Solas's dialogue is extremely hard to write. Sheesh. Even more kudos to Weekes.
As I promised, fluffs! With some DA:Origins, to boot!
Enjoy this Christmas present from me, lovelies. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!
Affirmation
Although they had left Crestwood before the sun's rays crested over the mountains, the journey to Lake Calenhad still took most of the day. Alistair's presence proved to be invaluable, as they were warned of a darkspawn ambush shortly after resuming the trek following their noonday meal. He requested they let a scout escape, which bolted immediately, scampering quickly out of sight, shrieking in its guttural language. The Grey Warden was easily able to follow the creature, leading them to a cave in a hillside that tunneled deep underground and merged with a highway of the Deep Roads. Arya had wished to look around, but Alistair sharply advised against it: there was a heavy patrol driving straight towards them. She sighed regretfully and motioned for Solas, Dorian, and Hawke to join her. The four mages pooled their magic and collapsed the cave's ceiling, effectively sealing the entrance of the encroaching patrol and preventing further darkspawn threats.
When they emerged back into daylight, Hawke dropped back to consult with Dorian about some academic magic, leaving Alistair's side for the first time that morning. Varric took advantage of Alistair's solitude and walked next to him, glancing only momentarily back to where Dorian and Hawke conversed before he turned and trotted back up beside Alistair. Arya hid a grin.
As they traveled that morning, she was amused to see Varric's displeasure at his displacement at Hawke's side by the young Grey Warden – the rogue and mage had been inseparable since they left Skyhold on their way to the Storm Coast. She saw the jealousy simmer under the dwarf's skin, but he regally yielded his post, walking silently behind the two human friends as they conversed. He was now chatting amiable with Alistair, apparent jealousy forgotten.
She also observed that Blackwall seemed in awe of the young Grey Warden, which Arya found surprising, since Alistair seemed to be many years Blackwall's junior. True, he was the companion and love of the Hero of Fereldan, Warden-Commander of the country she saved, but there seemed to more to it than mere admiration. She would have to ask him of it later, for conversation was almost completely discouraged as she fought to keep pace with long-legged Alistair.
As Alistair had traveled this land before in his own quest, she gladly let him lead and set their pace, the latter of which she slightly regretted. However, she was delighted in being able to walk beside Solas. Normally, the hedge mage brought up the rear of their expedition party while she led the way, ensuring they would be thoroughly prepared for any unexpected magical attacks. It was wise setup, but she would only ever see her friend for their lunch and when they stopped to camp for the night.
As much as she enjoyed the companionable silence she shared with the elf of whom she frequently stole glances, she desperately wished to question Alistair further about his love, but recognized the sadness in his voice as he spoke of her before. Their separation obviously pained him deeply, and her heart went out to him. Duty was such a terrible burden at times, and they deserved a chance to be together if the stories she heard about them were even remotely true. As such, she respected his privacy and wished to cause him no more distress. Hopefully he would speak of her in the days to come as they made their speedy hike back to Skyhold.
What she wanted most was not even the details of their adventure and of the Fifth Blight, but to learn more about who the Hero was, for she was also Dalish, albeit from the Southern Clans. She wanted to know how the famed Hero had dealt with her situation in being thrust into the center of a world-altering disaster to save people who still cast her aside by nature of her birth.
Varric, she noticed, had absolutely no problem barraging the Warden with questions, and kept up an almost constant dialogue as they walked. The reason for his seeking to walk beside the young man became obvious even as he struggled to keep up with him, his short strides almost absurdly rapid. The ginger dwarf's discomfort was obviously worth how uncomfortable his questions were making the likable Grey Warden, who didn't seem to enjoy the attention.
After a while of the questioning, she saw Alistair turn and survey the dwarf thoroughly, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"You're that…that writer from Kirkwall, aren't you? Author of 'Hard in Hightown?'"
Varric chuckled, "Oh, yes. Among other things. It's one of my bestsellers. Did you like it?"
Alistair hesitated.
"You're not….you're not going write anything about the things I have been telling you, are you? About her? Us? There's already enough stories out there already, and I still get fan mail from the noble ladies in Orlais wishing to console me and my 'tragic circumstances'." Varric roared with laughter, but Alistair did not look pleased.
"Of course they'd write you! The forbidden love between the bastard prince of the Fereldan and the heathen Dalish elf - Grey Wardens who fell for each other in spite of, or perhaps because of the war against the Darkspawn in the Fifth Blight! Whose loved conquered all the horrors they faced!"
Alistair scowled outright. Varric laughed lightly then, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Alright, I'll stop. But truly, your story is rather incredible, and I think I could add a certain...spark to it. I would like to explore it another time when the circumstances aren't so…." He searched for a word.
"Shitty." He finished. Alistair almost snorted.
"You're a world famous writer, and you can't come up with a better adjective for this situation than 'shitty'?" Varric shrugged, unconcerned.
"It fits." Was all he offered in reply.
Arya exchanged a sly glance with Solas, who smirked back at her.
A few hours after that, they came to the edge of the lake. Alistair stopped and glanced across the gentle waves, face brooding as he grimaced. He pointed south along the shoreline.
"Fereldan's Circle of Magi was housed in a tower about a half day's ride to the south along this coast." His tone was neutral, but she felt fear emanating from the warrior. Cullen had spoken little about his experience when the Circle Tower fell, and she recognized that now was not the time to ask Alistair for elaboration. Most accounts of the incident were vague, but all agreed that Alistair and the Hero of Fereldan saved the Circle's mages from certain destruction at the hands of fanatic blood mages.
They fell silent, their thoughts grave with the imagined horrors that took place there, and followed Alistair as he turned away, keeping the water's edge to his left. Arya eyed the setting sun warily.
"We should think about stopping soon – we only have an hour or so of good daylight left." She saw Alistair nod, but he didn't turn around or slow his pace.
"I know of a defensible place to camp. We came by here so frequently, we even marked the path." He pointed to a tree in their forest to the right, where a large rune was gouged into the ancient bark. Arya frowned, disapproving.
"You couldn't have found a way to mark the place without hurting the tree?" Alistair, to her surprise, chuckled. He even stopped and folded his arms as he turned to survey the tree in subject.
"Haha, yea…she voiced the same protest even as Sten was carving it. I remember he stopped, giant knife in hand, and stared at her incredulously. I mean…I assumed it was incredulous…I could never discern his expression. I think his exact words were, 'It's just a tree.'" Alistair chuckled "I think in hindsight, he was thankful all she did was throw a knife at him and forbade him to harm any more." He smirked, eyes distant with the memory.
"She threw a knife at him? Wasn't he a member of your party?" Arya asked, aghast. It seemed so out of character from the great, compassionate hero she had heard so much about. Alistair turned and laughed outright at her horrified expression.
"Of course. Sten was an…odd bird, as are most Qunari. It was one of the few ways she asserted her strength and made him respect her. And also one of the things that prevented him from snapping her back over his knee like a twig: fear of a dagger between the eyes would do that, I guess. I don't think I've ever seen a more interesting relationship. I still don't quite understand it…but that was part of the magic of her…everyone eventually came to love and respect her." His brows furrowed and she noted the slight droop of his shoulders before he turned and continued walking.
Questions buzzed around Arya's skull, but the Warden was too far from her before she formulated any of them well enough to reach her lips. She glanced at Solas, who was smiling, his eyes distant.
"What?" she asked him, curious and still slightly flabbergasted. He grinned as his blue eyes found hers, twinkling mischievously. He said nothing, but cocked his head slightly as he extended his hand after Varric and Alistair, in a wordless after you.
She watched him suspiciously, then resumed walking and felt him continue his pace beside her.
About ten minutes later, Alistair pointed to a tree where a small Dalish wind chime hung from a branch, tinkling in the evening wind. She smiled as she caught sight of it, for her clan often made such charms and left them in places that they wished to find again. She moved towards it to gain a better look. Solas came up behind her, also gazing at the wooden bauble. The Hero herself must have made this trinket, over a decade ago. She spoke softly, slightly awed.
"I'm glad to see some things about our culture seem to be universal." Her feelings were complex. She was impressed, nostalgic, jealous…Jealous?
"I have seen many of these in my travels, only the materials from which they were crafted seem to differ." Solas responded, scrutinizing the ornament. "Each is unique, reflecting both the land and clan which created it." She nodded, excited.
"Inquisitor?" the voice was Cassandra's. Arya called back and left the charm reluctantly, glancing back over her shoulder once more at it as she trotted to catch up with the Seeker.
They followed the water's edge and came upon a stream that fed into the lake from the mountains to the north. As Alistair turned into the treeline to follow the stream, Arya glanced up to smile at another Dalish chime in a large pine.
They followed Alistair as he trudged uphill along the stream's edge, climbing over boulders and around large ancient trees in his ascent. About a quarter mile further upstream, the ground flattened as the stream emptied out into a large pond, the water churning from the small waterfall that fed it. She grinned through her mildly ragged breathing, surveying the spot Alistair had led them to.
The place was almost serene, with the picturesque waterfall feeding into the clear-watered pond. It bordered a small, grassy clearing where a small stack of firewood was rested against a fire ring demarcated with small rocks. It was just enough space for a small party of theirs to make camp, where they would be protected by the rockface that housed the waterfall and the pond on two sides.
Alistair let out a satisfied sigh. "Ah….just as I remember it." He removed his pack and shield, setting the latter against the rock face that bore the waterfall. He then began a systematic removal of his splint mail, signaling that this was indeed the spot to which he lead them.
As Arya surveyed the pond, a large fat fish erupted from its surface and fell back down with a splash. She grinned. She wouldn't need to hunt in the woods for their dinner that night.
"I have a fish hook in my pack, if the Lady Inquisitor would like to fish." The gruff voice was Blackwall's. She turned, smiling at him.
"I appreciate the offer, sir, but I have no need of a fish hook." She grinned at him as he raised one of his eyebrows. "You'll see."
"As you wish."
Their party chattered excitedly as they arrived, collectively pleased with the idealistic shelter. The clearing was just large enough for a decently sized cookfire to warm their tents without fear of ignition if they pitched them at the treeline. With the ease of people who have spent months of travel together, they each began their respective camp chores.
Varric set his crossbow next to Alistair's shield and went to find firewood to add to the existing pile. Cassandra and Blackwall helped each other out of their armor, sitting together in companionable silence with Alistair as they began to polish the darkspawn blood from the plate mail. Dorian unpacked their tents. Hawke disappeared with Solas in search for edible plants and to set wards along the edge of the camp. Cole was, as usual, nowhere to be seen. She still had no idea what he did with his time. They normally wouldn't see him until after they set out the following morning.
Arya assumed her usual role as huntress, the provider of the evening's meat. There would be no reason to leave the camp in search of game with what she expected was an ample supply of fish in the pond. She eagerly stripped off her armored leather, placing it beside the warriors' pile of plate mail, then removed her overshirt and breeches, leaving her in her smallclothes and her undershirt that covered her breasts and torso, but left her shoulders and arms bare. Alistair raised his eyebrows, but averted his eyes in respect. Blackwall didn't look at her at all.
Shameless, she waded into the pond and shivered as the cold water siphoned the heat from her legs. She used her magic to warm the water immediately adjacent to her skin to spare herself from catching a chill, then bent her legs, right arm raised, ready to strike.
She waited, braced, for the fish to be curious enough to approach her. After a few minutes, a half dozen surrounded her legs, swimming around her in curiosity. A particularly large one swam right in front of her and she pounced, hand slapping the fish from the water and out onto the dry land, where it flopped. Slightly guilty at the misery she caused it as it suffocated, she waited for the other fish to return to her. They were stupid animals, certainly, but she hated to cause unnecessary suffering.
After the third fish, Solas had returned and began chopping the heads off of the fish as she slapped them from the water. She shot him a grateful glance and he nodded, smiling as he sat to watch her as she continued her hunt.
All the more nervous with the knowledge that Solas was watching her, she found her concentration waned each time she watched him deftly catch the fish she flung from the water, ending its life with a deft slice of his sharp traveler's knife before sliding his knife up the belly and removing its entrails.
After a while, it became a game, seeing how far from him she could send the flying fish so that he'd have to scramble to catch them, yet he still managed to catch every single one. His speed was incredible, and his grin widened when he realized what she was doing. Her heart skipped at beat.
In truth, he had only set wards around the camp, leaving Hawke to scour for food, giving in to his curiosity to see how she planned to provide fish for them after her polite refusal of Blackwall's offer of a fish-hook. He had never watched her fish before, wondering if this talent was common amongst her people or if it was another quirky skill she managed to perfect over her travels. He admired her concentration and competency as she stalked her prey.
He also enjoyed how he could observe her without her noticing where his eyes traveled, slightly irritated her legs were available for all of their party to admire, made all the more beautiful as the setting sun's rays glistened off of the water droplets on her muscular thighs and calves as she crouched. He felt his pulse quicken with arousal, annoyed with himself at his partaking in the guilty pleasure.
In her attempt to fling a fish too far away for him to catch, her feet flew out from under her as her balance failed. She fell backwards on her bottom into the stream with a squawk, water splashing and drenching her shirt. She laughed and checked to see if he had caught the fish. He had. She scowled.
"That's what I get for trying to be fancy, I suppose."
Her shirt clung to her breasts as she stood, laughing, nipples hardening instantly in the chill air. Her small breasts had no need of a breastband, so the wet fabric left nothing to the imagination. Solas felt his breath catch in his throat. He only barely managed to keep his eyes from bulging as he stared at her with longing. She must've caught the intensity of his gaze for she looked down at her shirt and its new transparency. He saw her face flush pink, but as she caught his eyes, she winked seductively. He tried to hide the hunger from his face as he maintained her gaze. She turned from him, then, making sure he caught a full view of her bum as she bent forward suggestively, feigning looking for more fish.
He kept heat from rising in his face, but could do nothing to prevent the rush of heat to his groin as she teased him, knowing that he yet to physically act on any of her flirtations beyond benign touches and that one kiss in the Fade. Her boldness made her all the more attractive to him.
He hurried back to his spot next to the large pile of fish with his new prize, noticing how the party was pretending to not watch their game, save for Blackwall, who was opening staring at Arya. Solas was unable to prevent the snarl that curled his lip upward as he bared his teeth possessively at the warrior. Sensing Solas's glare, Blackwall's gaze was torn from the elven woman and looked at him, and turned away hastily as he resumed polishing his armor. Solas caught Varric's smirk, but ignored him.
They continue the game until she had almost two dozen fish. Night had almost fallen, and the camp members had finished their chores and sat watching them. Solas was relieved to see that Arya's shirt had dried to provide some semblance of decency.
They feasted on roasted fish that night, sighing happily, bellies warm and full. Arya particularly enjoyed its pairing with the salty brown bread they had bought from the villagers as they left Storm Coast.
Night had fallen completely by that point, and Arya removed herself from the fire, using the excuse of grabbing the pile of fish guts to dump near the lake, far from their camp.
She took a circuitous route back to camp, emerging on the other side of the pond from her party, concealed in the long shadows cast by their campfire. In its light, she climbed up the slippery rockface and emerged in a garden of boulders. A large oak had fallen across the mouth of the waterfall, suspended by two large, moss covered rocks. She pressed her palm to the ancient wood, sending her magic to probe deep inside the tree.
Tell me you secrets, Grandfather, she called to the oak.
Like most ancient oaks, he met his end from a storm – his great boughs unable to yield to the harsh wind as his trunk was ripped from the earth, roots succumbing in their age as they were forcefully torn from the soft earth of the advancing stream bed.
She leaped onto his great body, walking nimbly out to the mouth of the tiny waterfall. She left her bare toes dip into the cool, churning water, watching as it gushed, plummeting over the ledge. She sighed, relaxing in the privacy of the quiet roar of the waterfall. If she leaned to her left, she could see her party members in the clearing below, circled around the campfire - Varric was mending a shirt while Cassandra, Blackwall, and Hawke chatted with Alistair. Cassandra and Hawke had their heads tilted back in raucous laughter as Alistair gesticulated comically, then laughed himself.
Just then, Arya felt her skin tingle with a familiar magic – Solas's: he was searching for her. She cast her thoughts behind her into the woods, calling to him with her magic, not entirely surprised he was on this upper plateau with her. She felt a brief acknowledgement as his mind brushed hers.
The tree quivered slightly as Solas stepped onto the giant trunk, the vibrations of his footsteps her only indication she was no longer alone as he made his way toward her perch on the natural pier on bare feet. She smiled as he dropped to sit beside her, his arm encircling her waist as he settled himself comfortably onto the wood. Her breath caught in her throat – it was one of the first times he had initiated contact with her in such an intimate way. She felt her pulse quicken and heat rise in her face. Luckily, it was dark.
"This place is quite beautiful." The voice in her ear was soft, barely audible over the rushing water. She nodded her head faintly in agreement, enjoying the feel of his breath on her neck. She turned her head towards him and he lifted his chin so that his lips brushed her ear gently, pulling back in a grin as she shivered at the touch. Embarrassed, she turned from him and lifted her head to gaze at the sky. It was yet still too light for the stars to appear.
"Yes." She agreed finally. "I am glad that Alistair shared it with us. I imagine this place is dear to him." The waterfall would eliminate the words of their conversation, so she allowed herself to enjoy the time alone with him. He pressed his forehead against the fabric of her shirt, bringing his other hand to rest on her knee.
"And rightfully so. This place is heavy with magic, can you feel it?" She thought about it, finding it hard to concentrate with the novel feeling of him touching her.
"My senses are dulled by the neighboring water…the stream, the raging waterfall. And while I find the sound soothing, the fire in my blood is quieted. Water isn't the best friend of fire." She grinned and felt him chuckle against her.
"Indeed. While I sometimes find myself envious in your control of such a primal element, I am glad my I don't have such opposing forces to my nature." She shrugged, unconcerned.
"We can't all be perfect." He laughed outright at that.
"Meaning that I think myself perfect?" She felt him smirk. "While I do like myself and my talents, I am beyond perfect. As is anyone."
"Your perpetual smugness would suggest otherwise," she said through a grin. His grip around her waist tightened.
"Possibly." He was silent for a while, and she allowed her thoughts to drift to their new party member and his mate. How she wished she could justify peppering Alistair with questions about his Dalish love. After her mind completed this thought, Solas broke the silence.
"When we retire for the evening, I have something I would like to show you." His words seemed harmless, but they sent her heart pumping in joy. She knew he meant they'd be spending another night together in the Fade.
"Oh?" She asked innocently, trying to hide her enthusiasm.
"Yes. I imagine it will answer certain questions you have been unwilling to voice as of late." She wanted to inquire further, but knew it would be wiser if she just waited: Solas was not only intensely insightful, but he was also a showman through and through - his teachings were meticulously designed to maximize their effect. She enjoyed being able to go along for the ride, basking in yielding control to her proficient companion.
But his immediacy was too rare for her to yet return to her party's inspecting eyes, so she sat and watched the stars appear with him, deeply aware of each part of their skin that touched, reveling in their closeness.
Eventually, the night caused the air to chill, and they sought the sanctuary and warmth of their campfire. There were a few raised eyebrows as they climbed down the rockface together, but all of them had the good sense to not comment - they already knew something was brewing between the two elves. Blackwall coughed and shifted uncomfortably.
She spent a while with her companions around the fire, listening to Varric tell a comical story about a thief who tried to steal from the Hawke mansion. Hawke interjected occasionally, adding comments and correcting his embellishments. Her companions laughed, and when the storyteller concluded his tale, she took the opportunity to transition to sleep, eager to meet Solas.
"Who would like first watch this night? I will sit the one in the morning."
To her surprise, Alistair and Varric simultaneously answered "I will," then looked at each other, trying to decide if they should reconsider.
"Excellent!" she replied, effectively discouraging protest from either of them. "You two have fun!" She winked outrageously at them, earning a laugh from the dwarf as she turned away from the fire and toward the tent Dorian had set up for her. She picked up her pack that had been placed at its entrance and brought it into the tent with her.
She untied her bedroll from the bottom of the pack and spread it out. She climbed into it eagerly, nestling into the soft furs and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her.
She found herself standing in the same clearing that they camped, the colors distorted and overly bright, signifying her presence in the Fade. The tents had disappeared, but everything was exactly as she remembered – the waterfall, the rockface, even the ancient oak as it straddled the mouth of the waterfall.
A large Mabari bounded from the edge of the forest where the stream led to the lake, barking excitedly. It ran towards her, and Arya stumbled backward briefly in alarm, her instinct of self-preservation making her momentarily forget that she could not interact with memories in the Fade. Indeed, even as she recovered from her initial shock, she warily eyed the great dog.
She hadn't ever met a Mabari of this size, whose great head was almost level with her eyes as she approached it. The giant animal could easily rip off her arm in its mighty jaws. Its powerful muscles rippled as it skidded to a halt in the center of the clearing, upending grass and a few leaves that had fallen. It pranced in a happy circle then, and stood watching the place from whence it came, tail wagging, waiting. Arya approached the impressive beast, amazed at the sheer size of it.
"Surely all Mabari are not this large." She said in wonder and slight disbelief, unable to take her eyes from the magnificent animal. She heard a familiar chuckle and jumped. Solas had found her, as he always had, waiting until she was distracted before making his presence known.
"Indeed, they are not. I think that this particular Mabari, however, was rather unique not only in size, but in caliber of spirit. I imagine those who influence this memory thought so, as well."
"Why? What's so special about him? Beyond easily being able to eat me whole." Solas smirked, amused at her needless caution, but did not answer. When she looked back at him, wanting explanation, he shook his head at her, gesturing toward the trees where the Mabari stared expectantly. She sighed, slightly annoyed, but trusted him.
A small woman burst from the treeline, sprinting toward them, and the Mabari bowed, slapping the ground with his paws and then turned in a joyful circle, barking happily in greeting. When she saw the dog, the woman's shoulders drooped and her head fell back in apparent exasperation and her feet plodded to a stop, the two criss-crossing belts of knives around her torso clinked against her plated leather armor. The woman was small in frame and lithe, but even without the physical clues, Arya would've instantly recognized one of her kinsman. The elven woman had her bushy brown hair pulled back in a horse's tail, her pointed ears barely visible through the thick mane.
The newcomer then let her torso fall forward, bracing her hands on her bent knees, head falling forward as she fought to catch her breath.
"You…little…ugh. Do you know how...steep that hill is?!" The words came through gasping breaths as she panted.
The Mabari bounded toward her, woofing, halting in front of his mistress. She watched as the warhound cocked its head to one side and whined, begging attention.
"Why, pray….did we need to run?!"
The woman lunged forward in an attempt to wrap her tiny arms around the great beast's neck. The dog jumped backward just enough so that she overshot her lunge and fell forward into the grass with an "oof!" and she lay there, panting. The hound barked a laugh, nuzzling her head. Arya heard the woman laugh a musical laugh as the dog rolled her over, licking her face enthusiastically.
"Fenedhis! Enough, ma'fen! You great beast." The dog woofed and backed away, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in a dog laugh. She sat up, a few pieces of dried grass stuck to her hair.
Arya stooped to examine her, trying to place her, determine her significance. The woman was still breathing heavily as she grinned, holding a hand out to the dog, who licked it enthusiastically before trotting off back toward the break in the trees, following the stream as it rolled down the mountain. She smiled fondly at the retreating animal.
Arya could only stare at this woman, who literally shone, exuding a power that she was unsure was a just a conjuration of the Fade. She was certainly Dalish, her angular face marked with the vallasin of her people. She studied the markings and determined that she was pledged to Anduril, the goddess of the hunt. Arya grinned in approval. She, herself, had spent considerable time deciding between the Huntress and the Protector, and eventually conceded to her heart's wish of pledging to Mythal.
This woman's armor was of human make, but fit well - a supple leather enforced by light metal plates overlaying chain mail. The armor was both attractive and utilitarian, obviously made by a master craftsman. As she first noted, this woman wore two belts that criss-crossed her torso, each sporting an impressive collection of throwing knives, sheathed in scaled leather. Two longer knives were sheathed at her belt, and the handles were black, inlaid with silver – ironbark, the sign they were made by a master Dalish craftsmen.
Arya studied the woman's face, trying greatly to place who she was. She must be someone of great importance, else Solas would not have brought her here to this moment. Her look was one of the southern elves, her olive skin complementing her dark brown hair and eyes. A few wisps of hair had escaped their confinement, and others were plastered to her face by dog saliva. She seemed to not mind, but sat, waiting, staring at the direction in which her dog trotted.
Arya was sure she was missing something. Mabari were human animals…she had only ever seen them as part of human hunting parties…what was one doing with an elf?
Arya felt a hand on her shoulder and grasped it, looking up into Solas's smug expression. As it was beginning to dawn on her, she was distracted by a shout.
"Ilyara!" Arya jumped. It was a male's voice.
A large, familiar blonde man emerged through the trees, panting as he was followed by the happy Mabari, who immediately ran past him to greet the elven woman by licking her face. Laughing, she shoved the animal off, breaking into a wide grin at the sight of the human. His armor was bronzed splint mail, worn and dented, but well cared for. He was so familiar...but it was the mirrored griffon on his pauldron that gave him away.
Arya gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in her shock. No…
"It's….it's Alistair." she breathed out the words in wonder, and felt the slight squeeze of Solas's hand on her shoulder in confirmation.
"Then that means…." She turned back to the brunette elf, awestruck, watching as the human approached her with the goofy grin of love on his face. The still winded elf smiled broadly back at him, holding her hands out to the man. Alistair took them, pulling her to her feet so roughly that she was lifted off of the ground and crashed into his chest. Laughing, her arms wrapped around him, and he kissed her neck sweetly. She giggled, turning her head so that her lips captured his. She melted against him, his large hands easily able to support her tiny armored frame against him as one of her feet rose.
Now she understood.
"That's…she's the Hero of Fereldan."
"Yes." His voice was pleased. Her next words were interrupted by a new voice.
"Oh…how revolting." A sour female voice intruded upon the tender moment, and they broke apart instantly, Alistair's face reddening in a blush as he set the elf down hurriedly. Ilyara, unimpressed, glanced back to a half-naked woman carrying a staff capped by a large talon, beaded feathers clinking from its base as she planted the weapon into the ground, scowling at them. Ilyara cocked an eyebrow at the newcomer.
"If it disgusts you so, you can just…you know…not look." The tone wasn't quite hostile, but it wasn't friendly, either. She turned back to laugh at the flushed face of her love.
"If that were the case, I would be forever stumbling into things, attempting to avoid the way you paw at one another constantly." The human woman's eyes turned distant as she surveyed the clearing, walking past them in an almost-daze.
"This…this is place of wonder." The woman walked forward then, ignoring the pair as she extended her hands in apparent basking. "I wonder why your mangy beast led us here…" The coupled watched her approach the waterfall, then shrugged at each other.
A large, hornless Qunari then emerged from the trees, face expressionless as he observed them, then surveyed their surroundings.
"This is an acceptable place to make camp." He said simply, and shrugged his large pack from his shoulder. He unsheathed a great waraxe and made for the treeline.
She watched with amusement as the Qunari approached a young tree and drew the great weapon back, only to halt in midswing by the shriek of the tiny elf as she ran toward to the giant man, waving her arms, gesticulating wildly at the trees in exasperation as she berated the Qunari. Sten stood stoically, watching her without expression, and only put his axe down when she was done, red faced with her fists clenched at her side as she glared at him, quivering with anger. Arya couldn't help but laugh. The large man seemed unimpressed by her rage, and simply began to unpack tents, completely unaware that her own party lay camped there already in the present, a decade later.
"You think that he would have learned." The sassy voice sported a familiar accent, similar to that of Josephine's. She turned to see an elf appear from the forest.
She watched as they approached, people all but figures of legend. – Zevran, the elven Antivan Crow, Wynne, an elderly mage from the Circle, but the last figure to emerge she expected, but wasn't prepared to see.
"Leliana…." She exhaled as the Hero of Fereldan was momentarily forgotten.
The Nightingale was younger, certainly, and her face lacked the hard determination of the spymaster's, but it was Leliana, alright. She wore boiled leather emblazed with the golden sun of the Chantry with a quiver strung over one shoulder, a bow over the other. Arya took the opportunity to study her friend closely, whose young face was alive and gentle as she helped the large Qunari set up their tents. Her red hair was cropped short, and she frequently ran her fingers through it as it fell into her eyes as she bent to hammer stakes into the ground. Arya had yet to see Leliana with her hood down, sad that her friend forever walked cowled, only having Iron Bull's word that her hair was red.
When they finished with the tents, Leliana grabbed her pack and approached the fire where Wynne was preparing a large pot of stew. The ladies chatted briefly, then Leliana pulled a lute from her pack, plucking the strings and humming as she tuned the instrument. Ilyara appeared suddenly, excitedly sitting next to the red-haired bard. The Nightingale turned to grin at her and then began strumming a tune on the lute. Ilyara also broke into a wide grin, waiting expectantly. Arya approached them at the fire, sitting next to the elderly woman so that she could watch the bard and her hero.
Leliana began to sing a soft tune, her fingers plucking the strings in time. Her voice was as clear and sweet as Arya remembered it in their retreat from Haven, but now it sung about a human hunter when he became lost in a primeval forest. As she finished the verse, Arya was surprised to hear Ilyara continue the second verse about the hunter meeting a Dalish elf whom he fell in love with instantly. She was a beautiful alto, her voice happy and rich, and it complemented Leliana's well when she joined in for the third verse, where they sang in harmony about how the hunter was accidentally slain by her clan members when she brought him back to tell them of their love. When they finished, Arya became aware of the tears that streamed down her face, completely overwhelmed.
She felt warmth at her side as Solas knelt beside her, saying nothing. She was silent for a long time as she watched the party interact around the campfire, trying to sort out her feelings. As much as she enjoyed watching them, she still couldn't determine what Solas was trying to demonstrate by bringing her to this place in time. The group seemed…so normal, such a stark contrast from the titanic figures of near-myth she had heard about. You would never have known that they battled darkspawn and werewolves and the traitorous armies of men if you looked at this one snapshot in time, their troubles seemed to be forgotten or ignored well.
The longer she watched, the less she saw of the Hero of Fereldan and her legendary companions…and the more she saw a group of diverse friends make camp and enjoy each other's company as they waited for night to fall.
Her next words were awed as the thought occurred to her.
"They're…they're just like us. Just like how we set up our own camp this evening."
"Yes."
"But…" Her voice was soft, and she found her disquiet and wonder hard to put into words. It wasn't that she was disappointed, but she imagined the Hero of Fereldan to be more…heroic. Not a woman who shrieked when she got upset, or shared a cute moment with her love that got interrupted by a friend.
"Are you displeased?" she heard hurt in his voice for the first time and turned to him, her eyes bright, glistening.
"No, it's…it's wonderful." She said truthfully. His expression softened as he gazed at her, his blue eyes intelligent as he inspected her face. He brought a hand up to her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb tenderly. She covered his hand with hers as it rested against her cheek, closing her eyes as she turned her head into it.
"She's so…real." She felt him nod, and she could feel him collecting his thoughts and knew he would elaborate if she waited patiently - his adventures always had a rhythm, and he seemed to delight in explaining his teachings as much he enjoyed her figuring them out on her own. And this time, she needed some elucidation.
Solas's voice was quiet when he spoke.
"I listened as you questioned Alistair about Ilyara, heard the fervor and longing in your voice. I understand your want to learn about a person you admire. Indeed, she is of your people, a figure of legend. You should admire her. You wonder what she was like, how she handled herself in the situation in which she was thrust against her will, if she was plagued with doubts." She felt him hesitate slightly.
"As you are now." She looked at him sharply, but his eyes were soft, too wise and perceptive as he gazed at her.
"And you sensed Alistair's pain and refused to add to it, regardless of how much you wished to learn about who she really was – not just the stories that you were told." He stopped, his tone lightening. Arya found herself unable to take her eyes off of Ilyara, who was now leaning against Alistair's knees where he sat, a bowl of stew in her hand.
"Tell me, da'len, what do you know of her? Do you know of her origin that set her on her quest?"
Arya nodded, confused. "From what I was told, she was infected somehow with darkspawn taint while exploring an ancient Elvhen ruin with her clanmate. Her clanmate died, but she survived. A Grey Warden happened to be passing by, intervened, and gave her a choice: to join the Wardens…or be slowly consumed by the taint." Solas nodded.
"The truth is more somewhat darker and more complex, but that is the essence of the story. She was torn from her clan and thrust into the world of human politics to be judged relentlessly by the very people she was trying to save. Luckily for us, her misfortune provided us a chance to combat the Blight, and she, as you are aware, triumphed quite spectacularly."
He paused, running his finger over her cheek. His calloused thumb was comforting, and she became aware at their immediacy in how he knelt beside her.
"I told you when we first met that every story has its hero, and I wondered what kind you will be. In this most recent adventure," he waved his hands at the fire around with Ilyara sat with her companions "The one preceding yours…the hero of the story is a Dalish woman just like yourself – one whose beginning is remarkably similar to your own." His fingers traveled from her cheek to her forehead, tracing the lines of her vallaslin. She drew in her breath, finally able to take her eyes from the Dalish elf. They had only ever talked of her vallaslin once before, as speaking of her people angered him. He had certainly never touched the marks before. He spoke quietly, hushed, almost lovingly.
"You revere this woman as a hero, yet you insist to your friends and even strangers that you are just an ordinary person 'like everyone else'. The truth is, da'len, that you are no more ordinary than her, and she is remarkable."
"You must understand that this is precisely how others see you. You are an idol to them, 'Herald of Andraste,' and only a few will see you as the person that you are. But your title makes you no less a person than her title does, even though hers was given after the conclusion of her quest, while you attempt to live up to yours."
"I find myself perpetually amazed that you are real. Your idealistic notions of love, restoration, and the goodness of people…it seems too romantic to be true."
"But you are here, as real as she is, and even you couldn't help but idolize her. History writes her as a character of legend, one whose deeds seem too unfeasible to be authentic, yet history is based in fact, and you can see for yourself that she is like you. She had friends she relied upon, but she is as you insist to others – merely a person. A wise and brave person, as you are, but still a person."
"And this," he again indicated the campsite, "Is my way of giving you perspective. I can't elucidate on her motivations and desires, not even Alistair can do such a thing. But I can show you how others saw her. And attempt to satisfy your insatiable curiosity." She grinned at him, and his eyes sparkled. "I wanted to show you what you were too kind to ask of Alistair. For even the words of her lover would not do her justice."
She felt tears brim in her eyes as she turned to watch the woman she admired since learning of her existence. Ilyara laughed with her comrades, lost her temper, must have made mistakes, but others still loved her and apparently believed in her. And if she, a Dalish elf, could accomplish such a great feat as slaying an Archdemon, maybe she could indeed lead her people to victory against Corypheus. She hadn't realized how greatly she needed the validation Solas was giving her, how much she truly doubted that she was a capable enough person to accomplish such a monumental task. It was so easy to doubt herself when the person she looked up to the most was idolized out of reality, someone too mighty to possibly emulate. And to be able to actual watch her in the past, as she was…even if it was through the eyes of spirits…
His gift was beyond priceless.
What mattered even more to her was how Solas spoke of her, as if he genuinely admired her and her decisions, as though he truly believed in her.
She looked up at him, emerald eyes thankful as she met his gaze.
"Ma serannas, Solas." She said sincerely, her eyes filled with admiration and love, wishing she could formulate more appropriate words to express her profound appreciation. Emboldened by his words of praise, she reached out and took his hand gently. She felt him stiffen, and was confused at his reticence. He had initiated touching her several times since that kiss in the Fade and had even touched her mere moments ago, his fingertips running gently over her face as he traced her blood writing. And while she promised to let him set the pace of their budding relationship, she assumed this was an announcement of his love and want of her. Especially with how hungrily he had watched her when she fished earlier that evening.
Her brows furrowed, her hopes dwindling when he didn't respond to her touch. His blue eyes were intense, calculating, unreadable. She felt tears brim in her eyes again and looked down, embarrassed and ashamed that she misread his signals. She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened on her hand, preventing her from pulling away. Her eyes snapped back to his, unbidden hope rising in her heart.
His powerful eyes searched her face before his brows furrowed in consternation.
"We shouldn't, da'len." He said softly. She refused to voice her automatic question of 'why?' and simply responded with her eyes, layering them with all the love and hope and determination she felt, hoping that she would convince him that she didn't care, whatever his reasons were.
She saw the faint shift in his expression that signaled she won, but before she could react, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, silencing all thoughts but those that focused on the feel of his lips against hers.
Her heart melted and she quivered in delight as her joy manifested through her, leaning into the kiss, relishing the softness of his mouth. He tried to pull back, but she pulled at their joined hands and opened her mouth in invitation. She felt him groan as his tongue delved into her mouth, his grip on her hand tightening and his other hand reached around her to pull her close as he deepened the kiss.
When they broke apart, her face was flushed and her heart pounded, her entire body quivering. She felt him bring her hand up to his mouth, where he kissed the knuckles sweetly before looking into her eyes, smiling softly.
"Why do I find myself so utterly incapable of resisting you?" he asked rhetorically, a gentle finger brushing a stray red curl from her face. She grinned at him in response, triumphant, and moved in for another kiss, unsatisfied with the duration of the first. He pulled back and she frowned, but he put a finger to his lips and pointed back to the campfire around which sat the Hero of Fereldan.
"Did you forget where we are, emm'asha?" The word of endearment made her heart tighten her chest and she knew he was manipulating her, but she allowed it. After all, she did wish to see more of her hero.
They spent the rest of the night watching the people across the decade-old campfire, nestled side by side, fingers interlaced.