He looked up from the book he was reading, wondering what the commotion outside of his cabin was. He rose to his feet when he heard laughter and half-drunk yelling—"Here, here! To the Herald," the crowd cheered around a bonfire. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he looked out of the window, a smile forming on his face. It was the Herald; she was sitting amongst Haven's people sharing ale with them.
The last time he saw her was when she was when she returned from Redcliffe, she left in a hurry to speak to her advisors and he barely saw her ever since. He did not know what happened to Dorian and her when they emerged suddenly behind him, but from what little he heard from Dorian, he said that whatever willpower she held almost shattered at the terrible future she saw. He noted how her party was slowly growing bigger with the addition of Dorian, a vivacious Tevinter mage whom Alysia seemed to adore, but he somehow seemed meeker in front of everyone else, especially in the presence of Bull. He heard from Sister Leliana that the advisors did not take her forming an alliance with the mages well, especially Cullen. But he saw Cullen walking to her cabin shortly after noon; he seemed more sullen that he usually did. He tried not to pry at what was going through the Commander's mind as it was not his place, but mostly because he was a mage, and he knew that Cullen was not very fond them.
He leaned against his window, staring at her; the Herald was true to her title, she was truly doing the work of the Maker's bride. He was neither Dalish nor a city Elf, and his interest of the Maker, Andraste and even elvhen gods were purely academic rather than belief. But somehow when he saw her, he truly believed that maybe there was something worth believing in.
She unwillingly participated in whatever the Inquisition wanted from her, but in truth she was the only person who sincerely cared for the people under the Inquisition. She was clothing them with hides, feeding them with whatever meat she could find, healing them and teaching them how to survive after what happened at the Conclave. He did not know Divine Justinia personally but he knew that her death dealt a huge blow to her people, her believers. The Herald was truly trying to mend them.
He saw her sitting next to Varric and the elf that was assigned to her laughing merrily. Just a few weeks ago, people were bowing at her and refused to speak to her, either out of fear or fascination. Now, they treated her as if she was normal and not sent by Andraste, but the title never failed to slip from their tongues. He watched her wince when someone called her that, and chuckled to himself.
Alysia.
He decided that maybe he should join her and her people, as much as he liked being held up in his cabin devouring books and practicing his magic, her presence soothed him profoundly.
"Solas!" Alysia greeted, waving at him, ale spilling from her cup. "Come sit here," she yelled out and patted on wooden branch she was sitting on.
Solas smiled warmly at her, "Herald," he greeted back, in amusement just to watch her wince again. Rhoswen poured him a stein of ale which he took graciously.
"Ah-ah, it's Alysia, remember? See even lovely Rhoswen here has gotten used to calling me that, right?" she said while patting Rhoswen's back.
"…Barely," the elf replied loudly, she felt braver than she used to around the Herald, largely from the fact that she had been drinking with her since Alysia woke up from her afternoon slumber.
"I'm trying," Solas said, smiling.
"Barely," Alysia replied, leaning closer to him.
He could feel her breath on him, she smelt of alcohol and something sweet. He wondered what the other smell was, while sipping his ale. Varric shot him a look while wiggling his eyebrows.
"So Chuckles seems to be having fun, for once."
"I have my moments.
"You sure do," Varric, replied, sarcasm in his voice.
"So, I have heard that your books are very popular, Master Thetras,"
"I do alright."
"I'm glad of it," Solas said while nodding in appreciation..
Varric narrowed his eyes at him and tried to register the elf's sudden compliment in his head.
"Really? No sarcasm? No superior attitude?"
"We live in a dark and angry time, child of the stone. So much of what people believed have come crashing down. If you bring them a little peace from the worlds you make between the pages, then you have done more that most."
"You know what I like about you Chuckles? Your boundless optimism,"
"It's comforting that whatever qualities I lack, you'll invent for me, Varric."
Solas saw Alysia looking at them, intently listening to their friendly banter.
Her face scrunched up into seriousness, as if she was listening to him and Varric discussing battle strategies. He smiled at her when their eyes met, and he saw her mouth move as if wanting to say something, but then before she could, she ended up chocking on the the swig of ale that she took.
Rhoswen got to her feet and patted the Herald's back, who was now coughing while laughing.
"This is why humans need us. They can't even hold their ale down," Varric said while chuckling.
Alysia held her hand up as if to disagree, shrugged, then proceeded to chug her drink down. She licked the excess ale of her lips, and grinned at Solas and Varric.
"Did you know that it's rude to talk about a Lady's drinking habits in front of her Varric?" Alysia said while cocking her eyebrow.
"Snowflake, you're far from a lady."
"I beg to differ, ser," Rhoswen said, coming to Alysia's defense.
"Oh! And I suppose you think my sister is more of a lady than I am? Hm?" Alysia asked, while swatting Varric playfully.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Varric replied, staring at her in mock-seriousness.
"Varric please. What the both of you do in your spare time is not something I want to know," she replied darkly.
Before Varric could counter her, she chugged the last bit of ale in her stein and slammed it on the wooden bench, causing Rhoswen to jump up in fright.
"Another round!" she announced, and the crowd cheered again.
Solas shot Varric a pleading look for him to keep the ale away from her. They both knew that the next round of ale might actually make the Herald pass out, and they couldn't have that if she was going to seal the Breach tomorrow. Before Alysia could grab another stein from one of Leliana's scouts, she fell face first onto the ground. And grumbled inaudibly. The crowd stopped their merry cheering and gasped in horror.
Both Solas and Varric jumped onto their feet at the same time, Rhoswen followed soon after. As Solas and Varric were about to peel the Herald's face off the ground, she sprang up suddenly and laughed loudly, and then slumped onto Solas' chest, nuzzling against his warmth. Solas could feel her bare skin on him, her cheeks felt warm and soft; he felt everyone's gaze fall on them, shock that she was in an apostate's arm of all people; his nose slightly crinkled at their curiousity. Before he could hear whatever smart remark Varric was conjuring, he picked the Herald off the floor and announced that he was taking her back to her cabin. He could hear the crowd whispering and Varric saying something to them, shortly after the crowd continued their merry singing.
Solas shook his head lightly, thankful at Varric way with words.
Solas pushed open Alysia's door and propped her gently onto her bed. He lit a nearby candle with his fingers; its flame gently danced, illuminating Alysia's face. He pushed her hair off her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. He studied her sleeping face, her uncouth exterior coming undone at her peaceful sleeping face. She was not the demon that the Chantry feared, not the Herald of Andraste that the people worshipped her as, not a Trevelyan who lived her life in false mask of happiness, she was not the human definition of snow, she was just Alysia.
And that was all it took for him to place his trust in her.
He noticed how she shifted uncomfortably under all of that armor, he was fairly certain that she would regret the alcohol and sleeping in her armor in the morning. He titled his head sideways for a moment and contemplated if he should call Rhoswen in to remove the Herald's armor. But recalling how she was also almost drunk with stupor he decided that maybe asking Rhoswen was not the best option.
What about Aurelia?
He recalled that she had to meet with Dorian about what happened at Redcliffe.
He pondered for a second and thought that maybe he should do it. It was not as if he had never seen a woman in her smalls before or lack thereof—he shook his head at the thought.
She's jut another human.
He placed his slender fingers on the buckles of her boots, slowly removing each lace, and then he moved quickly to the buckles of her armor, unfastening it; he removed the heavy plate of her and placed it on the floor beside her. One last layer. His fingers moved swiftly to the top button of her tunic, carefully unbuttoning it, making sure not to wake her. As he was removing the tunic off her, he noticed a gash protruding on her upper back. He traced it lightly and noticed that the gash continued downwards. Curious, he carefully turned her over on her belly to examine the lines. Solas' eyes grew wide with shock when he realized what the gash was. He could not tell where the scar begun nor ended, all he knew was that it was old judging from the formation it had on her skin. Solas quickly turned her over and placed a blanket over her, he felt like he intruded something that he shouldn't have. That it was not his place to have discovered this about the Herald.
He inched further away from her and saw her stir in her sleep, muttering something inaudible.
He clenched his fingers into a ball, cursing his curiosity.
Those scars were burn marks.
And only Maker knew how her entire back was scarred with them. Before he could examine them further, someone pushed her room door open and a gasp escaped their lips.
"What have you done?" the voice asked, scurrying in haste on the floorboards, its figure towering over Alysia's sleeping body.
Solas blinked, confused at the accusation that had befallen him. He frowned at the woman who looked crossed at him, as if he was caught stealing something precious.
"I have done nothing. She passed out, so I brought her here," he said while frowning.
"Listen, Solas. Whatever you thought you saw, it's not… You can't tell anyone about this," Aurelia said, her eyes woeful at her words. "Understand?"
Solas sighed at the woman's plea, unsure of why Alysia's scars should be a secret. The nature of its existence was curious, he could not think of any reason why she should be scarred that badly, especially for a noble.
"Understood," Solas whispered, his face growing concerned by those marks on her back. He shook his head lightly, as he turned on his heels to walk out of the room leaving the two sisters' and their mysterious secret behind him. He walked passed Varric and the group that he was with; they were still drinking and singing something about Andraste and her mabari. Quite the loyal dog, he thought while he made his way into his room.
He lay down on his bed, and tried to push the thoughts out of his head. Whatever secret the sisters had between them was theirs and he had no reason to pry it out of them, he was after all an apostate mage whose time with the Inquisition was temporary. It would be best for him not form any bonds.