The Mage & The Wolf: Part One

Note: This story takes into account the amount of time the storyline would have taken place over. 80 hour play through seems deceptive. The romance also starts strongly—a mixture of a lovelorn distant Solas and romantic minutiae.

PART ONE

WEEK ONE

Solas looked down at the young elf laying on the cell before him. The sinewy veins of her vallaslin looked freshly tattooed, her skin raw and slightly raised in the early stages of the healing process. She must have just gone through the Rite of Adulthood by her clan, she couldn't be more than 20 years old then.

He was sitting cross-legged next to her on the floor of the prison cell, holding her hand in the dark. This was the third day he had tended to the unnamed girl. tracing and retracing the trail of fade magic erupting from her palm with his mana, he had barely slept and had reached a point past exhaustion. She had just stabilized over the last few hours.

"She is so young," he thought sadly, reaching down he gently pushed a strand of platinum hair out of her face tucking it gently behind her pointed ear. "Too young."

Luck could have been the only reason that he had been with the survey group of the desolate aftermath of the Temple of Sacred ashes. They had found her in the sea of burnt corpses, curled in a ball and barely breathing in a soft green glow. They hadn't expected to find anyone living, but they had found her. How was beyond anyone's comprehension. Mysteriously, she had physically survived the Fade...and come back.

Frantically, Solas had raced to her side, dropping to his knees. He felt a familiar pull. Was it? He could sense the lost elven magic-to put it more correctly his magic-pulling him in. The orb? No, it wasn't supposed to happen this way.

"Quickly," he had shouted desperately at the frightened guards, "We must get her to safety."

They had carried her slowly over the rough terrain back to gates of Haven to the Chantry. Solas had held onto her hand the entire way, concentrating on stabilizing the bursts of energy erupting from her palm. "She might know something of the orb, where it went," he had selfishly hoped.

Hours after they returned the Seeker Cassandra started her bellowing. She had watched him skeptically ever since he had approached the surviving Conclave members. Pacing the cell they she espoused that this Dalish girl before her must somehow be responsible for the Breach that now appeared in the distant Horizon in a gyrating green. Nothing he said could change that. He couldn't reason with her—especially since he knew the constant green glow from the palm of her hand lit up the stone walls of the dungeon matched the light in the distance.

"You must make her wake up!" Cassandra shouted in her heavy accent as she stomped out of the room knocking over a table on her way out. "That or I will kill you." That was two days ago.

He looked down at his charge. For the first time, there was peace in this cell. Studying her face, he had to admit before censoring himself, she was a rare sort of beauty. Her delicate features were reminiscent of the ancient elves. She had what would have been a favored high-bridged nose, set in a thin, regal face. Very exotic in this sea of round-faced Feraldins.

It was the first time he had been able to study her in this way. Before she had just been a blur of magic, a body that he had to make survive. They had wrapped her in a cotton robe after cutting off her leather armor in pieces. The metal straps had burned into parts of her skin before he and the other healers had spent the better half of a day pumping her full of their mana. She had curled onto her left side towards him. Her breathing had grown more confident. Her pulse had returned in a strong thumping rhythm. Her color was finally returning— a light tan with pleasingly flushed cheeks framed by long blonde-white hair that fell about the small of her back like tangled threads.

A noise escaping from her lips, startling Solas from his reverie. Concerned, he scooted back on the floor, rising this knees. Light hazel eyes looked up at him through thick lashes. They were cloudy, confused.

"Where am I?" a honeyed-pitched voice asked. He froze as her eyes focused on him. Her hand reaching out to him desperately. She was trying to sit up pushing up with all her weight from the dirt floor. Her disheveled hair looked like a white light.

The white robe slipped down her shoulder, revealing her left breast with a small, pink nipple. Before he caught himself, he admired the sensual curves of her body. Solas sharply inhaled, forcing himself to avert his eyes as the girl suddenly self-conscious pulled the robe up around her.

"Here" he said to her quietly looking away, pulling off the fur wrap he had tied around his shoulders. Just as he was about to wrap it around her shivering body, she screamed. He was being pulled away, guards were dragging his body slowly away from her across the dirt floor. They overpowered him, no matter with how much force he exerted. Closing his eyes he sought to draw upon his mana, only to feel an empty pool of exhaustion. A sharp hit to his head knocked him out into darkness. He could feel himself fall to the floor in a heap, giving in to unconsciousness, he cursed his mortal form.

—

They had sealed the rift. He had been correct. The last few days he had sat in the halls of the Chantry listening to the whispers to learn more about the girl. Besides their short introduction he had not seen the young elf since. He had certainly thought about her. She was hard not to think about. Not only given their unusual meeting circumstances—but she had a strong spirit unlike anyone he had met from the Dalish. The whispers confirmed this. He could hear Josephine and Leliana talking about her instantaneous acceptance of command. Even the rough Seeker Cassandra softened as she talked about her, impressed with the little elf girl's tenacity.

He had to stop referring to her as the little elf girl. He wasn't quite sure why he did. She was certainly young, but…

His cheeks flushed thinking of the moment in the cell, the robe circling her breast.. No matter how he fought it he was infatuated, fascinated…

The war room door opened. Solas stepped back into the darkness of the corridor. While he was not a prisoner, he was certainly greeted suspiciously as an apostate "knife-ear." He knew that he was not to be there lingering in the shawdows. He watched quietly as Commander Cullen walked out in his knight regalia. Leliana right behind them. Cullen and her paused outside the door to talk closely, speaking quietly.

"She says her name is Neria," whispered Leliana. Was that amusement Solas heard?

"Neria," said Cullen darkly, "Just like…?"

"Yes, just like her. Just like the Warden."

"That could be auspicious." Cullen muttered. "It's funny…she does look her."

"They could be from the same clan…distantly related," Leliana mused.

"That's true…the Warden…she wouldn't have known where she was born, perhaps—"

"I supposed we will find out." Leliana chuckled.

"She is a mage too, perhaps they are related…if only we could ask" Cullen trailed out.

Solas saw sadness hit the two commanders quickly "Of course," he thought. "They had known the Warden."

He had heard of this Neira Surana, the former lover of King Allistair. Until the Breach, it was all one would hear about in the taverns of Thedas. She had ended the Blight, only to disappear without warning to the West. The rumors her heard in Haven were dire-it was said that the King had stopped sleeping, sending out spies to look for her. None returned. Even Leliana didn't have an answer.

"Neria," Solas thought to himself. "Neria," he said it over and over again. A small smile crept to his lips as he touched his fingers to them. He walked towards the exit quietly pushing through the dust of incense and age in his bare feet. Standing overlooking Haven, under the stars he looked towards her cabin. I must not give in. He crossed his arms firmly. It is the orb, that is what is causing this…infatuation. I will not give in. Sighing sadly, he walks slowly back to his cottage. He would not walk the Fade that night, he was too caught up planning, convincing himself not to think of her.

6 MONTHS LATER

Neria Lavellen had quickly adjusted to Haven. She had spent the first few weeks running about the camp learning from its inhabitants. They had recruited other companions. A strange elf named Sera, a Warden named Blackwell and even a Qunari named Iron Bull. Scuttling through the Hinterlands they had worked with the Inquisition agents to close Fade rifts and strike down wolves that had terrorized the countryside. Slowly, they were building up their reserves learning more and more about the region in an effort to discover who had torn the Breach open from the sky. Besides this mystery, there remained others for Neri: Solas.

She had tried to get to know the elf from the start of her stay in Haven, but he remained distant, resistant. She was curious, his naked face marked him as a city elf—but he claimed to be from a small village far away from any place she knew of. He claimed to have taught himself how to walk the Fade. Neria had her doubts. She suspected some elaborate and romantic backstory. Perhaps he had lost his family in the Blight? Perhaps he had fled the Circle? He was older, she knew, somewhere in his early 4os. She enjoyed how stern he was. How could she not be curious?

But he would hardly talk with her. He joked with Varric, gleefully calling him "child of stone." Occasionally he would play Wicked Grace and drink distilled spirits late into the night with Blackwall and Iron Bull. However, when Neria approached him he would grow sullen. She suspected that it had to do with one of their earlier conversations where she had proudly declared her Dalish heritage. He had sneered at her, dismissing her assertions of the Dalish spirit. Something must have happened to him to cause such a visceral reaction to her presence. She couldn't help but take it personally. She was determined to win him over as she had the other companions.

That and she couldn't...deny a certain attraction. Solas was unlike any elf she had ever seen before. Tall, and while slight, his broad shoulders and muscles were built in a way that she had never seen in an elf. She assumed it must be from his years living out in the wilderness.

She looked over her shoulder at the enigmatic elf. They were scouting the Hinterland countryside at the Western edges, looking for leftover caches from the mages' rebellion to support the refugees. The region had grown more stable over the last few months as they had almost eliminated both the Templar and Mage camps, establishing several for the Inquisition. What had once been dangerous travel had turned leisurely. They were no longer greeted with suspicion by the local population and in most areas had closed the rifts. She had even met briefly with Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeux a few weeks ago. There was hope.

"Solas" she spoke to him directly. "Hahren, where do you think we should make camp?" She had picked the title deliberately. Maybe if she demonstrated some respect he would warm to her? After all, nothing was more helpful in wining someone over than feeding into their ego.

He stopped looking at her with a raised eyebrow. There was a strange sort of tension. Blackwall and Ironbull who had been telling a vulgar story about a redhead in a bar went silent, watching the interaction in a protective stance. For a moment no one spoke. While it had surprised the group that the two elves did not bond over their shared heritage, Solas' cold attitude towards the Herald had become an accepted norm. How would the mage react?

Solas shrugged, "Perhaps just a little back by that river we passed da'len." He dismissively used the term for an elven student, saying it in a reluctant staccato.

Neria couldn't help smiling. The word was an opening.

—

Setting up camp they realized they had a problem. Somehow one of their supply packs had been lost. Neither Blackwall or Iron Bull had any idea where it had disappeared to. What had been three tents was now two. Looking awkwardly to one another they had spent several minutes discussing sleeping arrangements. What was worse was the sky had started to rumble: there would be rain.

Blackwall had diplomatically suggested that Neria have a tent to herself and that the men draw straws.

"This is ridiculous" she had scolded, "We can all share the tents. What do you think will happen? The Dalish never have such hesitations with their fellow clan members. Such shem ways." Blackwall had blushed then, a dark red coloring his face under his whiskers. What she said next had surprised everyone: "I'll share with Solas."

The men had looked back and forth to each other. It was after all her choice, but still. Solas seemed to hate Neria—if not hate, he at least displayed a constant face of annoyance. Every time she had recently initiated conversation with the older elf he had responded in a dry, condescending tone. He made it an obvious point to contradict everything the Herald said.

Still, her choice seemed to make sense, sleeping next to someone so indifferent to her would create a rather platonic situation.

Solas was not pleased. So far he had been able to avoid being alone with Neria. It had been difficult as he still thought of that moment in the prison cell late at night when he no longer had distractions to banish the image of her. He had decided long ago the easiest course of action was to feign indifference. It had been easy to throw her off with his scorn for the Dalish.

Still part of him looked forward to sharing a tent with her. There was something intimate to sharing the tent, even if they would never touch. She had gone to bed early, exhausted. He knew closing the Fade rifts wore on her more than she let on.

Truth be told, he was worried about her. She didn't eat as much as she should. Varric and Blackwall noticed this, and did their best to coax her into nibbling at the stew they had cooked over the open camp fire. He was glad the two men had taken over as her protectors—a role he would like to have had but couldn't risk with his growing infatuation. Still, even with their nurturing, she had grown too slim. Her once round face had grown thin and started to show the effects of leadership in the edges of her eyes.

Those hazel eyes a voice in his head cooed. Those beautiful hazel eyes that looked up at you in that cell. It was a good thing she seemed to not remember that moment, having never mentioned it, he suspected she had not fully revived yet. It made his performance much easier.

Solas heard a crack in the background. The storm was coming, he had to retreat to the oiled confines of the tent. With a sigh he pulled the door open. Inside he could see Neria curled in a ball, rolled in the warm furs. The rain had started in the background, a calming rhythm of a summer storm.

Her body had tensed up when he entered. She was not sleeping.

Turning from Neria, Solas pulled off the top layer of his tunic. He sat down on the furs next to her, grabbing a worn book out of his pack in the corner. He was relieved there was a few feet between them. He would be able to get through this night without any misunderstandings.

The rain began to pelt the tent harder. It was fortunate that the tent was made of top quality materials, otherwise this would have been a dreadful evening. He turned open the first page of the book, an interesting tome on theories of what separated this world from the Fade. Perhaps he would journey tonight…

Concentrating he became lost in the first chapter until…

At first he thought the sound was he storm, until he realized what it was: Neira was crying.

What was worse was she was trying to hide it. Her head was covered by thick white lambswool. He could barely hear her, and if he had been anything other than elf, he would have missed the quiet muffled sobs.

Concerned, he gently said "Da'len. What is wrong?" He couldn't help using the word.

Neira stirred. She slowly pulled the cover down from her face looking up through tear stained eyes. "Hahren, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" she trailed off, silently choking back her tears. These were not the tears of sadness, "No," Solas thought to himself, "These are tears of pain."

He crouched down next to Neira, pulling the cover carefully down from her face, before he caught himself he began to stroke her hair, making soft sounds to calm her. He was surprised to see how vulnerable she was, her normally jovial face twisted in agony.

"Solas," she cried, "The anchor, it hurts…" She pulled her hand out to show him.

He gasped, the green light pulsated on the surface of her palm. "She can't hold it in...''

"I don't…I don't mean to trouble you..I know you…" She paused, looking down before meeting his eyes directly. "I know you don't think fondly of me."

If only you knew, Neria, he thought to himself. If only you knew.

"How long?" he strategically asked in a hushed tone.

"It always hurts—but always more after I close a rift, but today…today we closed two." She began to sit up, the lambswool falling to her waist.

""Thankfully she is wearing clothing this time,'' Solas reached to take her hand into his own. Closing his eyes he began to follow the pulsing energy with his mana, it felt like he was walking calmly through water until he arrived at what felt like a blockage. Taking in all that force, it must have caused the flow to stop. He pushed through the line, pushing a blast of his own mana through opening her magic up to flow through her body.

Neria looked relieved, her eyes closing peacefully. "Thank you," she said softly. "That, that is the first time I haven't felt pain since this first happened."

Instantly, Solas was disappointed at himself. He hadn't expected his ruse to have allowed him to miss what she had been feeling. How could he have ignored her this much? How could he have been so irresponsible? How did he always cause others pain and suffering? He looked down at Neria tenderly.

"You should have told me da'len," he chided playfully. "I…I could have stopped it much earlier…this was so unnecessary…"

She looked down shyly.

Before he could stop himself he began to put down his defenses. "Neria, I'm sorry, I've spent so long in the Fade, sometimes I forget kindness. I'm sorry if I pushed you away. Please…let me know if I can help you, please."

He could see Neria begin to relax. "Solas," she said quietly, "I'm glad…we can be friends, I thought something might have happened to you with the Dalish…can I ask, what happened to you? You always seem so sad."

"Nothing with the Dalish. I'm afraid, da'len. This…my shortness doesn't have to do with you," he lied, "my sadness goes much deeper than old hatreds. Maybe one day I will tell you of it."

Neria reached for him in the dark, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. Solas froze in them, stiffening with shock. He knew the Dalish were an affectionate culture, but he knew that this lapse in physical intimacy would cause nothing but heartache and trouble. This was not a good formula, especially in the privacy of the tent.

"Neria, da'len, it is very late…shouldn't we attempt to sleep we wouldn't want Blackwall or Iron Bull to get the wrong idea," he said jokingly with a raised eyebrow

Neria released him slowly, "I'm sorry all these shem customs of propriety, even sharing tents, us Dalish never think so much of sex in our clan, causes way less problems."

Solas raised his eyebrows even higher over his ice-blue eyes. "Never?"

In fact, he knew it to be the opposite. While the Dalish sense of privacy was certainly different, he knew that propriety and sex had a sacred quality to it. While young clan members were encourage to flirt openly, and court, physical intimacy was a serious gesture. It wasn't that it was exclusive to marriage, exactly, but bonding in that way was never a decision lightly made. Probably given the size of those traveling clans too...don't want to be stuck with an ex-lover.

Neria slapped his arm playfully, rolling over into her bed roll. Changing the subject she looked up at him with a lightness that resonated with a beauty of something he had lost long ago. It was a mixture of hope, a mixture of innocence reflective in believing the world would change.

"Hahren, tell me a story of the Fade," she eagerly asked.

"Yes, but only one da'len, it is late." Solas laid down in the roll next to her, turning to face her. He could play this role for her, of a Hahren. She would never suspect his true feelings, he could allow this new performance to keep her just as far away as his indifference had.

"Once," he began, "I was walking along the battlements of Ostegar, looking down from a tall mountain. I saw the treachery of Loghain, and there in the distance, another elf who was also named Neria ran and cut through the Darkspawn with the future King Allistair…igniting them with the flame of her staff..."