Sorry for the long delay (life stuff, y'know?). Here's an extra long chapter 4 to make up for it! Line breaks indicate a short amount of time passing between scenes, and ~...~ breaks indicate scene breaks. As always, I hope you enjoy, and if you see anything that needs editing/embellishment, let me know!
The party had barely staked out a campsite for the coming night, a comfortable little nook in the valley of the mountains, than Lavellan had thrown down her pack and rifled through it. She grabbed her bow and quiver, and without a second look at her companions started trekking off.
She'd managed a handful of paces before the Seeker called out to her. "Where are you going?"
Lavellan kept her reply short, curt. "Hunting, while there is still daylight." She glanced over her shoulder, narrowed eyes glinting warningly. "Unless, after everything, I am still a prisoner?" she challenged, noticing that everyone in the new camp suddenly quieted, as if holding their breath.
Cassandra scoffed. "Of course not." Lavellan was about to turn and go, but the raven-haired warrior added, "Only… Perhaps you should not go alone." Her eyes darted to Lavellan's mark, then away. The righteous (self-righteous) shem wanted to protect her asset. Lavellan was hardly surprised, though she wondered whether the Seeker thought she'd lose it to Lavellan getting ambushed or her simply running away.
Varric snorted, sitting on a log near the center of camp and examining Bianca, his crossbow. "She hardly needs a babysitter, Seeker," he pointed out dryly, not looking up.
"I've come this far without one," Lavellan agreed testily, staring down the warrior, hands curling into fists. It was an insult, to her abilities and to her honor, that the shemlen warrior thought she did. But wasn't that the shem way? Lavellan thought angrily. To think so little of the Dalish.
The muscles in Cassandra's jaw bulged under her skin where she held her jaw so tightly Lavellan was surprised her teeth didn't crack. "Yes," she relented at last. "I suppose you have." She pointedly turned away, signaling that Lavellan was free to do as she wished.
Lavellan needed no other encouragement, and she quickly stomped away with a scowl, shoulders rigid.
"She has a point, Lady Cassandra," the distinct lilt of Trevelyan's just carried far enough to reach Lavellan's ears. The mage began to say something else, but Lavellan didn't pause. Mythal take her companions, at least for the time being. After a full day's march with them, she deserved to be on her own.
Lavellan strung her bow as she walked, checking its tautness and humming in satisfaction at the bowstring's ensuing twang. The weapon felt odd in her hand, shorter and stockier than Dalish bows, made of an unfamiliar wood. It was a basic hunting bow, but it had been the best that Lavellan had been able to scour up without having to buy one from Seggrit, the shem scum (she'd heard him call one of the elves "knife-ear," and had vowed to never as much as look at his wares).
Lavellan picked out her way based on instinct, scanning the area for any terrain that might host wildlife. There was a dense thicket of shrubs to the southeast that seemed a likely hiding spot, so she made her way towards that. As she did so, she let her mind wander.
It had been a long and uneventful march. The morning had been mostly silent, since Lavellan had settled herself near the Seeker, who thankfully was not one for ambient conversation. It had left her mind idle, and for a time Lavellan had lost herself in thoughts of her clan. She'd wondered if they'd heard about the events of the Conclave by now, if they feared her death. Had they been harassed by any demons, by any shemlen? Had they been forced to move? Had Fen'an, one of Clan Lavellan's fiercest warriors, recovered from his illness? Were they safe?
Those questions had sucked her into a spiral of anxiety, of uselessness – was she really doing them any good, gallivanting around with the shem Inquisition? Lavellan hated doubt, hated feeling powerless. She would be relieved when they got out of the seclusion of the mountains, when there would be something other than worry to battle.
A twig snapping pulled Lavellan out of her thoughts. She stilled, holding her breath and peering through the foliage. Creators, she hoped it was something large, she was hungry. A few seconds later, the branches of a bush two yards ahead began to rustle and part. Lavellan leaned forward ever so slightly, raising her bow in anticipation.
A nug scampered out. Lavellan barely kept herself from uttering a loud curse, breath hissing out from behind gritted teeth.
Lavellan eyed the area for a better vantage point. Spying a tree with low branches to her right, she silently sidled towards it, pulling herself up gracefully. The tree's leaves rustled, but nothing louder than a passing breeze might stir up. Lavellan settled herself into the crook of a large branch that overlooked a sizeable portion of the terrain, knocking an arrow and preparing to wait. She let her thoughts drift again.
Trevelyan had not bothered her since the morning, much to Lavellan's surprise. She had even glanced back a few times, thinking perhaps the mage had collapsed or otherwise fallen behind, sure that such silence was unnatural. But the shem had always been there, trudging several paces after, using her staff as a walking stick when the party encountered particularly tricky terrain (which apparently included anything other than flat land). Lavellan had stopped looking back when Trevelyan had finally noticed her attention and waved with a stupid smile on her face.
Varric, though, seemed to have sensed her spiraling mood and had walked with her for a while. At first he pestered her with questions about her clan, which Lavellan answered reluctantly. When the dwarf finally saw he wouldn't be able to pull much out of her, he had switched to telling his own stories about some shemlen champion named Hawke.
"You'd like her," Varric had insisted when he caught her attention waning. "You both are similar in your… ah, splunk." Clearly he'd been about to use a different, less flattering descriptor.
"I don't like shemlen," Lavellan had said, the statement sounding haughty even to her own ears.
Varric had only snorted, looking over his shoulder at something (someone, rather – Lavellan had a strong feeling she knew exactly where his eyes had gone). "Sure," he had drawled. "How could I have forgotten?"
Lavellan caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A ram was picking its way through the underbrush, grazing as it went. The creature was thin, probably a yearling. Lavellan sized it up as it stepped closer. It would feed them all for the night, though not generously.
The Seeker's words from earlier echoed in her mind: "Perhaps you should not go alone." As if Lavellan was some da'len that couldn't be entrusted with the simplest task. As if she would run away now, abandon the Inquisition and go back on her word – her duty – to help. Fine, Lavellan would admit to herself that the thought had tempted her almost daily, but never seriously. She had nothing if not her pride, and she would never break a promise so spitefully.
Lavellan lowered the bow. The young ram had wandered closer, head down, oblivious. It was the easiest shot that Lavellan wouldn't take.
Stupid shemlen. At least Varric, who knew best of all of them what it was like to be an Inquisition prisoner, had called out the Seeker's insult. Even Trevelyan, the idiot shem she was, had said something. Not that Lavellan needed their approval, but it would be a headache to have their distrust, that was all. And she most certainly didn't have any warm friendly feelings by the fact the shem had shown basic decency. Or by the way the shem's accent made everything she said sound slightly melodious. Or by her stupid smile. Or – or by anything about her. In fact, Lavellan had no feelings towards the shem. None. She was ambivalent.
There was a soft snort below her, drawing Lavellan out of her thoughts. The young ram had halted in its tracks, head held high, ears swiveling, nostrils flaring. Lavellan held her breath – had she made some sound to alert it to her presence?
But no, the ram's ears turned in the opposite direction. Lavellan strained her eyes, catching sight of something passing through the undergrowth several yards off. It moved closer, though not coming directly towards her. The ram's nose twitched, and then it relaxed, offering a bleat before returning to grazing.
There was an answering bleat back – another ram. Lavellan readied her bow. It took several minutes, but the other ram eventually came into view. It was large, most likely the alpha male of the area, its muscles rippling under its shaggy pelt. It stopped to level a challenging stare at the younger male, and Lavellan leaned forward on her branch, fingers itching on her bowstring. Now this was worthy prey.
Infuriatingly, the ram didn't come any closer. If Lavellan wanted it, she'd have to take a careful shot or move in herself. Since she'd never been a particularly good shot (she'd always preferred the thrill of close-quarters combat rather than ranged stalking), Lavellan carefully, quietly descended the tree, putting the trunk between herself and the ram to remain out of sight.
Lavellan crept low to the ground, the thrill of the hunt thrumming through her veins. The ram had turned its back to her, and with swift steps she closed some of the distance between them. Sensing her approach, the ram raised its head in alarm. Lavellan should've hidden, but she was so close, and patience was never her forte. So she knelt, yanked back the bowstring and aimed quickly. The ram's wide eyes met her own as she let the arrow fly.
It burrowed into the ram's shoulder. Lavellan cursed. The wound would inhibit the creature's movement, but nothing more. As she knocked another arrow, the ram bolted.
"Fenedhis," Lavellan muttered, heart racing. In her clan, hunters were taught not to take a shot unless they were sure it would fell a target. Lavellan was glad they couldn't see her now.
The ram disappeared into the undergrowth, and Lavellan released her arrow, holding her breath. A second later, the ram cried out, leaves rustling and twigs snapping as it thrashed out.
Lavellan moved like lightening, following its trail. The ram was struggling to its feet, the arrow having lodged itself through the tendon of one of its hind legs. That it could stand at all was a testament to the creature's strength.
It turned toward her, mouth frothing, the whites of its eyes showing. Knowing it couldn't run, the ram did the only thing it could: it lunged at her. Lavellan drew her sword, squaring her feet and holding her ground. A breath away from the last possible moment, she dodged aside, plunging her blade into the ram's neck. It crumpled to the ground noiselessly. She looked down at it long enough to be able to ensure she'd given the powerful creature a clean death, and then looked away as the life fled its body.
Lavellan hefted the felled creature over her shoulders, grunting at the solid weight of it. The trek to camp was slow and arduous, and Lavellan took a handful of breaks to regain her strength (though she'd deny it if anyone asked).
Her muscles were starting to burn by the time she made it back. The party had been busy while she'd been gone, setting up tents and a crackling fire. Lavellan plodded towards the fire, stomach rumbling loudly at the thought of a hot meal.
Trevelyan was seated on a log near the fire, and Lavellan realized she must've started it with her magic. The thought of the shem being able to conjure fire made Lavellan wary, but she shouldn't have been surprised – all the mages Lavellan had met thus far had been able to do the same. Still, fire seemed too powerful, too destructive for someone like Trevelyan.
These were useless thoughts to dwell in, Lavellan chided herself.
The shem looked up at her approach, her eyes widening at the sight of the large ram draped over Lavellan's shoulders. "Oh. That's –"
"Impressive." Solas cut it. Lavellan was glad she was so weighted down, otherwise she might've jumped. She hadn't noticed the elf where he stood a few paced off, standing with his back to the nearest tent. He seemed amused, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. Lavellan regarded him suspiciously, and he merely raised a brow. "Hopefully we can eat all of this."
Solas thought she was showing off. Lavellan shrugged the beast off her shoulders, setting it carefully next to the fire. A faint embarrassment clawed her stomach at the well-veiled suggestion. It was…false. Obviously. And even if it were true, she'd done it to instill in her companions a respect (or awe, or – better yet – fear) for her abilities, nothing more.
Damned flat-ear, Fen'harel take him, she thought with a touch of bitterness.
"With how Varric and Lady Cassandra eat, I've no doubt we will," Trevelyan said with a laugh. Solas shrugged, half-smile still in place, and disappeared into his tent to do Creators' knows what. Lavellan hoped it took him the rest of the night.
Lavellan knelt, removing the knife she had hidden in her boot and beginning to skin the meat. She glanced up at Trevelyan, sure she would've looked away in disgust or queasiness, but the shem was watching her work curiously.
"You act like you've never seen meat prepared before, shem," Lavellan said, an accusation lacing her voice. She didn't look away from her work, though she could probably do it in her sleep.
Trevelyan gave a small hum of agreement. "I haven't." When Lavellan looked up at her sharply, brows arched in surprise, she continued. "Mages weren't allowed to cook in the Circle, after an apprentice tried to poison a Templar." She frowned at the memory, and Lavellan watched as her honey-colored eyes clouded with a faraway gaze. After a moment, she shrugged. "There wasn't much need to teach mages the practicalities of daily life."
Lavellan shook her head. "Because you were prisoners," she pointed out. Shemlen were confusing – why imprison and distrust their own, especially for magic, which was a revered gift to the Dalish clans? It made little sense.
Trevelyan frowned, brows furrowing. "Because we are dangerous," she rejoined seriously, eyes staring into the fire.
Lavellan scoffed. "You are the least dangerous shem I've met." If anyone thought Trevelyan would be a threat, they were a moron. But then, the majority of shemlen were morons.
Trevelyan's lips curved into a small smile. "High praise, Lady Herald," she said, glancing over at Lavellan. She winked. "I shall cherish it."
Lavellan's ears grew hot at the gesture, and she focused back on her work, trying to clean the meat as quickly as she could. "You…are strange, even for a shemlen." Lavellan didn't think she could figure the mage out if she tried. One minute she was chipper, the next serious, the next teasing.
Trevelyan laughed. "Yes, so I've been told."
They lapsed into a companionable silence, and Lavellan thought perhaps – perhaps – she could tolerate this shem. Not like, certainly, but maybe not murder, either (though she hadn't ruled out maiming).
The party sat together as they ate their meal, and afterwards Varric regaled them with tales of his adventures before the Inquisition. Lavellan was amazed that, with all the talking the dwarf did, he still had more stories to tell. Throughout each tale, Lavellan found herself hanging on Varric's every word, though she tried to conceal it. Even Cassandra, who usually liked to be as far from him as possible, lingered around the fire until the moon was high in the night sky.
Eventually, Varric yawned in the middle of telling one of Hawke's dubious exploits, and the party decided to turn in. Cassandra agreed to take first watch, and Lavellan wondered if that was to cover up for the fact she'd stayed so long to listen to a supposed "thorn in her side". Lavellan wouldn't protest, however, feeling exhaustion begin to creep into her limbs.
Thankfully, due to the odd number of people in the traveling party, they'd brought three tents – which meant two pairs shared and one slept alone. Lavellan was swift to claim the solo tent.
"We will rotate who sleeps there," Cassandra said sternly, levelling Lavellan with a look that brooked no argument. Lavellan simply ignored her, knowing full well that come tomorrow night she'd stake the same claim.
"Wake me up in a few hours, Lady Cassandra," Trevelyan murmured behind a stifled yawn. Her hair had fallen loose of its ponytail, so she let it down, running her fingers through it tiredly. "I'll take the second watch."
"If you let anything attack the camp, shem…" Lavellan warned, standing in front of her tent and glaring at the shem.
Trevelyan waved a hand. "I shall guard you dutifully, Lady Herald. You're in the best of hands." Though she was too tired to accentuate the innuendo, Trevelyan still managed a wide, lazy grin.
Lavellan huffed, turning on her heel and pushing her way into her tent. She unceremoniously dug her sleeping roll out of her pack, dropping it to the ground and curling up beneath the blanket.
In the best of hands. Lavellan rolled her eyes. Traitorously, the image of the shem's hands flashed through her mind, and Lavellan rolled over onto her stomach, burying her head in the crook of her arm.
"Stupid shem," Lavellan growled. She was annoying even when she wasn't present. The least she could do would be to leave Lavellan's thoughts in peace. She just hoped that in her dreams she could be blissfully undisturbed.
~ ... ~
~ ... ~
The days fell into a pattern. Lavellan would fall into step behind the Seeker, who was rarely talkative, and the others would trail after them. Lavellan would hunt for their food, and occasionally Cassandra would too (though the shem warrior was shoddier with a bow than Lavellan so "hunting" was a misnomer – more like scaring away prey). In the evenings, the party would eat their meal together and linger around the fire, talking and telling stories. Varric had even brought along a deck of cards and attempted to entice them into a game of Wicked Grace, but Cassandra turned her nose up at the idea and Lavellan had no desire to learn the rules of the game.
True to her word, Cassandra was adamant about rotating who got to sleep in the single tent, which Lavellan brooded over a good few hours after the warrior shem declared the decision (and lost the ensuing fiery argument). Luckily, her first night she shared a tent with Solas, who at least was quiet.
On the third night, Varric somehow managed to cajole Solas into recounting one of his tales. Lavellan, from where she was polishing her sword, wrinkled her nose, sure that any story of a clanless elf would be dry as the winter wind. But then Solas began telling of his encounters in the Fade, of the ruins and ancient battlefields he'd come across, and Lavellan found herself fascinated. Solas had smiled at her, the faintest tug upwards of his lips, when he saw her wide eyes. Lavellan quickly looked away, having no desire to feed into the other elf's ego, busying herself with her sword once more.
After that, they alternated, each night someone new telling their own tale.
~ ... ~
~ ... ~
The fire hissed and crackled, casting a warm orange glow around the camp. The party had finished their evening meal, lapsing into a calm if not yet quite companionable silence, everyone occupying themselves for the time being. Lavellan had fished out the whetstone from her pack and was sharpening her blade, in anticipation that perhaps one day she would get to use it again.
"So…" Varric drawled from his seat on a nearby log, breaking the quiet at a record last, for the dwarf. He glanced up from his task of polishing his crossbow, and Lavellan wasn't sure if it was a trick of the firelight but there was a glint in his eyes. "Red, I believe it's your night for storytelling."
Trevelyan, who had been sitting cross-legged on the ground reading over a piece of parchment bearing hastily scrawled notes, looked over at him. She shrugged a shoulder, smiling slightly. "Alright. I can promise you, though, it won't be nearly as fascinating as your tales about Kirkwall. No Champions, and no Blooming Roses." She sounded almost wistful at the thought. From across the fire, Cassandra made a small disgusted noise.
"What, no debauchery from your time in the Circle? I find that hard to believe," Varric prodded. If Lavellan started paying closer attention to the conversation at this point, it was only because she was skeptical. How much could go on in a stone tower full of shems?
After a second, Trevelyan grinned wickedly. "Oh, I didn't say that." She leaned back, casting a glance to where Lavellan sat apart from the others, and winked mischievously at her. Lavellan felt something in her stomach twist, and she resolutely brought her attention back to the sword in her hands.
"Maker, here we go…" Cassandra muttered. The Seeker peered over at her tent, as if she was considering turning in early as Solas had (and relieving her ears of the coming tale), though Lavellan noticed she leaned forward towards Trevelyan. The warrior shem didn't want to go anywhere.
"If you're squeamish, Seeker, I suppose I can start out with a tamer tale," Trevelyan said. Lavellan could hear the teasing in her voice and Cassandra's annoyed huff in response, though she refused to look up. She skimmed her whetstone along the edge of her blade, the sound grating to her sensitive ears. The shem had been bluffing if she was so ready to dull down her story. Lavellan had been right – a tower full of shems was a tower full of mundanity.
And then Trevelyan continued. "Here's the story of how the apprentices snuck a dragon egg into the tower. And hatched it, Maker forgive us."
Lavellan's eyes snapped to the mage, whetstone clanging against her sword noisily. If Trevelyan heard, she didn't show it, though Varric shot Lavellan a knowing grin.
"Y-you did what?!" Cassandra spluttered, incredulous, her mouth hanging open in shock. Varric chuckled, and Cassandra sent him a scathing look. "Why… what would possess you to do such a thing?"
Trevelyan's grin slipped, and for the space of a heartbeat there was a haunted look in her eyes. But then her grin turned sheepish, and she rubbed a hand along the back of her neck. "I think we wanted a pet? The cat had just run off…" At Cassandra's disbelieving groan and Varric's guffaw, she added, "And most of us were barely teenagers at the time. Personally, I was thirteen."
Lavellan shook her head. Shemlen were idiots. By such an age, Dalish were training to be hunters and warriors, slaying dangerous beasts rather than…keeping them as pets.
"Alright, Red. This I have to hear." Varric waved a hand encouragingly. "So how did you get this dragon egg?"
Trevelyan leaned her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her fist, staring into the flames. "It started when a trader passing through promised the senior enchanters he could get them lyrium for a discount." Trevelyan's brows furrowed contemplatively. "Looking back, it was pretty obvious he was Carta and probably stole most his wares, but if it saves the Chantry a silver, well. They decided to talk his proposal over and let him stay the night."
This was reinforcement for Lavellan's belief that it wasn't just the young shemlen that made foolish decisions.
"He was so different from our usual trader. He was older, for one; he had tufts of gray mixed in with the black of his beard, and a few scars on his face from some fierce battle. And Maker, his foul language made even some of the Templars blush." Trevelyan smiled slightly at the memory. "The apprentices were all fascinated by him. We snuck around, following him and whatnot. Devan even picked the lock on the room the Templars had given him and snooped through his wares. That's when he found the egg."
Trevelyan paused, lost in thought. Lavellan didn't miss how she said this Devan shem's name, the corner of her mouth quirking up and her gaze becoming soft, faraway. Lavellan groaned internally, hoping that if she was going to be subjected to this tale, it would stick to the dragon and not the boy.
"The trader walked in on him, caught him holding the egg. There was a long pause, and they stared at each other, Devan quaking at being found out. The punishment for trespassing was harsh in the Circle, as you can imagine. But then the dwarf said, 'Can you keep a secret?'" Trevelyan laughed at that. "'That's a dragon egg, there.' First thing Devan did was tell the rest of us. And then hatched a plan to steal it in the night, consequences be damned."
"Maker's breath," Cassandra put in, shaking her head. Lavellan agreed with the sentiment, if not the deity.
"Yes," Trevelyan agreed. "For all our scheming though, it ended up being simple – the trader drank with the some of the Templars late into the night, so Devan practically just strolled in and took it. Anticlimactic, really." She chuckled, running a hand through her bangs, her auburn hair the color of the setting sun in the firelight. "The trader left the next afternoon. We almost died under the anticipation of being found out and lashed, but he never said anything about his missing egg."
"The dwarf allowed a dragon egg to be stolen from under his nose?" Lavellan asked incredulously, frowning in disbelief. "You're lying, shem."
Trevelyan raised a brow, looking over at Lavellan in amusement at her outburst though she didn't comment on it. "Yes, in retrospect it seems very odd, but to a group of precocious children, we thought we'd quite cleverly gotten away with the steal of a lifetime." Trevelyan shook her head for dramatic effect, sighing. "We were wrong, of course."
Varric was grinning widely, leaning with his elbows on his knees, eyes twinkling. "So what was it really? A painted rock?"
"If only," Trevelyan said, pausing for no other reason than to draw out suspense. "It was a giant spider egg."
Varric almost choked on his laughter. Cassandra's mouth hung open for a moment, then she too started laughing. Lavellan, who had disliked spiders (not feared, because that would be ridiculous), did not think it was as funny.
Trevelyan frowned in mock petulance, crossing her arms. "Yes, it's funny now, but it wound up hatching and hiding itself in the nooks and crannies of the tower. It was a real menace, for a time." A smile broke across her face. "Maker, I think I still have scars from the punishment for that stunt. Well deserved, though."
Lavellan snorted at that. Children were a gift to the clan; striking a child was an act of cowardice and was never deserved. Templar shems were quickly falling in her esteem, not that they'd started out favorably. The very idea of them doing such a thing to Trevelyan – to anyone – filled Lavellan's mouth with a bitter taste, and she stood, sheathing her sword. (It was how shemlen treated the elves. It was wrong.)
"You're leaving?" Cassandra asked, surprise ringing in her tone. Varric was still laughing lightly, wiping his eyes, and Trevelyan glanced up at her questioningly.
"It's my turn for guard duty," Lavellan replied stiffly. She could tell the others were unsatisfied with her answer, but Lavellan didn't care, turning on her heel and brusquely walking away.
The night was clear, the moon a white rose in the sky, the stars a shimmering around it. It was peaceful, in the way that only a lonely night could be. Rejuvenating.
Mid way through her shift, her ears picked up the distinct sound of crunching snow – steps coming from camp. She inclined her head and saw Trevelyan making her way towards the edge of camp, seating herself on a large rock a respectful distance from Lavellan.
A long silence bloomed between them. Lavellan tried to ignore the intruder, but the mood of the night had shifted, added an undernote of tension.
"Why are you here, shem?" Lavellan asked gruffly.
"I couldn't sleep. Despite Varric's charming lullaby." Trevelyan tilted her head towards the tent she and the dwarf shared. Even from where they were, a faint droning snore could be heard (how such a small person could create such a large sound, Lavellan didn't know). Trevelyan's gaze found hers. "I could take over watch duty, if you want. Let you catch up on your beauty sleep."
Lavellan's eyes narrowed. "I don't need 'beauty sleep.'" What kind of shemlen nonsense was that?
"No, I suppose you don't." Trevelyan's lips curled into a soft whisper of a smile. She glanced back up at the sky, the wan glow of the moon washing her features in a pale silver light, the line of her jaw accentuated by shadows. It made her seem cold somehow, as if she were a reflection on the other side of a sheet of ice. "The offer still stands, if you'd like to get some regular sleep."
Lavellan realized she'd been staring and forced her eyes away, scanning the perimeter. There was nothing but shadows. The stillness did not surprise her; they had only just descended from the Frostbacks, occupying the odd space between mountain and valley. Most life in the area (creature or human) would have ventured farther inland, to more hospitable terrain.
"It's peaceful, in the darkness, under the stars," Trevelyan remarked. Lavellan steeled herself for another of the shem's annoying quips or looks, but neither came. "It was such a shock, those first few nights after the Circle."
"They didn't let you outside?" Lavellan asked dubiously, then bit her lip. She shouldn't encourage the shem to chatter any more than she already had. But the notion seemed inconceivable to Lavellan, who'd spent her entire life in the forests and fields.
"No, it's not that. You could get permission to visit family, though the Templars had been a lot stricter in recent years, for good reason. It's just…" Trevelyan sighed, looking down at the ground. "Well, I haven't been home in years." She sounded wistful, but not particularly heartbroken. "Leaving the Circle was the first time I'd set foot outside the tower in quite a while." Seeming to realize the conversation had taken a melancholy turn, she added, "So after all the rumors we'd heard about what was happening in Thedas, the peacefulness of some nights was a surprise."
Lavellan thought staying in one place so long, disconnected from the elements – not to mention under constant supervision – sounded horrifying. Regardless of what Trevelyan said before, Lavellan was convinced the shemlen mages had been prisoners. Once again, Lavellan wondered why shemlen had turned against themselves, when they already had made enemies of the other races. She supposed shemlen bloodthirst was never quenched.
They both lost themselves in their own thoughts for a time. Trevelyan stared up at the stars as if searching for something (constellations, Lavellan gathered as she saw the shem's light brown eyes trace along familiar patterns). Lavellan tried to keep her attention trained on their surroundings, though it was harder to focus now with company (it shouldn't matter, Lavellan knew it shouldn't matter).
Finally, Lavellan cleared her throat, giving voice to a question that had taken root in her mind. "Shem, the dragon."
Trevelyan pulled herself out of her musings, glancing at Lavellan with a raised brow and an amused smile. "It's generous of you to call it that."
Lavellan ignored her. "It wasn't meant as a pet." She didn't frame it as a question because she was fairly certain of the answer.
Trevelyan's smile vanished, and her face, her expression, her whole being seemed to sharpen. She met Lavellan's probing gaze, slowly releasing a breath. "We…" She sighed, bringing her hands up to rub her temples. "We were young, and foolish, and we resented things meant for our own good." Trevelyan stared down at her hands lying in her lap. Lavellan could almost see her closing herself off, retreating inward. It seemed unlike the shem – but then again, Lavellan barely knew her (and didn't want to – she didn't). If the shem wanted privacy, fine. Lavellan preferred the quiet.
Trevelyan only stayed a moment longer. Lavellan resumed surveying the area, and when she glanced back over out of the corner of her eye, the mage was gone. Lavellan shivered in the chill night air, looking up at the stars. They shone coldly, irritatingly refusing to offer the same tranquility as they had before.
~ ... ~
~ ... ~
They made it more than halfway to the Hinterlands before Lavellan got to draw her sword in a fight. It was high time, in Lavellan's opinion.
The party had found their way to a well-traversed path, and were starting to run into the occasional traveler. All of them were restless, wide-eyed people, the kind who were carrying their entire lives on their back in weathered packs. Desperate, in other words. And where there was desperation, there were troublemakers to take advantage.
Lavellan noticed them first: shifty-eyed shems armed with blades and bows, taking up a position on a hill that overlooked the path. A vantagepoint for scoping out unsuspecting passersby.
The party gathered round in a wooded area directly south of the shems, readying their weapons.
"Bandits," Cassandra muttered, glowering at them. "Perhaps it would be best to engage them from a distance, until we can gauge their number."
Lavellan shook her head. "They'll run." She unsheathed her sword with a small, wild smile. Her heart began thumping a staccato war beat. Mythal, she was past ready for this. "We need to charge." And with that, she abandoned the safety of the copse of trees, descending on the bandits at a sprint.
"Maker," Lavellan could hear Trevelyan swear behind her. A shimmering aura wrapped around her – the shem must've cast a barrier spell.
Cassandra bellowed a war cry and followed after Lavellan, neatly deflecting an incoming arrow and not even breaking her stride.
The bandits were not especially strong, and against the five Inquisition fighters were clearly outmatched. They were inexperienced warriors, probably only taking up arms because they'd stumbled past the opportunity to leverage the misfortune of others. A male shem swung his sword with two hands as if it were a great ax, the blade lodging solidly into the earth when Lavellan sidestepped the arcing blow. She quickly stabbed him through the chest, twisting her blade and yanking it free.
The one advantage the bandits had was the high ground, and infuriatingly enough, they knew how to use it. Even when they'd culled their numbers, there were at least two archers stationed behind an overturned wagon, taking shots that pushed the Inquisition back. Ideally, they would flank the bandits, pressuring them from all sides. But with only two warriors, the maneuver would be unlikely to work. So Lavellan did the next best thing.
She charged.
Coming up the hill, her shield took the brunt of the damage, looking like a quillback by the time she got to the top. She took out the first archer easy enough, as the shem had been too slow to move to a more defensible spot. The other was smarter, and Lavellan learned that lesson via an arrow embedding itself into her shoulder. Her armor blunted the impact, but it still broke through skin and tore into muscle. She grit her teeth, willing her way past the pain, scanning the hilltop. She brought her shield up in time to deflect a second arrow, shot from an archer who ducked behind the trunk of a nearby tree.
A shout rang out, and Cassandra came thundering over the crest of the hill, sword raised high. The second archer, not having time to knock and arrow, lashed out with a fist, clipping the Seeker in the face. The blow didn't even cause the Seeker to waver, and he still fell beneath her blade.
"Are you alright?" Cassandra asked curtly, eyes searching first Lavellan and then the terrain around them. Lavellan guessed the warrior wasn't happy with Lavellan's…head-first approach.
"Fine," Lavellan answered shortly. She wrapped a hand around the arrow in her shoulder and pulled gently but firmly. A jolt of fiery pain shot down her arm, but the arrow gave way, and she tossed it on the ground.
"Maker's fucking breath," a lilting, breathless voice called out. Trevelyan jogged over to them, leaning on her staff as she caught her breath. A light sheen of sweat covered her brow, causing her bangs to stick to her skin. She looked disheveled and…and that was it, Lavellan thought, curtailing any other descriptors that might've come to mind. "That was…hmm…an experience." She put a hand on her hip, regarding the pair of warriors with an accusing stare. "You're both incredibly reckless." She shook her head, adding under her breath, "It's damningly attractive."
Cassandra snorted at that, and Lavellan blushed, looking away. Movement caught the corner of her eye, and her whole body tensed. A third archer, having taken refuge behind the tipped wagon once more, had her bow drawn and arrow aimed squarely at them. As Lavellan made eye contact with the woman, she let the arrow fly.
Lavellan assessed the arrow's path in a heartbeat and put out her shield to guard against it. She needn't have bothered. Trevelyan conjured a barrier at the same instant, and the arrow bounced off it uselessly.
Both Lavellan and Cassandra were moving in unison towards the attacker. They made it a few paces before a distinctive twang sounded, and a second later a crossbow bolt gruesomely poked through the archer's check. She fell lifelessly to the ground, revealing Varric.
"I see we're having fun," the dwarf said with a grin, gaze sweeping the three of them.
"Is that what this is?" Solas, who came up behind him, asked wryly.
Lavellan rolled her eyes, turning and descending the hill. She didn't have the patience to endure their banter, with a sore and bleeding shoulder. She found a log near the base of the hill and sat down, inspecting her wound. It wasn't severe, but having glanced muscle, it would inhibit her freedom of movement as it healed. Lavellan scowled. Stupid archer, with his lucky shot. Though he got what he deserved in the end.
"You're hurt."
Lavellan let out a long breath, glancing up. Of course Trevelyan would dog her every step she took, had Lavellan really expected – hoped – otherwise? The shem was clutching her staff, eyes glued to Lavellan's shoulder.
She stepped closer, biting her lip as her eyes swept over the wound. "It doesn't look horrible, though. Easy enough to patch up." As she spoke, magic began to swirl around her hands, a lighter and calmer green than that of Lavellan's mark.
"What are you doing?" Lavellan half-heartedly snarled, glaring warily at the light-green aura of magic encircling Trevelyan's hands.
Trevelyan rolled her eyes at the question, halting her movements and holding up her hands. "Healing you. Is that alright?" She arched a brow, awaiting the elf's response and clearly nonplussed at Lavellan's hostility.
Lavellan took a step back, wincing at the throbbing ache from her shoulder. It hurt, but it was nothing she hadn't lived with before. "No. Keep your shemlen hands to yourself, or find someone else to rub them over. Leave me be." She tried to inject as much animosity into her tone as possible, but her voice was thready from where it snaked out behind her gritted teeth.
Trevelyan let out a small, strangled sigh. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "Have it your way. Just…" Her eyes opened and darted to the wound, and she made a vague motion with her hand. "Drink a potion, at least?" Her gaze met Lavellan's, and she added, "Please."
The shem seemed sincere, her expression tight and pulled as if she were the one with the bleeding shoulder. It didn't make sense to Lavellan – why would a shemlen care anything about an elf's pain? Shemlen barely cared about each other. And more often than not, liked to be the cause of pain.
Lavellan hesitated for a long moment. She wanted to reject the shem aid on principle, to spit on the very idea of taking any shemlen help. But she also wanted to move her arm without pain, to be able to swing her sword without reopening the damn wound. It came down to principles versus utility. She could lose a fight of wills here and now or lose a physical fight in the future when an enemy took advantage of her weakness.
"Give me some of your slog, shem," she growled at last with a tight frown. It felt like giving in, though Lavellan knew she hadn't really had much of an option.
She watched Trevelyan sigh in relief. The mage gave her a reassured little half-smile, which Lavellan wanted to roll her eyes at but couldn't quite bring herself to. Trevelyan reached into the travelling pack attached to her belt and fished out a vial. She uncorked it and handed it to Lavellan.
"With a flesh wound like this, you can dab a little bit directly onto the injury. It reduces the pain faster than drinking it, but you do need to drink it to get the full healing effect," Trevelyan instructed as Lavellan inspected the potion.
Lavellan raised the potion to her lips, gulping it down in one go. It was a thick liquid, and the unappealing flavor Lavellan had been expecting she did not find.
"It tastes…sweet." Lavellan handed the empty vial back to the shem, skimming her tongue along her lips. It was pleasant, not that she'd ever utter that out loud.
Trevelyan put the vial in her pack, a rosy blush dusting her cheeks. "Ah, I put honey in mine." She grinned, rubbing the nape of her neck in embarrassment. "To make them easier to go down. They're usually slightly bitter."
It was such a mundane, frivolous idiosyncrasy, and yet still somehow…cute, almost. Or at least, it would be, if it were done by anyone other than the shem. As it was, it was childish and fanciful, Lavellan decided, though watching Trevelyan's blush slowly recede she had to remind herself of the fact a time or two.
At that moment, the rest of the party rejoined them. Cassandra, whose nose had bled profusely when she'd been punched in the face, had a bright crimson streak of drying blood down her chin. Trevelyan tutted, coming to stand in front of the Seeker and tilting the warrior's face in her hands, assessing the injury. Cassandra seemed self-conscious at the attention, downplaying its severity while steadfastly staring past Trevelyan's shoulder.
Lavellan rolled her eyes as she watched the shem fawn over the other warrior. Even if the Seeker's nose was broken – which it wasn't, as the Seeker herself professed – such a thing would barely be worth pausing over.
Trevelyan's hands shone with magic once more as she healed the not-broken nose. She ran her thumb over Cassandra's chin, attempting with minor results to wipe some of the blood from there. She then stepped back, putting her hands on her hips. "There, right as rain."
Cassandra's nostrils twitched, and she brought a hand up to the bridge of her nose to test its tenderness, prodding it with none-too-gentle fingers and humming in satisfaction. "That was unnecessary, but appreciated. Thank you, Trevelyan."
"Of course, Lady Cassandra. Should you need me for anything else…" Trevelyan trailed off suggestively, letting her words sink in and sending the Seeker a wink. "You know where to find me."
A small noise of what might have been disgust or strangled embarrassment clawed its way from the Seeker's throat. "I did not need you even for this," she pointed out, ears tinging red. It was true, Lavellan thought – time would've done the job just as well.
"No," Trevelyan agreed, a wicked smirk twisting her lips. "But it's always more fun with a partner."
Varric, ever the enabler, started laughing boisterously. Cassandra looked aghast, struck mute while a flush marched across her face. Solas glanced away, though Lavellan caught him smiling ever so slightly.
"We are wasting time," Lavellan announced, irritation lacing her voice. She felt unduly frustrated at the whole situation. Stupid shems.
"Indeed," Cassandra said, relieved at the distraction. "We should continue on."
And, thankfully, they did, though Lavellan had to suffer through Varric's continuous sniggering.
~ ... ~
~ ... ~
They made it to the Hinterlands two days later. After speaking with a dwarven Inquisition scout named (unfortunately) Harding, they ventured into the valley where the Chantry shem was waiting and tending to weary travelers. Luckily, in Lavellan's opinion, they encountered both rogue mages and rogue Templars attacking the refugee camp.
These enemies were actually a challenge, which was refreshing. The mages were not well-versed in battle but there were a number of them, and Lavellan was unused to defending against magic. The Templars were encased in impressive armor and had experience, but fought as if crazed. By the end of the skirmish, Lavellan's heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through her blood. This was the best fight she'd had since joining the Inquisition, save that with the Pride demon.
Mother Giselle greeted them warmly, considering the rest of her Chantry flock viewed Lavellan and the burgeoning Inquisition as a thorn in their side. She advised Lavellan to try to appeal to more Chantry shems at Val Royeaux and sow dissent in their ranks, which seemed a task the Spymaster would be better suited for. If Lavellan truly had to go to Val Royeaux, she would knock heads together, not play nice (but she kept that thought to herself).
Mother Giselle agreed to travel to Haven to work with the Inquisition, but only after she saw the refugees were well taken care of. Lavellan nodded, and sensing the end of the conversation, Trevelyan wormed her way in, introducing herself. Mother Giselle's brows raised when she learned the mage was a healer, and when Trevelyan explained she was there to help, Mother Giselle smiled widely.
Lavellan hung back while the two spoke, knowing her work here was done but staying anyway. When the Chantry shem led Trevelyan over to the healer's clearing, Lavellan hesitated, then trailed after. Trevelyan was shown the area, acquainted with another mage, and then Mother Giselle, with a glance back at a fidgeting Lavellan, took her leave.
From where the rest of the party was waiting, Cassandra shook her head. "We should press forward, and make use of the afternoon while we can," she said with a small frown, eying the surrounding hills. "There's no reason to linger here when there is so much to do."
"Aw, leave them alone, Seeker," Varric said, watching the two with a crooked grin. "Let them have their sweet goodbye." He placed a special emphasis on the last words, shooting the warrior a look.
Cassandra's eyes narrowed, hands coming to rest on her hips. Then, seeming to catch his insinuation, her brows jumped up. "Surely you don't think…" She trailed off, turning and regarding the pair with intense scrutiny. "I cannot see it."
Varric snorted, muttering something akin to No surprise there. "Just wait. I'd bet my next book on those two becoming…involved."
Surprisingly, that seemed to capture Cassandra's interest. "Fine. I accept your bet."
"W-what? Really?" Varric spluttered, incredulous. Of all the reactions he'd expected, this had not been one of them. He'd thought the Seeker would make one of her signature disgusted noises and denounce romance as frivolous. This was much more interesting.
Cassandra clenched her jaw, examining him suspiciously. "Unless you wish to back out?" she challenged.
On Varric's odd and twisted honor, he did not renege on his word, bets or otherwise. He smirked up at the Seeker. "Oh, it's on," he said, offering her his hand. "And when I win, you owe me a sovereign." He might be pushing his luck, but a sovereign for a book seemed fair enough.
Cassandra shook his hand firmly, grip strong enough Varric thought his fingers might break. "Deal," she agreed roughly, jaw set in determination and the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.
Interesting, Varric thought, before turning his attention to the Herald and her favorite mage.
"Mother Giselle and I will return to Haven after we've done all we can for the wounded," Trevelyan told Lavellan, surveying all the people who lay on groaning on blankets and the ground. She seemed lost in thought, in mental preparations, her fingers drumming an idle beat on her staff as she took stock of her surroundings. Lavellan had half her attention at best, and it was a peculiar feeling considering she usually had all of it.
Lavellan frowned as she watched Trevelyan. "You should return with us, shem." Her tone was sharper than she'd intended. When the mage turned to her, brows raised in surprise, Lavellan added defensively, "You struggle to defend yourself, you cannot possibly think you can protect a shem that can't even fight. You'd both die before nightfall." She didn't care, Lavellan told herself. It would just be inconvenient, and all the Inquisition's advising shems would probably never let her hear the end of it.
Trevelyan shot her a lopsided smile, and Lavellan crossed her arms in response, as if to ward against it. "As sweet as it is of you to worry, we'll be alright. There's soldiers here now. And if you clear out the rogue mages and bandits in the area –"
"And the rogue Templars," Lavellan cut in. At least they would be a challenge.
Trevelyan hesitated and Lavellan could tell the shem was thrown off-balance by the remark. Why, Lavellan couldn't fathom. The Templars were just as much a threat (more, in her opinion) as the mages, and considering they were attacking anyone who crossed their path, they needed to be dealt with.
"Yes, of course," Trevelyan said after a moment. She shook her head, auburn ponytail bobbing. "Anyway, once the local troublemakers are gone, travel will be a breeze." Her honey-colored eyes found Lavellan's icy blue ones. "Nothing to worry over."
Lavellan grunted. "I am not worried, shem," she insisted with a slight growl. She wasn't.
"Good. Besides, you have the bloodier job," Trevelyan pointed out, tone turning a touch more somber though her expression stayed cheerful (her default, Lavellan was learning, as annoying as that was). She glanced away. "If anything, I should be worried for you."
The fact that Lavellan didn't immediately take that comment as an insult to her combat skills disturbed her. She straightened, squaring her shoulders. "No member of Clan Lavellan is so weak as to fall to anything these Hinterlands have to offer – shemlen or demons, or anything else," Lavellan said, pride edging her words. "Worry over the others, that they can keep up with me." They were far more deserving of worry.
Trevelyan chuckled at that, reassured, a pretty smile blooming across her face. "Right." Her eyes shone in amusement, and once again her gaze swept over the injured around them. "Well then, Lady Herald. Until we meet again, I suppose."
"Don't die, shem." The sentence was out of her mouth before Lavellan could think twice about uttering it. Lavellan frowned in horror, tearing her eyes away from the stupid shem in front of her. Mythal's mercy, that sounded like such a…soft thing to say.
"I wouldn't dare give anyone else the pleasure," she heard Trevelyan say. The mage sounded delighted. Lavellan gritted her teeth at that, but her words did make Lavellan feel somewhat better (maybe it wasn't so soft a sentiment after all).
She breathed out a Hmph and turned on her heel, striding over to the rest of the party. Cassandra and Varric had been watching her, though as soon as she looked to them their eyes stumbled away. Solas appeared to be helping one of the Inquisition scouts to mix a potion, his mouth moving incessantly as he no doubt went over the instructions in minute detail.
"Let's move out," Lavellan said by way of greeting, not bothering to stop and wait, walking back towards the way they'd first come.
She could hear the scramble of footsteps behind her as her companions followed after her. Cassandra, with long strides, caught up quickly. Varric had to jog, and Lavellan could make out some choice words muttered under his breath. Solas, if was coming (she didn't bother to check) was trailing somewhere behind.
"Did you…have a good talk?" Varric asked slyly. Lavellan didn't turn to look at him, but she knew he was grinning that stupid grin of his.
Lavellan scowled, feeling the tips of her ears burn (she hoped that reaction wasn't noticeable, but the dwarf possessed the eyes of a hawk). She chose to ignore his comment, focusing on weaving her way out of the small shemlen settlement.
Luckily, Cassandra spoke up before Varric could again. "We should speak with Horsemaster Dennet. If we could secure mounts, it would make traversing the Hinterlands far easier." Lavellan appreciated the Seeker's practicality and focus as much as the conversational diversion.
"Fine, sh- Seeker," Lavellan corrected quickly, nodding at the course of action. She didn't have much experience with mounts – halla were as close as she'd gotten, and though it wasn't completely unheard of to occasionally ride the creatures, none in her clan had ever done so. Lavellan felt apprehensive about the idea of a mount, of heaving herself up on some hulking shem horse only to have it throw her off. But if it got their job done faster, it was the lesser of two evils.
Lavellan didn't look back, not once.