Solas. He hadn't spoken to the elf that saved his life yet. He had earlier visited Adan, the apothecary who, together with Solas, gave him his first care before he was dragged to the stocks. As a thanks, he had given the man valuable notes he found in a house he discovered. Cautiously he approached Solas.
"Ah. The chosen of Andraste. The blessed hero, sent to save us all." Mehenion blushed. "Stop it, you." He chuckled. "I...never taking moment to say, thank you, for saving life." Solas smiled. "It is alright. You were busy with your lessons after all." But Mehenion shook his head. "No. It is rude." Solas looked at him better. Without all the dirt and grime and blood, he looked even more white, and even younger than before.
"I see your lessons had their effect already. I hope they are not too harch on you." Everyone seemed worried about the young elf's curriculum. "Mostly me hard on me. Them very kind. Giving me time. Time I not have." His face hardened as he looked at the breach.
"We will find a way to seal the breach. I have shared my theories with the lady Seeker. A second attempt might work, provided we give your mark more power. The same level of power to open the breach in the first place." He explained. "How?" Mehenion seemed like a curious one. "We might have to ask the mages or templars for help in the future." Mehenion frowned. "Why not both?" He asked.
"At this point, I doubt any of them will speak to us yet. But in time, we may have to pick a side." The boy fell silent, then spoke again. "I hear you are expert in rifts. I liking to know more." Mehenion looked at his hand that started to tingle again. He balled his fist and stretched it until the numbness died away and feeling returned back to his hand. He went to stand next to Solas, who was gazing into the far and wide.
"I journeyed deep into the fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilisations. I watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars, both famous and forgotten…" He turned to face him, then let out a light chuckle. "You did not understand a word, did you.." The boy looked at him and slowly shook his head. "No...But perhaps in time...I will." Solas lifted an eyebrow, then nodded.
"Every great war has its heroes. I just wonder what kind you will be." Mehenion frowned. "Kind who wins. No other choice." He sounded resolute. "And right you are." Solas said. "I will stay then...To seal the breach." Mehenion looked at him, sheepishly. Solas explained a bit about apostate mages and how they were at odds with the chantry forces. He also added the fact that elves weren't exactly...respected. Did he suspect anything? What exactly did he see in the fade? "I will speaking you later." Mehenion said, and with a short wave of his hand he left.
Mehenion had been going to the smith of Haven, a man named Harritt with a large moustache, after earlier lessons. He had decided to "test the limits of gameplay" further by trying to combine classes. He had talked to the man over some crude sketches of alterations to his staff. He hoped to pick it up just before his lessons started and perhaps he could even practice a little with it. It came down to the fact that he wanted a "magical halbert", a staff with a sharp point and a blade, without it losing it's magical properties. He had checked his finances and saw that he scraped by just enough to make it happen.
He went past the gate, to his left. Haven was small enough to find his way around fairly quickly. "Hello." He greeted the smith. The man nodded while he was working on something. Mehenion took a box to sit on and watched as the man slammed his hammer on a piece of metal. "Oh ofcourse. Yours is ready, Herald. If you give me a minute…" Mehenion nodded. You had to mold the iron while it was hot. One mistake could make the sword break in battle.
"Good. Here it is. I hope it is to your liking, lord Herald." Mehenion ignored his title and looked at his new weapon. "It is..perfect…" He whispered while stroking the blade, just next to it's sharp edge. No demon would be safe at the business end of this weapon. Mehenion paid his debt and bowed to the smith. He had no time to practice now. His time would come. But now he felt like he was already getting late for his lessons.
Next chapter it's about time to send our elf camping I think.