As I see it, you are living with something that you keep hidden deep inside. Something heavy.
I felt it from the first time I met you. You have a strong gaze, as if you have made up your mind about something.
To tell you the truth, I myself carry such things around inside. Heavy things. That is how I can see it in you.
―Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
But if these years have taught me anything it is this:
you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.
―Junot Díaz
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The snowy forest was quiet and still, but for the occasional flutter of birds among the evergreen trees. The moons were full and heavy, and their light glistened off the frost that dusted everything around her. The air was cold but clear in her lungs, and each step she took further from Haven lessened the weight on her chest.
I could go.
The notion persisted in her mind as she slipped through the dark forest like a shadow among the trees.
None had seen her leave, and she still had time before they would even consider her missing. She could just keep going — backtrack to the shore and follow it to Highever and take the ferry back across the Waking Sea.
She could go home to her clan.
Yet, doubt worried at her like a dog to a bone.
How long until the end of the world found them too?
She stared up at the slow-turning vortex of clouds that skirted the edges of the hole in the sky. She could feel it tugging at her, still.
What would become of the world, if the Breach was never sealed? If it tore open once again? Would demons spill forth and claim the land, killing everyone and everything in it? How many weeks or months or years would it take for it to spread and swallow all of Thedas?
It was an inconceivable horror, beyond imagining — it was a nightmare she couldn't outrun, no matter where she went. In time, the Breach would swallow everything. Of that much, she was sure.
Standing in a small clearing, Tephra turned a slow circle. The lights of Haven were dim beyond the black of the forest. Scant moonlight illuminated the trees and cast them into eerie silhouette. The night had brought the cold to deeper depths, but there was little wind and the coat she'd been given was warm enough.
Even if leaving wasn't an option, at the very least, she could have a moment to herself.
No people, no chaos, no world-ending insanity — just her, and the wood-scented air sharp in her lungs, and the blessed peace of solitude.
Above, the glow of the Breach was brighter than the moon.
Well, whatever small peace she could find with that staring down at her.
Tephra heaved a sigh, and moved toward a large mossy tree. She scaled it easily, her fingers finding holds in the smallest grooves of the bark. She pulled herself up into the cradle of the tree, where the main branches forked up and outward in flush of resilient green. She settled in the curve, cushioned by moss and little clusters of ferns.
She closed her eyes and let the chill of the air drift gently across her face. She took a slow breath, and thought of nothing and let the scent of the forest fill her lungs until there was something close to calm settling inside of her.
Inevitably, though, her thoughts turned back to her predicament.
They expected her to do what — save every one in Thedas? To keep them safe? Her hand touched the small round shape under the collar of her coat. How was she supposed to do that when she couldn't even keep one person safe?
She tilted her head back against the tree, and sighed.
When she opened them again, she was greeted by a familiar sight.
Crabapples.
Frosted with snow and flushed red with ripeness.
Laughter tore itself from her, before quickly turning to raw, ragged sobs.
Just as it had began nearly a month ago, here she was — curled up in a crabapple tree. Before the Breach, before the Conclave, before her long journey from her clan. They'd found her just like this, idling away a lazy day without a care in the world — and then, everything changed.
She reached up and plucked the short branch clean of crabapples, and piled them in her lap. She ate them with far more vigor than she'd intended. She didn't mind that they were more bitter than sweet than most varieties of apples. When she finished, she threw away the cores and curled up against one of the thick branches forking away from the cradle of the tree.
There, tucked away and out of sight, she felt almost safe.
Tephra held her hand up, and stared at the mark — it seemed to shimmer more brightly in the light of the Breach. She had not felt the pain of it stir since sealing the rift at the Breach, but she could still feel the slow pulse of its magic, beating out an echo alongside the rhythm of her heart.
Whatever it was, whatever its origin, she had been mark and her life would never be simple again.
That truth was unavoidable.
It was laughable how uncomplicated her life had been, how simple, before all of this.
She had been free to come and go from her clan as she willed, with little more than her bloodline binding her there. She would spend weeks away, with nothing but time to herself and to studying the world around her. And even though she'd never fully assimilated back among her people, it had become a home of sorts that always brought her back. And Keeper Deshanna had been lenient with her restless wandering; the old woman had understood her nature, and how it had been shaped by her experiences — or at least, she tolerated it with great patience. The Keeper made use of it by giving her responsibilities best suited for one who was incapable of staying put too long, for one who like her.
Tephra doubted that she would find the same sort of patience here with these people. Even now, she imagined the soldiers were gearing up and filling the woods to find her and drag her back.
She was still staring at the seam of magic in her hand when she heard the approach of others from somewhere below.
Anxiety twisted in her gut, and she reached for the cloak. It was her oldest instinct, to slip away unseen when confronted with something frightening or too stressful. It shimmered over her like a second skin, as she moved to peer down into the clearing.
It wasn't the soldiers; it was the dwarf and the apostate. She strained her ears to catch their quiet conversation.
"—the south bend. Or perhaps, north."
"If she's headed home, I'd wager her taking the coast back to the closest port city," Varric surmised. "It's what I would do, if I didn't want the Seeker finding me. The roads are too obvious."
She smiled despite herself, pleased that the dwarf had guessed right. She'd taken the coastline from Highever on her journey here; she would've backtracked that same way, if she had gone through with leaving.
"Perhaps," the apostate mused.
Varric grumbled, "I'm not seeing anything out here. Do you elves even leave tracks in the snow?"
Solas looked amused, "Only when we mean to."
The dwarf gave a huff of frustration as he peered off one way, and then the other.
"Master Tethras, perhaps you should head back toward the eastern pass," Solas advised, abruptly. "Those at the outlook may have seen her pass through. I will continue to sweep the woods here."
Varric gave him a quizzical frown, before grinning, "They had Antivan brandy the last time I was there. It's worth a look."
Tephra was disappointed to see him leave.
She would would have come down the tree for the dwarf.
The apostate lingered long after Varric departed. He turned slow on his heel, seemingly orienting himself to decide which way to go. When it seemed as though he'd made his choice, he turned suddenly toward the mossy tree, and looked right up at her.
Tephra's blood ran cold as she shrank backward, like a truant child caught out beyond their curfew.
No one had ever seen through her cloak before.
"It is a fine trick, I must admit," Solas remarked.
She'd expected anger, but his tone was steady and amiable — amused, even.
With a short, sharp sigh, she released the glamour. She frowned down at him, and asked, "Are they going to put me back in that prison?"
"No," Solas assured. The sudden steeliness of his tone took her aback. "Not while I am with you."
He was returning her promise of protection.
Tephra's fingers tangled in the moss as she gripped the tree more tightly, and her frown softened to something less than defiance. Her guard wavered and dropped briefly, as she said, "Thank you."
She wasn't just parroting his words back to him, this time. His sincerity, however short-lived it may be, had whittled away at her stubborn anger and left her unguarded.
Tephra cleared her throat, and let the defiance in her tone die away as she admitted, "I'd sooner die than let them put me back into that cell."
The steely expression on his face softened to concern, as he said, "I am sorry that you were treated as such. Fear can be dangerous amongst the many, often breeds injustice."
She continued to frown down at him, with uncertainty.
Why had he come after her?
Given the short — and turbulent — history of their exchanges, she couldn't help but feel that this was some sort of elaborate jest on his part, or some kind of manipulation. The templars had brought out an anger and wariness in her that she'd hadn't had for years, not since well after she rejoined her clan. She'd almost forgotten how easily it came to her, how easy it was to distrust the motives of other people.
To mistake kindness for danger.
"It's not your injustice to apologize for," she said, finally. "At least you spoke up and shamed them from continuing. You were the only one who—"
It flustered her to admit that he had come to her defense, multiple times now. Saved her life — twice now. Attempted to be friendly, when he wasn't being an ass.
It would be far less complicated if she could simply write him off, if he wasn't actively trying to rectify his previous impertinence.
She cleared her throat, "You weren't entirely unkind, at least."
"Is that supposed to be an apology?" Solas parroted her words back to her in a playful tone.
She bit back a smile, and flushed.
What an ass he is.
How long had he'd been waiting to turn that back against her?
She huffed, and grumbled as she changed the subject, "How did you find me? Most wouldn't have noticed me up here."
"I am not most," he replied, amusement still playing across his face. "You forget that I am apostate. I know much of the ways of concealment, of eluding danger. That trick of yours was, indeed, magic. I had not thought you a mage. I'm usually better at sensing such things about people."
Tephra's insides churned at the accusation, "I'm most certainly not."
"Then you must be the first magic producing not-mage in all of Thedas," Solas declared, with a flourish of his hand.
She flushed; now he was joking with her, and yet she was certain he was also mocking her in some manner. Even if he wasn't, he had the unfortunate habit of seeming to be. "Then it was magic," she conceded, impatiently. "But I am no mage. I have never been able to do anything besides that."
There was an odd intensity in his features, as he explained, "Just as that mark on your hand is magic, so is that glamour you produced to conceal yourself. Crude, at best. Yet, still — magic. With guidance, it could be much more."
She gave a short, sharp sigh, "Did you come all the way out here to give me lessons? Is that what this is about?"
"No, of course not," Solas relented. "There are many dangers in these woods. I'm sure you encountered a few on your travels to the Conclave."
That was true enough.
Tephra shifted uncomfortably, thinking of how this must have looked to him. Leaving Haven in the middle of the night and going this far out into the woods greatly implied her intention to flee, regardless if she had changed her mind on the matter in the end. "I wasn't running away. I just needed to be—"
Solas held up his hand, "You needn't explain yourself to me. There are no soldiers coming for you. No one but Varric and myself know of this."
He slipped his traveling pack off his shoulder and set it against the tree, as he continued, "You have been through more in the last few days than most people could handle across several lifetimes. I followed to make sure you were safe in your solitude, but I shall not bother you. You'll hardly know that I'm here."
She stared down at Solas, her mind turning over this change in his behavior. Regardless of their arguments, he had certainly gone out of his way to come out here and declare his intent to look out for her, to protect her. What had changed so drastically between that time, and now? Had it been something she said at the tavern? Or was it her own declaration to protect him that had warmed him to her, in whatever small way that this was?
Finally, she asked, "Why would you do that for me?"
His expression softened as he tilted his head, "Because I understand what compelled you to flee."
Well, at least when Cassandra found out, it wouldn't just be her ass thrown back in the prison.
"If you insist," she relented.
"Take all of the time you need," Solas said, as he busied himself with setting wards.
She watched him walk a wide perimeter around the tree, and with each sweeping gesture of his hand magic shimmered through the air. Her experience with mages was limited, so it was fascinating to watch one so clearly talented at their craft.
When Solas finished, he returned to where he'd laid his pack. He pulled a torch from it and staked it into the ground near the tree. With a slight flourish of his hand, it burst alight. Settling against the tree, he reached for his pack and withdrew a book.
Tephra knew precisely what he was doing, and wanted to chuck an apple at him for it.
She'd learned this long ago, as a child — how to gain the trust of a wild thing. It took a great deal of patience, and hastiness would only earn a well-deserved bite to the hand.
From the look of him, she was certain this apostate was a very patient man. Especially if he intended to sit down there on the frozen ground all night. There wasn't much snow around the base of the tree, but frozen ground was still frozen ground. Was he somehow immune to the cold? It would explain his lack of boots. She'd spent far too much time before wondering at how he hadn't lost any of his toes to frostbite yet.
Maybe it's a mage thing, she mused.
Below, Solas kept his word as he said nothing and simply started to read his book.
Suit yourself.
Tephra huffed and retreated back into the tree, hidden from sight. The curve of the branches held her just so, like the arms of a mother. It was cold, but the coat was warm enough. She'd endured colder nights before, and this was preferable to going back to Haven. Even if the cabin would have been warmer, it was just another sort of cage to her. Here, at least, there was the illusion of freedom. Even if for only a few hours.
And then she would have to go back.
I don't know how I'm supposed to do this.
The words weighed heavily in her mouth, but she couldn't bring herself to say them to Solas. He would just say what they all would say — that she had no choice. She must. It was only just every person in the world depending on her to not fail.
He would just tell her that there was nothing to be done about it, and that she'd better hurry up and make peace with that.
Below, the apostate remained silent. And yet, there was a strange comfort in his presence — an unspoken assurance that she wasn't alone.
Tephra pulled the hood of her coat up over her head; it was too big for her, but it served well enough to cover her face to block out the cold. She pushed her forearms up into the opposite sleeves, bundling them together, and brought her knees to her chest.
The world became nothing more than the small, dark space of her hood. And for the first time since her life had been thrown into chaos, she drifted to sleep with ease.
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The words were blurring on the page, again.
His head dipped heavily, then snapped back up.
Solas set the book in his lap as he laid his head back against the tree, and shut his eyes. The barriers he'd set blocked out the biting winter winds of the night, and the torch offered just enough warmth to banish the chill in his body. Still, the limits of his weakened state pressed heavily on him. Even after a year, he was still not used to it — at this rate, he may as well have been mortal.
Mortal, like her — a quickened shadow of what she should have been.
Though he had to admit, that despite her limited nature, she stubbornly strained against those confines and pushed herself well beyond reasonable expectations. It was admirable, to see one so limited struggle so fiercely. The sight of her had stayed with him, of when she rose from the ground and staggered to the rift, wounded and dying, to once again open herself to the power of the mark—
"You have to be quiet."
It was a child's voice that spoke and broke the stillness of the forest.
Solas straightened, and peered around the small clearing.
His torch was gone, and the trees had changed.
A dream.
He could not recall the last time he'd slipped into the dreaming unaware. It was generally a more nuanced process for him, a purposeful transition from waking to dreaming. But then, he had not slept much since the Breach opened.
Rising to his feet, Solas turned in a slow circle and took in his surroundings. He was not in the forest surrounding Haven, but rather somewhere else — somewhere warmer. It was an old-growth forest, nestled somewhere deep and untouched. The trees had shifted from firs and pines and aspens to elms and oaks and maples. Moss and lichen blanketed nearly everything in a verdant rush of green.
It occurred to him, suddenly and at once, that this was not his dream.
The only thing that broke the stillness was the crying of a small child, which filtered down to his ears from somewhere above.
Solas turned and found himself standing below a massive wych elm.
He didn't know what drew this memory to him in the Fade, but his curiosity got the better of him and he moved toward the tree. It was an easy climb, as the knotted bark provided many grasps and footholds.
Nestled in the fork of branching limbs, were two young elves. One was not quite ten years, if he had to guess, and the other was little more than a toddler.
The younger one fussed, breath hitching with every inhalation. He was dark where the other was light, with coal-black hair and an olive complexion. The other, holding him and whispering quiet, soothing words was—
Tephra.
"They'll come back for us," she said, nodding as if she were trying to assure herself as well as the boy. "We just have to wait here until they find us."
She was clutching the boy almost as tightly as the bone dagger in her hand.
Questions cluttered his mind as he observed the two of them.
Had they been abandoned, or lost? How long had they'd been waiting there for someone to come? Had anyone come to find them, in the end?
And then they heard it, both the memories and himself, and reacted at the same time.
The crack and snap of branches giving beneath the weight of something heavy. Below him, a black bear was making its way up the elm. It had been drawn to the sounds of the fussing toddler.
Tephra made the grievous mistake of looking out from where the branches concealed her. The color left her face, and she gave a strangled cry of fear. The knife fell from her grasp as shock loosened her grip, and fell uselessly to the ground below. The toddler squirmed and began to cry in her arms as she retreated back into the hollow between the branches.
The bear advanced almost ponderously, and unhurried.
A sick unease clutched in Solas's stomach as he watched her scramble further up into the tree, carrying the toddler with one arm. There was a cloth carrying device around her chest, but the younger child had come loose, and his legs swung and kicked with each of her movements.
It was a wonder that she hadn't dropped him yet.
He did not want to see this, but Solas couldn't bring himself to look away.
The boy clung to her, arms thrown tight around her neck as he watched the bear advance from over her shoulder. He'd gone silent, as an innate primal fear set in, the way small prey froze in fear in place of fleeing.
He could see that the boy had been secured to her by a long strip of cloth, much in the style of elven mothers, but it was too large for her and had been knotted several times to account for her small size. It had been done in haste, and that was likely the cause of the boy having slipped free. It — as well as her coat — was soaked in old blood, but neither she nor the boy seemed injured.
He could only wonder at what terrible event had befallen their caretakers, parents or otherwise.
Solas moved further up and followed after them, climbing up the branch opposite of them. His heart was pounding in his ears; he did not want to see the likely horrible conclusion of this memory, but he was helpless to pull himself away from it.
No, not helpless, not truly.
He could have easily disentangled himself from her dream, but he was invested,even if he could not change the outcome of the memory.
As the bear mounted the same branch as the children, it swayed under their combined weight. Tephra clutched at the branch to keep from falling. When it stopped swaying long enough for her to reclaim her steadiness, she stood and craned to reach the one above her. She took care to angle her torso so that the toddler would not lose his grip, as she needed both of her hands to pull them up. She gripped hold of it, and launched herself upward with what strength she had left. Her torso curled up and she wrapped her legs around the branch, hugging herself to it with the boy tucked in between.
Her small, shrill voice cut through the forest around them as she screamed, "Go away!"
The bear gave a low rumble in response as it moved out further on the branch. In a matter of moments, it would be within swiping range.
Tephra's arms trembled, and she was losing her grip. Her abject fear was palpable, rushing through her and around her, before it crested some threshold and peaked—
The air shimmered around her.
Solas could feel the magic manifesting in her, as she reached for a power that had been stolen from her long before her birth.
She called to it, and it heeded.
The glamour clutched tight around her and the toddler, and they disappeared effectively from sight.
Further, still — the spell pushed forward, forming into a barrier.
Solas couldn't help but feel a thrill of admiration as he watched it shimmer and lock into place just as the bear swiped forward. Its paw smashed into the invisible barrier, which was as ungiving as stone.
The bear gave a pained bellow and thrashed in disorientation as it tried to figure out where its prey had gone. Its frenzied movements bore down on the branch beneath it, and it began to crack. It took only seconds for it to give and send the bear tumbling helplessly to the ground, some eight meters below.
The bear rolled and stirred and began to limp from the wych elm. Whatever injury it had sustained effectively deterred it from any further attempt of locating the children.
Still cloaked, Tephra managed to pull both her and the toddler up onto the branch she was clinging to. As the magic shimmered away, he was met by the awe on her face.
The spell had surprised her just as much as the bear.
This must have been the first time, he surmised.
Her cloaking spell had manifested out of necessity — two little ones alone in the forest. It must have been her way to keep him safe.
Yet, it was also more than that.
In this age, where his people were steadily losing their connection to magic and to the Fade, she had reached through the world and grasped onto it. Where no magic had resided before, now that seed was inside her. She had done something he had not thought possible.
How had she reversed it? How had she, in this sleeping mortal world, reforged a link that had been lost to so many?
In his world — the world that had been taken from her people — magic would have been with her from the moment she quickened in her mother's womb. It would have been with her from the first breath she drew, to the last. It would have always been hers to call upon, as familiar to her as her own self, her own spirit.
The forest shifted around him, until he was no longer in the tree. He was in some other part of the old forest, once more on the ground. Somewhere around him, he heard the echoing cries of animal sounds being mimicked between two voices.
He saw them now, running at full speed as one chased the other, moving fluidly through the tangled undergrowth as if they'd been born to it. The toddler had become a boy, roughly the age she'd been in the prior memory, and now she was well into her girlhood.
Solas bolted after them, to keep up. It was strangely exhilarating, chasing along with her as her dreaming mind chased these memories. He followed as they weaved and ducked through the forest, without a care in the world.
Tephra carried a self-made bow, carved with care and growing skill.
Her long white hair was a tangle of braids and kinks, crudely cut at the ends. The boy's long black hair was braided as well, and had likely never been cut. They were dressed in a haphazard assortment of scavenged, ill-fitting clothing, likely stolen from hunting camps in haste to avoid being caught.
Had they never been found?
The sight of them here, left wild and alone and belonging wholly to the forest, made it clear that they had not been. Yet, the Herald had come from the Free Marches, from clan Lavellan, to observe the conclave.
Were they simply found later, half-feral and adopted into the clan?
The boy gave a shrill cry — some bird call that Solas did not recognize. From some distant part of the forest, a bird responded in kind. The boy gave a celebratory whoop, hopping along on skinny legs as he followed after his sister. Even though their coloring was drastically different, their faces were too similar to be anything less than siblings.
When she stilled suddenly, the boy followed suit. All childish play was gone from them as she drew down into a crouch and readied her bow. She nocked and loosed with deft movements, and speared a pheasant to the ground before it could take flight. The boy was on it quickly, and snapped its neck efficiently to end its thrashing.
And then, they were no more than wisps fading away as the memories shifted around him.
The uneven, chaotic state of the Herald's dreams clearly reflected her waking anxiety. She was troubled — therefore, her dreams reflected it with their erratic nature. And somehow, in his fatigue, he'd carelessly slipped into her dreams through proximity. Thinking of her as sleep took him had been his mistake, and the Fade had responded naturally to reflect it.
Still, it was an invasion when all he'd meant was to give her was peace of mind while she cleared her mind and rested.
As the chaotic tangle of memories shifted and shaped around him, Solas prepared himself to draw himself out of her dreams. He had not been invited here, and he wasn't one to make a habit of eavesdropping into the dreams of the living unless there was an unavoidably strategic advantage to be gained from it. There was no shortage of memories to explore in the Fade, and he did not care to intrude where he was not invited.
And in truth, she'd had enough of her choices and freedoms and dignity stripped from her; he would not add to that ever-growing list. Even an unknowing indignity was still an indignity, nonetheless.
As he began to withdraw, he heard a sound that tore through him like a dagger of ice.
Grief, in its rawest form. Inarticulate, wordless horror.
Whatever memory it was tied to, it slipped quickly past, torn away in the riptide of the Fade as it shifted formlessly around him. It left him feeling shaken by the depth of its pain, but he did not reach to pull it back.
She was not some ruin, passively waiting to give up its secrets. Her memories were her own.
The last piece of her dream flitted past and he caught sight of her again.
Still half-grown, wild-eyed and cornered by a group of Dalish hunters. Notably alone. Locked down into a defensive crouch with her bow drawn rigid, ready to fire on them. Face pulled taut by a feral fight-or-flight response that warred across her features. One of the hunters stepped carefully forward, moving slow and extending his palms out in a pacifying gesture.
"Ame eth, da'len," the hunter was saying as the dream winked away.
He did not see her response, yet still, he heard her voice.
"Solas."
He woke with a start.
The Herald was crouched before him, elbows on her knees. The first light of dawn illuminated the forest in a faint golden hue.
If she had any awareness that he'd been in her dreams, she did not show it.
In his mind's eye, he could still see that cornered creature with a bow drawn and ready to loose — feral and furious and wearing her face. Like an image laid over an image.
"Time to go," Tephra said, fighting back a yawn.
He could not help but wonder at the memories he'd seen.
How long had she been in those woods, unfound? Who was the boy, and where was he now? What paths had her life taken to go from that to whatever took her back to her clan, to ultimately end up here? Were all of her dreams so restless?
No wonder she was still tired — he was tired. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all.
Had it been like this for her every night, since the Breach? Or longer still? How had her body not given out yet to such an extended state of exhaustion?
Had she ever known peace?
"Yes, of course," he agreed, leaving his questions unvoiced. "We should head back before Cassandra takes notice of our absence."
"Or else she'll give us matching prison cells," Tephra quipped.
Was that humour?
She straightened, and left him there to gather his things, without waiting for him to respond.
Whatever it was, it felt like a start. Like a step in the right direction.
Solas stood and collected his pack. As he shrugged it on, he cast a sidelong glance at the elf as she stared off in the direction of Haven. Something had shifted in her, and it reflected on her face. Acceptance, perhaps, but not an admittance of defeat. A stubborn sort of concession to her predicament. Her body was drawn tight like an arrow, waiting to be loosed.
Once again, he had the unsettling feeling that he'd greatly underestimated her — this unlikely bearer of his Anchor. Even her dreams had somehow ensnared his attention.
What are you?
Her gaze turned to meet his, as if she'd somehow heard his thoughts. Cast in the light of sunrise and flushed from the cold, she surprised him with a smile as she asked, "Are you ready?"
Solas had the curious feeling that he wasn't at all ready — that something loomed before him, unknown and unknowable and most certainly dangerous. And yet he returned the smile, as he felt his pulse quicken in a curious manner.
"It seems that I am."
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She hadn't realized how far she'd gone from Haven until they were well on their way back through the forest.
At first, the apostate remained locked in silence, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. She didn't mind much; it was preferable to the bickering and excessive frowning that seemed to arise any time they spoke more than a few words to each other.
The easy silence didn't last long, though.
"Much will be asked of you, given your new title, but you must remember that closing the Breach is our primary goal," Solas spoke up, breaking the stillness that had settled between them. "Do not lose sight of that."
Tephra shot a glance up to the sky, and gave an amused huff, "That would be quite the accomplishment, given that it's hanging over us wherever we go."
The apostate gave her a tight smile, "I hope that we may also discover what was used to create it, as well. Any artifact of such power is dangerous — the destruction of the Conclave proves that much."
She had not considered that something else could have been responsible for the Breach, not simply just a powerful mage, but it was at once obvious to her that it should have occurred to her. Her hand clutched into a fist, and she felt the restless thrum of the magic nesting there. Something had put this magic in her hand. She had been sure of that from the beginning. Why had she not considered this before?
Because crazy shit hasn't stopped happening long enough for you to think straight.
Her mouth set in a hard line at the thought. How empty-headed she must have seemed to him. "You don't think whatever created the explosion was destroyed in the blast?"
"You survived, did you not?" Solas's look of amusement was brief, before once again his tone turned grave, "The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes."
It was an odd distinction.
Tephra quirked an eyebrow, and echoed, "This age?"
The apostate gave her a long-suffering look, as he said, "Have you so quickly forgotten? I have walked the Fade extensively and I have seen numerous artifacts of power beyond imagining that have been constructed and lost over the centuries. Yet magic in this age is far more diminished than it has been in any age before it, and what was used to create the Breach has no like and thus must be an artifact of an age before this one."
She looked at her fist, and unfurled it to bare her palm. "Do you suppose that artifact is what did this to me?"
Solas gave her a measured look, before he conceded, "It is a plausible theory, in the absence of truth. One we can only confirm by recovering the artifact itself."
"Then perhaps it could take it back from me," Tephra mused as she flexed the hand, and was met by the shimmering seam of light igniting in her palm. It was a strange, mad hope to hold onto, but it was better than nothing. Better than resigning herself to having this mark forever.
When she looked back at Solas, his eyebrows were knitted together in uncertainty, or perhaps concern. There was an odd weight to it, a heaviness — there was far too much that he wasn't saying.
It's still killing me, and he knows it.
More slowly, certainly, but killing her nonetheless. She could feel it, creeping a slow path further up her hand with every day that passed.
He knew it just as much as she did. Was it sadness she saw there in his expression, or perhaps pity? And if they never recovered the artifact, then it was likely that she—
Tephra averted her gaze, and huffed. What use was speculating at this point? Looking ahead as she walked, she said, "Anything with that sort of power is bound to turn up again."
"Leliana's people have scoured the area near the blast and have found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there."
"So, someone survived to take it," she concluded. "Whoever did it — or helped to do it."
"It is very likely, yes," Solas replied. His tone had gone flat, and decidedly neutral.
"All of this shit — and for what? Why would someone want to do this? What could they have possibly stood to gain by all of those deaths?" The anger in her voice surprised her.
The anger in his, however, was more surprising. Tightly-leashed and reigned in, but it edged the apostate's words sharply. "Discontent with the state of the world? Delusions of grandeur? Destruction for destruction's sake? It is hard to speculate on the mindset of an unknown enemy."
Briefly, she recalled the figure she'd seen in the vision at the Breach. Towering, cast in shadows — indiscernible and imposing. The memory of his voice alone set her teeth on edge.
She cast a curious glance at Solas, as she asked, "Do you think he's one of us or—"
Solas gave her a puzzled frown, as he echoed, "One of us?"
Tephra gave a brief, incredulous frown.
Was he kidding, or being purposefully obtuse?
She couldn't help her amusement, as she used her forefingers to wiggle her ears at him. She also couldn't help the small, playful smile that crossed her face while she did it.
His frown shifted to surprise, as he said, "Oh, you mean the elves!"
"What else would I mean?"
Surely, he was pulling her leg.
"My apologies — it's just that I don't consider myself to have much in common with the elves," he replied. "I hope in the future that you can see that there is more to me than just my pointed ears."
Decidedly not kidding.
Her humor died away as she retracted her hands and her face settled into a frown. Every time she attempted to reach out, in her own stupid way, she was met with this wall that he had erected between them — this need of his to make a distinction of their differences. To say: We are not the same.
It gave her an unsettling, unsteady feeling, like being adrift at sea with no land in sight. It seemed like a lifeline, when their conversations turned from bickering to something that could be considered pleasant, only for him to snatch it all away with offhanded remarks such as this.
And she could have kicked herself, for being so weak — for letting herself seem so lonely, that she grasped at them each time he'd offered.
"Yes, and perhaps you can also extend the effort to see past this," she replied, her tone clipped and sharp as she gestured dismissively at the marks on her face.
His eyebrows drew down into a frown — his eyes once again regarded her in that strangely unsettling way. Seeing and not seeing. As though he was seeing through her, or that she was somehow not entirely there.
His eyes were a startling shade of grey — like tempered steel and storm clouds and rough seas. Impassive, and impassable, and with an edge that could cut the unwary.
How very much they suited him.
Tephra averted her gaze, and lapsed into silence.
It bothered her, the lengths he went to distance himself, to make that oddly specific distinction — the elves. Did he not see himself as an elf at all? Neither Dalish, nor city elf? Was that view something born out of living as an apostate? Did he not have kin anywhere?
There was something there, unspoken, that unsettled her.
An uneasy silence settled between them as they reached the road that led down to Haven. She could see the fields where the templars and Inquisition soldiers were camped. Many were already out practicing and running exercise drills.
"As to your question — no, I do not believe our adversary is an elf," Solas replied, finally.
She kept her silence as she walked.
He sighed, and said, "I've offended you again."
She could have laughed, but didn't. "You do have that way about you."
"Perhaps my time apart from civilization has worn away at my manners," Solas mused. "Forgive me."
"For what? Voicing your opinions? You don't owe me any excuses for the animosities you keep," Tephra replied.
It was just as he said — he did no owe her anything, just because they happened to share similar ears. That she'd expected anything at all was on her, not him.
Still, she could only wonder at what wrongs her people had inflicted upon him, to have provoked such antagonism. Had they truly treated him so terribly?
No matter how his statements provoked her, what did she know of his life, his experiences? He knew as much of hers as she knew of his, which was nothing at all.
As far as she was concerned, he was perfectly within his rights to piss her off. She wouldn't judge him for having differing opinions. He'd walked an entirely different path in life than she had. Hell, she understood the mechanism of it — how easily animosity could be formed, where before there was none at all. Her view of templars was irrevocably colored by her recent experiences. Even now, looking at them in the distance gave her anxiety.
How foolish she'd been. How utterly unthinking.
"You mistake me—"
"Do I?" She fixed him with a searching look, and was met again by his impenetrable stare. There were no answers to be discerned in the steely depths of his gaze, and she could see the tension in his posture. It was as though he expected condemnation, or ridicule, or something otherwise dismissive. She softened, if only slightly, as she said, "You've made your feelings quite clear on my people, Solas. Point received. I'll try to not further diminish the Dalish in your eyes, if I can. Whatever wrongs they have done to you, I wish to try and atone for them with my patience, which has been very poor as of late. Ir abelas."
Now he was flustered; his jaw worked silently.
It probably wasn't the best apology, or even close to one, but it was all she was willing to give. She averted her gaze, and quickly shifted the subject as she asked, "You're neither a city elf, nor Dalish. Who then are your people?"
"A good question," he replied, tersely. She could still see that jumble of emotions working through him as he said, "I joined the Inquisition to save the world, regardless of who my people are — this is the best way to help them."
Tephra stopped walking. "Do you not have anyone — family? Friends?"
He stopped and regarded her, before replying carefully, "I have many friends, though as to whether they truly count as such would depend on your perspective."
Perspective?
She made the connection almost immediately.
He was an apostate, and a dreamer-mage.
Of course.
She hazarded a guess, "You mean spirits?"
"Yes," he replied carefully, in a neutral tone. When she did not react aversely, his posture loosened, if only slightly, as he continued, "I have built many lasting friendships with them. Spirits of wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed in my travels."
"I haven't heard of spirits by those names," she admitted.
"They rarely seek this world," Solas informed. "When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and purpose are too easily twisted to pride and desire."
The memory of the massive, hulking pride demon they'd fought at the Breach flared in her mind. "Those are demon names," she responded, tentatively.
He regarded her with a cool stare, "They were not demons for me."
A curious frown crossed her face, as she asked, "What do you mean?"
"The Fade reflects the minds of the living," he replied. "If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt. And if your mind is free of conflicting influences — if you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends."
And the dead — what of the dead? Are they not spirits, too?
The question wrestled in the pit of her stomach, but she kept her silence.
Honestly, she hardly knew anything about spirits.
That knowledge was generally passed from Keeper to Keeper, and taught to the mages — the Firsts, and the healers. She was only a hunter, and an apprentice to the herbalist. She was no mage, and on no path toward being Keeper. Of the few times she'd tried to broach the topic with Deshanna, she was dismissed and chided for being far too interested in such a dangerous subject.
Tephra had learned to keep her preoccupation with the Beyond to herself — learned to swallow the questions that plagued her. And here this dreamer-mage not only walked in the Beyond, in the Fade — he made friends with the spirits that dwelt there.
She couldn't help but wonder if she too could meet such spirits and ask them all she wanted to know of the nature of souls and death. Or would they be twisted by her mind, as Solas said? Was she tainted by prejudices she wasn't even aware of holding? She didn't feel that she held any preconceived notions towards spirits, but did the simple knowledge that some viewed them as dangerous somehow corrupt her vision of them?
It all made her terribly curious.
But the last time she'd even tried to broach the subject, he'd shut her down at the mention of the Dalish. And to be honest, she was still rather sore about how quickly and thoroughly he'd dismissed her. She wasn't entirely certain a second attempt would achieve anything more than a scathing critique of her ignorance on the subject.
She stifled the questions writhing in her gut, and started toward Haven again.
Solas fell into pace with her, silent for a time, before he asked, "Have I unsettled you? Given the Dalish's long history of making no distinctions between spirits and demons, and finding them equally dangerous, I would not be surprised if I had."
She had to admit; he had an uncanny ability to make apologies that weren't quite apologies at all. It wasn't even worth getting angry at the not-so-subtle shot at her people. If he was trying to provoke her to prove his own assertions on Dalish attitudes, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Not at all," she replied, evenly.
His eyes narrowed as he gave her a measured frown. Clearly, he had expected another response, or perhaps an argument. Had he meant to goad her into a heated discussion on spirits? Did he expect her to have the same opinion he'd so broadly declared her people to have? Or did he simply enjoy arguing with her?
Either way, he would have been sorely disappointed — she harbored no ill-will towards spirits, and he would have found her knowledge of them severely lacking at best. And as far as Dalish opinions, well, she hadn't been with her people long enough to truly adopt their so-called prejudices, not to the best of her knowledge.
As he lapsed into silence, she quickened her pace.
She avoided the gazes of the soldiers as she passed them, thinking only of the apostate lagging behind her, out of sight. She wasn't sure what to make of him, but he clearly wished to help in what ways he could, even at the risk of being persecuted as an apostate. It was more than she could say for herself — she was still at best resigned to her role, and at worst, angry and defiant. Yet, for all of his willingness to help, he clearly had a problem with her. Whether it was her heritage, the happenstance of her situation, or possibly her inherently stubborn nature — she couldn't say. If she had to guess, she would say it was all of those things, and he probably would find more things to dislike about her as time passed.
And even that was when he actually seemed to see her, to take notice of the things that bothered him. Most of the time, it seemed as though he was merely an observer, watching the events unfold around them from somewhere deep inside of himself.
There was nothing for it, but to accept its inevitability, and move on. Perhaps they would never truly be friends, but what did that matter truly? There was no knowing how long it would take to close the Breach, or if she would ever be free from this role that had been thrust upon her, but she did not care to spend the duration of that time fighting with the people around her. If she could keep her defiant nature in check and make peace where she could, this whole Herald thing would be marginally easier to deal with.
At the very least, she could try and avoid taking the bait whenever he mentioned elves or the Dalish, and avoid mentioning them herself.
It was better to hop like a fool, than to fall in every pitfall that presented itself.
The gate of Haven loomed above her as she turned, and declared, "I should like to meet them one day, I think. These Wisdoms and Purposes."
She distinctly left "spirits" out of her declaration, given that they were no longer alone and chantry sisters and soldiers moved amongst them, bustling in and out of the gateway. She had promised to protect him, and she would — even if he was insufferable most of the time.
She could have laughed at the look of surprise that crossed his solemn face as Solas stopped dead in his tracks, but she didn't. She simply flashed him an arch look before turning on her heel and ducking through the gate. She headed for the tavern, and the apostate did not follow after her.
It didn't really matter to her if he believed her or not.
Solas seemed to have made up his mind about her from the moment they'd met, and it was clear that he was rather enamored of his prejudices; she hadn't the heart to part him from them.
At the tavern, she was pleased to find Varric there, sitting across from the Seeker and enjoying his breakfast. He did not take notice of her until she sat in the chair next to him.
"Ah, the Herald graces us with her presence," the dwarf quipped, and smiled at her warmly.
If the Seeker had any knowledge of her late-night excursion, the woman did not show it, as she inclined her head in greeting.
"I may be lacking a bow currently, but I assure you I can still make my mark," Tephra retorted, reaching for a fork and pointing it toward him in a playful manner.
Varric raised his hands in mock defeat, and laughed. "I yield, I yield."
She turned her attention back to the spread of platters that had been set on the table between Cassandra and Varric, before reaching for a plate of runny eggs. She also swiped a large piece of toasted bread from the neighboring platter.
She jabbed the eggs with the bread until the yolks split, and began sopping it up. Whatever small rebellion she'd had against eating their food was easily conceded in the face of a hot breakfast and an empty stomach.
Varric gave a laugh, and said, "Honestly, I wasn't eggspecting you to show up for breakfast. You must've woken sunny-side-up, Snowflake."
Cassandra made a sound of disgust and sighed heavily.
The laugh that left Tephra surprised her, just as much as them.
Varric winked at her, and said, "Yeah, you're gonna be fine, kid."
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Author's Note: This chapter was difficult for me. I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with it. Ah well.
Specific Elven used and credited to the work of FenxShiral:
Ame eth. — You are safe.