CHAPTER TEN

The frosty wind cut through Myra's clothes as she stood outside Solas's cabin with him. She pulled her cloak around her tighter, fighting the shivers as they discussed tomorrow's plans.

"The mages will channel their power through you, while you act as the focus…"

In the middle of Solas's explanation, Myra felt a clap on her back. She jumped a bit.

"Big day tomorrow." Dorian hung an arm around Myra's neck. "Perfect time for some whiskey."

Another cold gust blew. Myra shuffled closer to Dorian. "Men and their body heat. I could go for a drink." She looked expectantly at Solas.

He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his chest. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Oh come on, old chap!"

"Dorian, I don't think calling him 'old chap' will convince him…" Myra turned to Solas. "Hah'ren, tel'galas solasan. Din'Arlathan. Melava dar din'an. (Elder, come not to a prideful place. Arlathan is dead. The past is over.) Let us not judge one man for the actions of his people."

Solas's features remained unchanged for a moment before he sighed. "You speak wisdom. Very well, then. I will join you, if it will please you, da'len."

When they entered the tavern, Myra felt the warmth of the crackling fire overcome her. Chatter filled the air as soldiers and mages fraternized. A couple of the mages nodded their greetings to Myra as she passed.

"They're grateful," Solas said.

"It's strange to see so many mages in one place," Myra awed. They searched for seats.

"Do the Dalish have few mages?" Dorian asked.

"We could only keep two per clan, lest the Templars make a fuss."

"Herald!"

The three saw Varric hail the group at the table closest to the fire. They looked to one another and decided to join his table. Varric was in the middle of dealing cards to Cassandra and Cullen.

"Wanna join?" Varric asked. "I can deal you in."

"Count me in," Dorian said, settling into a seat. "Losing money is so cathartic."

Solas looked at Myra.

"What are you playing?" she asked.

"You Dalish don't have Wicked Grace?"

Myra shook her head.

"Alright, I'm dealing you in. Chuckles, you want in?"

"It would appear I have no other option," Solas said, and nodded politely, joining.

Myra sat beside him.

Cullen shifted in his seat. "I hope you handle your cards better than your snowballs."

Myra's jaw dropped and cheeks reddened. "Is there a rule against taunting beginners?"

"No." Cassandra glared at Varric and Cullen. "But there should be."

Myra looked at her hand, an assortment of songs, serpents, and daggers. She twisted her mouth. What did any of this mean?

"You alright there, Herald?" Varric asked.

"You look positively confounded." Dorian smirked. "This will be a quick game."

"Go get us drinks, Sparkler," Varric shooed him off. "I'll explain the game."

By the time Dorian sauntered back with a bottle Chasind Sack Mead, Varric had finished his explanation. As he filled their cups, Myra recited what she'd learned of the rules.

"The drawings on the card depict the suit. A winning hand contains many cards of the same suit, some of which are worth more than others. You can draw, discard, and play cards to create the best hand…and we're gambling."

"And we're gambling," Varric repeated. "Final rule: don't show anyone your cards. I'm looking at you, Seeker."

Cassandra groaned. "I'm not a child, Varric."

"Lethallan."

Myra looked to Solas.

"Tel'enfenim, da'len. Ar melava halani. (Do not fear, child. I will help you.)"

Myra nodded slowly, but recalled Varric's warning. Solas could simply 'help' by manipulating her until he won.

But, seeing Cullen's smug grin made her want to smack it off his face.

"Ma serannas, hahren. Vir na'din shem'len." (Thank you, elder. We will kill these quicklings.)

"That's cheating!" Cassandra called.

"It's Wicked Grace, Seeker," Varric said.

The game began. Myra attempted to gather the song cards while Solas gathered serpents. They used magic to slip cards to one another when the others weren't paying attention. However, despite their teamwork, Myra folded quickly. Her expressive nature provided many tells for the other players.

"Come on, fold already," Cullen taunted her. "You'll never get the card you need."

"And how do you know what card I need?"

"Because I've felt you using magic and seen the cards slip under the table since the beginning of the game, and I have the card you need in my hand."

"Be wary, Commander," Solas said. "You have more tells than you'd like to believe."

Myra folded regardless, knowing he was right, though she continued to slip cards to Solas under the table.

Finally, the Angel of Death appeared.

"It was a fun ruse while it lasted." Dorian threw in his cards and poured himself another drink.

Varric unwillingly pushed his coin to Solas. Cullen scoffed before doing the same.

Solas smirked and pushed half the coin to Myra. "Ma serannas. Ma melava helani." (Thank you. You helped me.)

"No, thank you." Myra pocketed the coin. "I loved watching the light leave our Commander's eyes."

"Piss off," he cried taking a drink.

"Where'd you learn to play like that, Chuckles?" Varric asked.

"The rules were simple enough," Solas said. "The skill most valuable to winning, I already possess."

"Cheating?" Cullen muttered.

"To the contrary, Commander." Solas leaned towards him across the table. "I have no tells."

Myra shuddered in pleasure, but attempted to mask it by taking a drink. Solas smirked at her.

"Another round?"

Varric started to deal everyone in, but Myra pushed back the cards and pulled in her alcohol.

"I think I'll pass this round. This bottle won't finish itself." Her nerves were acting up again. Tomorrow would determine the fate of Thedas, after all.

"Deal me in," Cullen said.

"You think you can beat Chuckles, Curly?" Varric scoffed. "If you say so."

"I'll learn your tells," Cullen's eyes glinted, his persona, competitive.

"That remains to be seen," Solas said, but under the table, he gave Myra's hand a squeeze.

"Isala halani? (In need of help?)" Myra asked. She figured that was the reason he'd gotten her attention.

"Banal (No)," Solas said. "Ar melava halani. (I will help you.)"

He just read me… Myra twisted her betrothal ring. Like Trewyn, like Darrell... She suddenly craved a smoke.

And it was at that moment, as Solas let go of her hand and Myra poured herself another drink, that Myra knew what the future would hold.