Family leaves tomorrow. I'm not exactly celebrating, but I am absolutely dying to get back on a schedule that lets me write at regular times instead of having to snatch the time wherever I can find it.

Plans and Farewells

All through our journey to and campaign in the Western Approach, any dreams that found me, apart from my conscious explorations of the Fade, had been reflections of my own thoughts and experiences - not dreams of Solas. I dreamed with him fairly regularly after the march on Adamant, but I didn't dream of him.

That changed the night before we set off for Skyhold.

It was the same dream - the one that had eventually led me to ask Solas if he had been born Dalish - but this time his vallaslin was visible from the start of the conversation and I was able to examine it at my leisure.

Mythal's tree was precisely as my clan drew it, down to the least root and branch, but the shimmering, now blue, now silver, now faintly violet color was unlike anything I had ever seen.

Well, that wasn't true - it was actually a decent match for Solas's eyes.

It was unlike any vallaslin I had ever seen. Either because I was in the Fade or because I saw through eyes lacking a mage's senses, I couldn't see the spells binding the owner of the vallaslin to the clan. Nor could I sense the blood that gave the tattoos their name. I could not, therefore, confirm my suspicion: that Solas's vallaslin contained a considerable portion of lyrium.

Though I knew it was coming, I still woke when my ghostly hand touched his cheek.

He was sleeping beside me for the first time since we had marched on Adamant. One of his arms was thrown over my body and one ankle hooked over my leg, his foot occasionally rubbing my bare leg appreciatively, even though he was lost somewhere in the Fade himself. The question of what had happened to Mythal's mark had been growing in my mind of late. Vallaslin, as far as I knew, was permanent.

"Solas," I hissed, turning to face him so that I could poke at his ribs.

"Mmm?" he hummed in a non-specific inquiry, not quite annoyed, but certainly not pleased to be tugged from his dreams.

I took a breath - I remembered entirely too well how it had gone the last time I broached this subject. "Solas, you had vallaslin. Now you don't. What happened?"

His eyes opened, though he stared at me without comprehension for a moment. "I learned the truth of what the marks represented," he mumbled, still not fully awake.

Well, he was awake enough to lie, anyway. Sort of. Usually the words were true on the surface, while they obfuscated some deeper truth beneath, shunting attention away from it. His claim just now was...somehow the opposite of that. I sighed in irritation, too tired myself to want to play these games with him. "What do they represent?" I demanded.

That pulled him fully awake, and he groaned softly, rubbing his eyes with one hand before propping himself on his elbow so he could look down at me and study my face in the moonlight. "Must we review this now vhenan?" he asked after a moment. "I'd like to treat the subject with as much tact as I can bring to bear - "

"So not much," I interrupted somewhat sourly, no happier about being awake than he was. The dreams might not be his fault, but if he were less insistent on remaining an enigma, I would undoubtedly sleep better.

He sighed in irritation.

"We leave in the morning and will have little privacy until we reach Skyhold, a journey of at least three weeks since we aren't changing mounts at every possible stop," I reminded him. "Once there, I will have a thousand things that require my attention, including preparation for the upcoming peace talks in," I swallowed, "Halamshiral. Tell me while I am thinking of it, before I forget I ever asked."

"This is not a discussion I'm opposed to having," he told me. "I would remember for you." He sighed again, but then went on before I could protest. "In Elvhenan, the vallaslin primarily served as a marking for slaves, though those of the priest caste were marked as well with a variation of the tattoos. Noble houses branded their slaves as a means of honoring the god they worshipped. When I understood the full weight of what they meant, I prepared a spell that would remove my markings."

Oddly, that statement was not a lie. I wished I could remember his exact wording before, so I could parse the differences carefully - but perhaps it was his intent that mattered to the feelings relayed by our bond. Or perhaps he had, between one statement and the next, convinced himself he told the truth. I didn't know much about how this worked.

I sat up in bed and gave his shoulder a shove. "Fenedhis lasa, Solas! You've known how to remove vallaslin this entire time and never mentioned it to me?"

He was surprised and a little confused. "Are you implying - or perhaps attempting to inform me - that you would… welcome the removal of yours?" he asked carefully.

"Yes!" I huffed in exasperation. "Of course I would! Mine doesn't mean anything." I paused. "Except, perhaps, failure."

"Ah. Not due to the history."

Though he attempted to remain neutral, I thought I felt disappointment from him. Perhaps he believed I was rejecting whatever history he had pieced together from the Fade. "It's not that I don't believe you," I told him. "It's just that…one of the powerful things about symbols is that their meanings can change to fit the circumstance. Whatever the vallaslin might once have meant, now it's used to bind clans together, to aid Keepers in finding the lost, and in healing the sick and wounded. We have turned it into a tool of survival. I wouldn't remove mine merely because it was once used for something else, no matter how terrible."

Solas sat up beside me and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Pragmatic, ara'lath - as usual. I will remove your vallaslin, if that is your desire. Just...not tonight."

"Not tonight," I agreed, and then a thought struck me. "Perhaps not until after the ball at the Winter Palace," I amended.

He arched one eyebrow, but after a moment a slow smile spread across his face. One of his hands caught one of mine, and he raised it to his lips to press a kiss to my fingers. "They will rue the day they demanded you learn the Game, ma vhenan."

I hoped so. We lay down again and Solas quickly returned to the Fade, his body contentedly curled around mine. I found I couldn't sleep, though. Mentioning the ball had summoned thoughts of it. I knew that once we returned to Skyhold, I would be caught up in a whirlwind of preparation. It was only two months away - little more than one month by the time we reached my fortress. I still needed to give final approval on what we were to wear, decide who would be doing what both within the palace and in Halamshiral more broadly, and - most difficult of all - stuff all the manners required by Orlesian high society into my mind, which was already filled to overflowing with deeply consequential plans and concerns. Josephine had even mentioned teaching me to dance, though I sincerely hoped she had thought the better of that plan.

There were two things I knew that I wanted to come of my presence there: I wanted to position the Inquisition to do the most good for the most people, and I wanted to do it without effectively docking my own ears. I had no desire to pass as shemlen within the Orlesian court - in manners, accent, or appearance. The defaced mural of Shartan danced before my closed eyes, and I heaved a sigh.

If only I had some way to remind - accuse - them all of the exploitation and erasure suffered by my people through the centuries. The nobles who would attend the ball were both the primary beneficiaries of the fall of the Dales as well as the ones who relied most heavily on the continued subjugation of elves for their own comforts. It might not be as bad as slavery in Tevinter, but if another Shartan were to rise up in Orlais, he would certainly find no shortage…

And then the answer struck me like one of my own lightning bolts. Shartan. I could dress as Shartan. I was going to Halamshiral to prevent an assassination. Wouldn't I need to wear armor - or at least have it close at hand? Henri de Lydes had given Shartan armor beautiful enough to wear to a ball.

I slipped from Solas's arms, kindled a magelight, and began writing. If I wanted something like that commissioned in time, work needed to start now. Vivienne could take my measurements in the morning - I trusted her to be exacting about the task. They would, after all, be necessary no matter whether Josephine and Leliana vetoed my idea or not. As long as I had Leliana traveling with me, I could propose the costume. If I could bring her around, she might help me with Josephine.

Solas found me asleep at the desk the next morning, my head cradled on my arms, which rested in turn on the lists I had made and arguments I had started sketching. I was lucky I hadn't drooled on anything. His soft snort of laughter woke me. "While I'm aware I am in no position to reproach you, I believe you may work too hard, vhenan."

That was when I sat up and began frantically sorting through my papers to ensure I hadn't smeared any ink.

Solas sighed in fond exasperation, but he brought me breakfast.

Vivienne was happy to take my measurements, apparently interpreting it as evidence I was treating the ball with the seriousness she believed it deserved, because she also didn't ask why I needed them immediately. I didn't tell her I was sending the measurements to Harritt and Dagna, and not to the seamstress Josephine had undoubtedly commissioned.

My efforts took most of the morning - but then so did readying the army to leave after several days spent at Griffon Wing Keep. There were orders to hand out, personnel changes to oversee, and the more mundane business of ensuring that nothing was left behind that wasn't meant to be, and that nothing was taken that was meant to be left behind. I had time to send out my small flock of ravens with the orders and requests I had spent my night drawing up.

Then I had time to say goodbye to Thom.

He tried to avoid me. Though I couldn't prove it, my inability to locate him, as well as the conflicting reports I received of his whereabouts and activities, told me he was likely attempting to stay out of the way until the army - and my party with it - left. It was Sera who helpfully tracked him down and insisted he stay put while she retrieved me. We met in Griffon Wing's chantry - a much simpler affair than the one at Adamant, though I rather liked the rough-hewn stone statue of Andraste once I got close enough to examine her. It reminded me of statues I had seen depicting Sylaise.

I studied the statue for a long moment, waiting to see if Thom would say anything. He didn't, and so I spoke first: "You were the first human I ever met to treat me with the courtesy humans typically reserve for those they respect. If I succeed in Halamshiral, it will likely be - in part - because you made me believe…both that I was worthy of such courtesy, and also that a human could offer it earnestly to a Dalish elf, and not as a prelude to an attack of some variety." I turned to face him, even though I could feel the tears prickling my eyes. "You must stop thinking of this as balances in a ledger," I told him. "Nothing you do will make up for their murders - but the world won't be better off now without you in it. Think less about what you deserve, and more about what the rest of us deserve."

"The Inquisition doesn't deserve to have my crimes weighing on it," he told me gently.

I jerked my head in a nod. "For now - yes, all right, I'll give you that. If Leliana learned your identity, someone else might conceivably do the same." I swallowed several times and blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm just saying - don't seek death. I - have already lost a friend here, and you…" My throat closed, and the words came out wobbly and strained: "You have been with me almost since the first, Thom Rainier, and I don't know if I could bear it - " I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut as, despite my efforts, my throat seized up and the tears overflowed.

Then warm arms encircled my shoulders, and I was crying into a padded gambeson that smelled comfortingly of woodsmoke and wood shavings. "I'm not seeking death," he promised, although I had the feeling that perhaps he had only just made up his mind on the subject, "only to do the most good I can with whatever remains of my life." His voice dropped. "I am honored to be named your friend, little though I deserve it."

"Ir abelas," I managed to sniffle after another moment. "I know I'm overreacting. Hawke - I lost Hawke, and - "

"From what I understand, you didn't lose Hawke," Thom admonished me, though his voice was gentle.

"Yes. I mean - no, I realize that. It just feels - I was in command, I opened the rift into the Fade, I…didn't want to fight the Nightmare, but I couldn't come up with a better option - I - I do know it wasn't my fault, though," I ended rather foolishly. I released him, and instead wrapped my arms around myself. "It wasn't anyone's fault, except - " My throat closed, refusing to go on.

"Except the demon's…and Hawke's," he finished for me. "It's - it doesn't seem like anyone has told you that it's fine to be angry at her. She made choices that hurt you, and hurt someone you care about."

"She saved our lives," I retorted stiffly, squinting as I peered up at him, trying to better read his expression.

"She saved your lives by a means you never asked her to use, and one that took her away from you, from Varric - and from the world," he replied. "I'm a little angry. Varric is a true friend and I hate to see him looking so haunted. I'm not saying it should have been Stroud - Wardens are important - but they also know they'll be called on to sacrifice their lives sooner or later. She was a young woman with a family and friends - it would be nice to know she at least thought of all that before she made the decision."

"I'm - " I swallowed. "I'm sure she did."

"Well, you don't have to be angry - I'm just saying it's fine if you are. It's fine if you're angry at Hawke," he told me, reaching out to give my shoulder a pat. Then he heaved a sigh and looked away. "If I die, I won't blame you for being angry at me."

I looked up at him and opened my mouth to protest.

"Not because it's what I deserve - though I do," he went on quickly, though with a small smile tugging at his lips. "Because it's…natural. You understand?"

"I…think so," I agreed, and then wrapped my arms around him one more time before fleeing from the dubious comfort of the chantry.

I took a deep breath as I stepped outside, trying to steady myself - but it froze in my chest when I saw Solas waiting, leaning casually on the wall. "Is Rainier within?" he asked me.

"Why?" I demanded suspiciously. "If you only mean to attack him - "

"I've no intention of attacking him, da'dhar," he said quickly, though he smiled a little as I bristled at the somewhat dubious endearment. "Laderelanen gira linastala da'laven, din? You were right to bid me keep silent when I would have spoken in the heat of anger," he told me. "I wish to apologize for what I would have said, and to bid him farewell."

My shoulders sagged a little and Solas bent over me, his thumb tracing the remains of the tears that lingered on my cheeks. "How long had you suspected he was not what he claimed to be?"

"Ever since I met Stroud," I told him. "I can see the taint. I mean - I did know that, but I didn't know it in reference to Wardens before Stroud. I told Leliana, and she began seeking to find out who he really was. By the time the army arrived, she had the answer." I looked up into his eyes, near enough for me to see with good clarity. "Are you angry that I didn't tell you?"

"No," he chuckled. "Quite the contrary. I am impressed that you were capable of not just keeping such a secret, but that you discerned it ought to be kept. At times I mistake your earnestness for naivety. A betrayal of my prejudices toward youth, I suppose - I would not make such a mistake with Cassandra."

He wouldn't kiss me out in public - there were guards on the walls even if no one was immediately surrounding us - but he did spend another moment stroking my face before releasing me. "I shouldn't keep you any longer, Inquisitor." His voice caressed the title. "I'll rejoin you shortly."

Da'dhar: Little hound

Laderelanen gira linastala da'laven, din?: Healers have the bloodiest hands, do they not?