.
The Spectral Breath
~~o~~
When I was a child sat by my father's knee,
He taught me of lands of memories, and ancient history,
And one phrase he repeated, though I knew not what it meant,
With words so soft and sad, he'd lament:
Be careful my young lethallan,
May the dread wolf never catch your scent.
~~o~~
"You're not who they say you are, are you, da'len?"
Her steps ceased in the long grass of a forgotten valley, so far north from the Sahlin that much of the Brecillian was new to her. Rain had came in the late afternoon, timed well with the darkening of the sun behind sheets of cold clouds and fully shivering canopies.
Ahead, clusters of silver willows - stricken white by halla antlers and black by natural hollows - ringed the valley, leaving her bare feet snug in wet, cold reeds that prickled her soles with every nervous intake, though she knew there was nowhere to flee, even if she wished to.
Instead, Lahris Elgar'shiral sighed against the subtle whispers of the wind, knowing full well what the apostate had meant. It was only a matter of time. He understood the elder speech far more than any Dalish known, at least to her knowledge. He was there when Despair spoke of times long since past. He searched the Fade - a place that held far more history than even the forgotten libraries of Arlathan. Temptation was a cruel enchantress, and he had fallen under her spell.
"May I ask you a personal question, Lahris?" Never had the mention of her name stung her speechless. For a moment she searched for his intention; saw only dark, grey eyes shrouded in the evening rain, and nodded. "Why the secrecy?"
Her smile was small; full of sadness. "I was never one to trust, Solas. You or the Dalish, or anyone from this world." Her gaze fell in search of an adequate elaboration. "I woke to a world I never knew. No one I knew was alive. They were all dust. You've seen the memories for yourself. That is how you found the truth, yes? In the Fade?"
His side-ward grimace was her answer.
Her heart stung, yet all she could muster was a sad whisper, "I knew it."
Of course he had broken his promise. Had she never learned from mortals? Over the last decade she had seen mortals come and go and only rarely did she ever see true selflessness. Yet all fell to their insatiable curiosity. It seemed he had as well, and it hurt her for it. It hurt her to know he found her truth by his own terms, not hers. It hurt to know he had betrayed her trust. A trust she so rarely gave.
"How could you?" she whispered, staggering back into the comfort of an old willow tree. Her eyes glazed in tears, though she said nothing. Her lips begun to tremble. She raised her hand to her face and froze at seeing a familiar spark of violet.
They're all the same, she realised. All mortals are the same. He knows who I am. I'll be sold to the Inquisition. Gagged and whipped and maimed for information about my people. What could they even gain? I am no scholar, no great mage, no fate-defining seer. I was a lady of the court. I was a maiden who cared little for her studies. What information could they even gather from me?
My magic? My spirit? Would I be sold to Tevinter? Left to rot in a tower for all to bare witness? Or... would I be taken to... my master...
Lahris shook the thought away, though it kept reoccurring in her mind like a terrible nightmare she could not escape. No! I will not go back. I will not be his ever again! Never again!
As the rain continued to filter through the leaves above, blending with the wet silt on the branches until the droplets turned as dark as blood, Lahris cradled her arms to her chest, willing the familiar sting of her magic to disappear. Memories of pain, memories of whips, memories of slashes and stings and cuts flared across her mind like the strongest wildfire, yet still she crawled to the ground and attempted to contain it. Think of the spirit. Think of her. Another outburst and she may perish. Please, calm yourself- calm yourself!
In her haze she did not see the crossing of the apostate, nor feel his gentle touch when he pulled her arms into his and whispered her magic away, until all he had was her staring into the distance, shivering in the cold.
"Ir abelas, da'len," he whispered, and when she peeked up, she was immersed by a strange glow in the evening shade, as well as by eyes that reminded her of seas calmed by the onslaught of a storm.
For a moment her vision cleared. For a moment her mind became clear - the fog quickly lifted. Instead of panic she returned to rationality, and to her first instinct. Suspect.
Though as she continued to study him, from the way he held her so tenderly with a sad, soft smile across his lips, she realised that in her heedful observance saw there was no ulterior motive, only his need to apologise, to be close to her, no matter how flawed the idea truly was. Despite that, all she could think of was of the long absent dreams he had envisioned. Of course, they were simply from a handful of individuals, whose experiences may have held only a short number of truths.
Solas had never been truly there. He had never felt the heat of her master's wrath. He had never felt the heart-wrenching ache of a family murder. He had never bit his tongue and undertaken acts of pure disgust just to survive. He could only sympathise. All he could do was take care in not startling a new revelation to Thedas, perhaps to sate his own perversions to the ancient ways.
On the other hand, he may have been different. He surely showed it in helping her. At least, she hoped he was. It was that small hope that kept her flight-instinct under control, that allowed him to console her with soft caresses over her shoulders, down to her arms, to the very tips of her fingers.
Until she eventually broke. "Solas, please... please don't take me back to the Inquisitor like this! He will keep me like a trophy. I'll be locked in a tower with no key. I'll be taken away and my master, Dirthamen preserve me, please don't let him take me!I'll die before he-"
His silence should have disturbed her greatly. Instead, the warmth of his arms crept into her wary muscles, leaving her far more relaxed then she should have been. Has he cast a spell? Still, she found herself sinking into the willow until her shivering had ended completely.
Only then did Solas respond. "Don't be upset. You never had anything to fear. The Inquisitor will never know, da'len. This, I promise you."
"But you promised before-"
"I know, and I apologise for my rashness. But I see now what you truly are. And you are... unique."
"Unique?" she uttered, curiously tilting her head. "You do not blame me?"
"Blame you? For what?"
"For the fall of my people."
For a moment she saw his lips purse in question, as if the statement caught him unaware. In a way she sensed some of the tension ease between them, as did his grip on her arms. It seemed whatever surprise he had disappeared as soon as it came, though his closeness only grew before he spoke.
"Who would dare blame you?" In a blink the answer was clear. "Ah. The Dalish. Why am I not surprised?"
A sheepish smile caught her lips. "It is a long story."
Solas peered around the valley before brandishing her with his own polite smile. "Then perhaps we should take refuge here, at least until dawn. I would very much like to hear your story, Lahris Elgar'shiral. Not from the Fade this time, but from you."
~~o~~