Lavellan was not sulking. It was just – she was caught up in this shemlen Inquisition for the foreseeable future, all thanks to some mysterious mark on her hand. Creators, how she'd wanted to laugh in the Seeker's face (who had been the first to accuse her of mass murder!) when she'd requested Lavellan's help. But she knew that if Keeper Istimaethoriel had been present, she would have urged Lavellan to accept, to think of the well-being of their Clan and indeed all of Thedas and do everything she could to close the Breach.
So Lavellan had agreed to join, for now, and had fallen in with this ragtag group. At least she'd be leaving Haven for the Hinterlands soon, off to find some Chantry shem.
She'd love to train, to swing her sword for a good long while, but the training yard outside Haven's walls was teeming with shemlen activity. Since she hardly wished to practice with raw recruits who barely knew which end of the sword was up, who would stare wide-eyed and whisper amongst themselves about the "Herald of Andraste" (Mythal's might upon the dead shem), Lavellan had steered clear.
She'd wandered the camp somewhat restlessly. Varric, the dwarven storyteller, had engaged her in small talk that hadn't been entirely unpleasant. He'd even told her a little about Lyra Mahariel, the Hero of Fereldan, and with a sly grin had told her that if she wished to know more, she should seek out the spymaster. "She probably knows more…intimate details than I do," he'd said. Lavellan had furrowed her brows, knowing there was a meaning behind his words and unsure what it was, and if she even wanted to know.
She had followed the dirt path past the tavern and, spotting Solas standing in front of one of the huts next to the apothecary, had ascended the stairs to speak with him. While he wasn't Dalish, he wasn't exactly a flat-ear either, and at least he was an elf.
Though with his first words to her, she almost turned back the way she came.
"The chosen of Andraste," he greeted, watching her with shrewd eyes and the hint of a smile. "A blessed hero sent to save us all."
Lavellan bristled. "I am no hero, especially not one of a shemlen prophet." At Solas' raised brow but otherwise stoic expression, she continued. "I am here to mend the sky, nothing more."
Solas frowned, eyeing her and then glancing away. "Balk at the title if you wish, but the deed alone will brand you a hero, and the mark elevates you to a sort of mysticism." He paused, but looked as if he wanted to say more, so Lavellan jumped in.
"Solas, why are you here? Among all of these faithful," she wrinkled her nose in distaste – the Chantry could rot for all Lavellan cared – and pressed on, "and all of these shems?" The other elf may be clanless, but Lavellan couldn't understand why he would give up his freedom for…this.
Solas turned back to her, seeming unsurprised by the question. "Because here is where I am needed. Here is where I can help." His eyes swept over the village behind her. "I imagine that is what drew many to this place."
A wooden creak drew Lavellan's attention. The apothecary door swung open, and Trevelyan stepped out, carrying an empty basket and saying something over her shoulder to someone still inside. When she noticed the two elves, she gave them a dazzling smile.
Not dazzling, Lavellan thought with annoyance. Just an idiotic smile of an irritating shem.
"Good day, Lady Herald," Trevelyan said as she walked by, the barest undercurrent of – teasing? taunting? – in her tone. She winked at Lavellan, smile widening in amusement when the elf scoffed. "And to you, Solas," she added, nodding to him.
When it was apparent Lavellan would offer nothing but stony silence, Solas spoke up. "Good day to you as well, Lady Trevelyan."
Lavellan watched broodily as Trevelyan left, then whirled on Solas. "How do you manage, surrounded by shemlen like that?"
"For starters, I don't become cross from a simple greeting," Solas replied wryly, tilting his head and crossing his arms behind his back. "Lady Trevelyan has been a useful ally since she arrived in Haven, and her healing magic has been a boon more than once."
Lavellan shook her head. "A shem is a shem," she said resolutely.
Solas studied her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Did something happen with your clan, to foster such animosity?" he inquired, curiosity and perhaps a touch of sadness behind the question.
Lavellan turned, letting her gaze wander over the top of Haven's protective wall, over the frozen lake, over the gently sloping hills, over the distant trees. Her thoughts turned wistful as she thought of her clan. "No. The Lavellan clan has always traded openly with humans. The Keeper demands we show them respect. But…" Lavellan released a ragged breath, hands balling into fists at her side. "They call us knife-ear when they think we can't hear, and demand prices they would not ask for from another human. And we hear stories, passed along in whispers, of other clans that have been attacked by them, or chased from their settlements, or da'len that have been stolen in the night." Lavellan gritted her teeth, feeling her pulse quicken with a familiar anger. "No, the Keeper, the rest of my clan may turn their eyes and ears from this, but I will not."
Behind her, Solas was silent for a time, as if weighing her words. At last, he said plainly, "History would be on your side."
Lavellan snorted. That was an understatement.
"But," Solas continued patiently. "Current circumstances may demand more of you. Given the chaos that is engulfing the world, given your central place in the Inquisition, you will need to grant your allies a degree of trust. We are fighting for the same goal, after all."
A noise of disgust left Lavellan's throat. She would give shemlen all the trust they deserved, she thought. Which was to say: none.
As Lavellan turned and stalked away, Solas called after her. "Consider my words, at least."
"Hmph." Lavellan refused to dignify that with a response.
There was nowhere within Haven's walls that would offer peace, so Lavellan pushed open Haven's gate and ventured outside. She walked with swift steps along the path, eyes fixed upon the ground so as not to acknowledge anyone she passed. The din of clanging swords and grunts of exertion filled the air as she passed the training yard. Her sword hand itched for action at the sound, but Lavellan kept on. When the path forked, she veered up the hill and towards the trees there, thinking the albeit pathetic excuse for a woods would grant her a sense of familiarity and comfort.
She was not disappointed. The clamor of Haven and its inhabitants was muffled by the snow and pines. Birds cawwed back and forth to one another, and an occasional nug (Lavellan recognized them by their hide, which made for sturdy and light gloves that the hunters of her clan often traded for) scampered by, snuffling for roots to eat around the base of the trees. Lavellan's nostrils flared as she breathed deeply, inhaling the sharp and crisp, refreshing scent of pine.
Lavellan left the path, slowly snaking her way around the trees. Her gaze drifted to the sky. Cloudless, an unending stretch of washed out cerulean. A perfect day for hunting, and it made Lavellan long wistfully for a bow. She had never been a particularly good shot, not compared to others in her clan, but she could outshoot a shemlen archer any day. Any Dalish could.
Well, perhaps not the Keeper's apprentice, Lavellan thought with a smile. Poor ungainly da'len. Lavellan suspected he needed his staff as much as for a third leg as anything else.
A slight sound, a rustle in the snow, pulled Lavellan out of her thoughts. Mood sinking, she realized she was not alone, a robed form hunched near the base of a tree a few paces off. The dark auburn hair was a dead giveaway.
"You," Lavellan ground out accusingly.
Trevelyan's shoulders stiffened and she glanced up sharply. When she saw it was Lavellan, she relaxed, arching a brow. "If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect you were following me." She didn't seem particularly perturbed by the thought.
Lavellan rolled her eyes, pointedly turning away but keeping the mage's profile in view. "Don't flatter yourself. I came here to escape all the shemlen, not seek out the most annoying one of them."
Trevelyan laughed softly, but shockingly she stayed quiet. Lavellan couldn't tell at this viewpoint, but it appeared that, like the nugs she'd seen, the woman was rooting around in the snow.
Lavellan considered walking away, but showing her back to the shemlen this soon would be a sign of, if not defeat then complacency. She had to at least get in a last cutting word to put Trevelyan in her place.
"Why are you here, shem?" Realizing the question could be interpreted as more curious than angry, Lavellan added somewhat snidely, "Other than to pollute the sense of calm here."
Trevelyan hummed, and out of the corner of her eyes Lavellan could see the mage's lips quirk in a light smile. "I'm not sure I'm the one polluting it," she said casually. She leaned back, angling herself to face the elf more fully, and waved a stalk of elfroot in her hand. "Gathering elfroot. It's about the only herb that will grow here, unfortunately, but it makes a decent healing potion. Or slog, as you so eloquently put it earlier."
Lavellan crossed her arms over her chest. "If you're seeking an apology, shem, you won't get one." Never, Lavellan thought.
"I wouldn't dare to hope," Trevelyan muttered. She plucked the remainder of the leaves from the elfroot, placing them in the basket at her side, then stood. She scanned the area and moved to the next plant, back to the elf. She called over her shoulder, "You know, if you'd like to lend a pair of hands…"
Lavellan snorted derisively. "You want me to pick elfroot with you?" The very idea seemed absurd to her. Why would she want anything to do with the shem mage?
She could practically hear Trevelyan's eyes roll, though she couldn't see it. "No," Trevelyan drawled, drawing the word out, sarcasm lightly lacing her tone. "I want you to give me a massage."
Lavellan felt her whole face heat up, posture going rigid. She scowled, indignant. "I…" It took a moment for Levellan to work words out past her clenched jaw. "I would never touch you, shem." The thought made her heart pound.
"Maker's breath, I wasn't – I just thought –" Trevelyan bit off the sentence and let out a aggravated sigh. She brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Never mind. You know, for someone who apparently wants to be alone, you're doing a poor job of it." She pointed out, sounding exasperated, and that combined with what she'd said irritated Lavellan further. As if it was Lavellan's fault. As if Lavellan had wanted this.
Lavellan growled, but before she could respond with the scathing retort that danced on the tip of her tongue, the mage stood and grabbed her basket in a white-knuckled grip. She began to stalk off down the hill.
"Where are you going, shemlen?" The cross demand left Lavellan's lips before she could think twice about it. Lavellan frowned at herself. Why should she care? She should let the stupid shem go in silence and be grateful for the quiet she'd leave in her wake.
Trevelyan didn't look back. "Elsewhere," she said simply. While her voice had an edge to it, she did not sound angry. "Just – enjoy your peace and quiet, Lady Herald."
Lavellan watched her go, feeling a strange mix of victory and frustration. "I will," she replied sullenly, though the shemlen was too far to hear.
She turned away and wandered back along the sparse woods for a long time, trudging through the snow with slow steps. The quiet sounds of nature surrounded her, but infuriatingly, it did not bring with it the sense of calm it had before.
It was all that stupid shemlen's fault, Lavellan thought, and glared up at the sky. Stupid fucking shemlen.