Just to reiterate, I don't own Bioware or Dragon Age. I know, it makes me sad too.
Nydha POV
The next day, Nydha decided to explore the village of Haven. She had yet to have the opportunity since she had arrived in the town, as her previous experiences had all been centered in the Chantry, with all of her attention focused on the advisors and the establishment of the Inquisition.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It unnerved her, the way everyone stared at her. As a rogue, she specialized in blending into the shadows and going unnoticed in a crowd. She did not like her sudden fame one bit. Whispers followed her, people stared at her with adoration and wonder, people bowing or nodding their heads as they made way for her. She walked stiffly, shoulders tense, senses on edge. She had always been able to sense when someone was watching her, but with the entire village focusing on her as she passed them, her instincts were going haywire.
She found her feet leading her towards the apothecary, noticing Solas through the windows of a nearby house. As she opened the door into the apothecary, she saw a man in robes giving a poor squire a tongue-lashing.
" –to send men out to actual gather herbs!" The man in the robes yelled. "Unless you'd rather I make health poultices out of deathroot?"
The boy in armor stuttered. She found herself amused.
"Now get out, and don't come back until you fix your stupidity!" The robed man practically shoved the squire out the doorway. He turned to face Nydha. "And what do you want?"
"Well I was going to stock up on health poultices, but as I just heard, you are quite low on supplies." Nydha commented off-handedly.
"You got that right." The man muttered, pausing to study her face. "Wait… Ha! Look who's back from the dead. Again."
She nodded to him. "I found one of your notes about treating me. You have my thanks."
"Name's Adan." The cranky man introduced himself. "I'm in charge of keeping this placed stocked with elixirs and potions." Then he muttered under his breathe, "Which was not what I signed up for. I'm an alchemist, not a healer."
Her ears perked up. "You're an alchemist?"
Adan glanced at her. "Yeah, what's it to you?"
"What stocks do you have?" She asked him.
He growled. "None! I don't even have enough for a good health potion."
Oh, but I wasn't looking for a health potion… She thought glibly. "So what do you have in stock?"
"Just deep mushroom, spindleweed, deathroot, an embrium or two…" He trailed off with a shrug.
"So if I asked you to distill five deathroots and mix it with ten ounces of concentrated deep mushroom, would you make it for me?" Nydha asked nonchalantly as she picked at a nail.
"Of course I can! But that won't do you any good with a wound –" The man paused as the recipe clicked in his head. Then a wicked grin slid onto her face and he smirked back at her. "Fightin' dirty, eh?"
Lavellan shrugged innocently.
"Careful," Adan warned. "Dabbling in poisons might cost you your reputation."
"Being a purveyor of poisons could cost you your reputation, no?" She replied lowly, eyes glinting mischievously.
He quirked a brow at her threat, before huffing in amusement. "Definitely fightin' dirty now, lass."
Nydha smirked. "How about this – you keep your mouth shut and make what I ask for, and I'll acquire whatever ingredients you need for your potions or experiments. You won't even have to go through Josephine for stock. Deal?"
Adan looked at her for a moment with a critical eye, and then threw his head back and laughed harshly. "Ha! I like ya, girlie. Sure, sounds like a good deal to me."
"And no questions about the concoctions I request." Nydha warned, holding a finger to her lips. "Regardless of their… potency."
"Why of course…" The alchemist chuckled darkly. "I'm gonna like workin' for you, lass."
"Then I'll leave you to make that for me, yes?"
She gave him a conspiratorial smile as she walked out of the doorway.
.*.*. ҉ .*.*.
Solas POV
He wasn't sure what to think about this 'Inquisition' that the humans had established. Its goals were certainly admirable, certainly necessary, but Solas had always been wary of holy wars. Sure, saving the world and closing the Breach did not seem like a religious crusade at first, at least until one took a look at how the Inquisition was gaining support: led by the Left and Right Hands of the previous Divine, their figurehead the supposed 'Herald' of their Maker, and an army of the faithful. Already the Inquisition was gaining the support of the Chantry's followings, and if those forces were utilized incorrectly, they could accomplish what the previous Exalted Marches could not – the extermination of all non-Andrastians.
It was unlikely, however, with their blessed 'Herald' being a Dalish elf and all. Yet another curiosity for Solas: How did she fit into all this? What was a Dalish elf even doing at the Conclave? She was not even a mage, so how did she survive the Mark? Even with Solas' attentions in the immediate aftermath of the explosion, he had not expected the Dalish woman to survive the Mark's imprinting.
And here she was now, exiting the apothecary's hut with an unreadable expression, sharp eyes flickering to catch every detail of her surroundings.
'Speak of the Wolf, and it shall come', as he had often heard the Dalish say.
Nydha Lavellan was rather tall for an elven woman in this era, but she would have been the appropriate height for an elf that had not spent centuries living in slavery and squalor. She had long black hair that was pulled up into a high ponytail and plaited in a braid that fell down the length of her back, with loose strands framing her face, a few rebellious bangs falling into her eyes, to which she blew away in annoyance. Her eyes were dark and hooded, but flecks of forest green were revealed whenever the light caught them, her face carefully devoid of expression. He inferred that she was from the north with her tanned skin. It seemed to make her vallaslin glow in contrast, her ink a pale green color that seemed to shimmer in the light, their lines marking her as an adherent to Dirthamen.
Curious. Not many Dalish choose him as their patron god these days. Solas thought to himself. Most Dalish felt a closer connection to Andruil of the hunt, Elgar'nan of the warrior path, or Mythal of justice. Dirthamen was almost unknown to the modern Dalish, known only to the Dalish as the god of secrets and shadows. He was a darker god, one that made the Dalish wary despite the absence of the pantheon gods. The mark was simpler than other gods, made up of dotted lines and single arcs upon her forehead, cheekbones, and chin. It had a eerie, skeletal effect on her dark skin, making her seem ghostly if not for the spark of emotion in her eyes.
"The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all." He said in greeting as she passed him, her eyes set on the steps leading down to the tavern.
She paused at his voice and turned to face him, green eyes flashing in the bright morning light as she frowned at his chosen greeting. "That is a bunch of nugshit, and you know it."
How eloquent. He thought dryly, unfazed by her less-than-cordial reply.
"I'm only here to get this stupid Mark off of my hand and high-tail myself outta here." Lavellan grumbled, holding up her glowing hand and wrinkling her nose as she wiggled her fingers.
He lifted a brow at her blasé attitude. "The Breach is not your main concern?"
He knew that she was not as oblivious as she appeared, but her nonchalant behavior could be mistaken as uncaring by others in the Inquisition. If she was going to be their leader – of which Lavellan had no choice – she should learn how to connect with her followers.
"I have no interest in playing the hero." Lavellan told him plainly, lifting a brow almost arrogantly, as if daring him to lecture her otherwise. "If it were not for this Mark, I would not be here. I would rather that Cassandra or Cullen had ended up with this Mark. They are far more righteous than I."
"Perhaps it is not righteousness that we need in a leader." Solas hummed with a thoughtful expression. "Your input is less likely to be biased towards the Chantry, which is probably for the better, given its recent failings."
"Hero, leader, I wish to be none of these things." Lavellan leaned back and crossed her arms, gazing at him with dismissive huff. It irked him that this ignorant Dalish, this child, would be so condescending to him. Typical Dalish, Solas thought in annoyance, and turned to gaze up at the cloudy sky.
"I have journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten…"
Her eyes glazed over and after a moment, he realized that she had zoned out. He felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance.
"Every great war has its heroes." Solas turned back to Lavellan when he had finished his monologue. She blinked quickly, attempting to make herself look like she had been paying attention. "I'm just curious as to what kind you'll be."
The other elf visibly gritted her teeth. "I. Am. No. Hero."
Solas studied her for a moment. Then what are you? He wondered, the question holding much more meaning than he had originally intended. Finally, he replied, "I don't think that you have been given a choice on the matter, Miss Lavellan."
Lavellan rolled her eyes at him. "Save it. I've already heard that line today, and it was one too many times."
No doubt the war council were attempting to persuade her to be their blessed and glorious leader. Solas thought, his gaze falling on the green mark upon her hand. Herald of Andraste… what a foolish notion.
"Anyway," The elleth continued, breaking the mage out of his reverie. "I was just stopping by to inform you that Cassandra and I will be heading out into the Hinterlands in a few days. I've been told that there are rifts scattered throughout the area. I assume that you will be joining us, given your knowledge of these rifts?"
Solas glanced at her with raised brows, shocked that she would be so willing to invite an apostate to travel with her. He remembered when they had fought beside each other in order to seal the first rift; he had not missed the way she flinched when his magic came too close to her, or the veiled suspicion that had been in her eyes. But he quickly gathered himself and nodded formally to her.
"I am willing." He replied. "If I may ask, what will be our business in the Hinterlands?"
"To make friends in high places." Lavellan said dryly, a wry tilt to her lips. "To be more specific, we are meeting with an influential Chantry cleric who is willing to lend her support to the Inquisition, for some odd reason; don't ask me why."
His lips twitched in amusement against his better judgement. Irreverent and callous, yet you still lend your aid. Are you as cold-hearted as you appear? Or is there an ulterior motive in helping the Inquisition?
"We are expecting plenty of mage-templar fighting in the area, so make sure you are armed and ready to fight." Lavellan continued, unaware of his thoughts on her. "However our local apothecary is out of elfroot, so I suggest that you hoard any health poultices that you can find."
Solas glanced back towards the apothecary with raised brows. "Out of elfroot? Does he not realize that it grows plenty in this region?"
Lavellan shrugged. "Apparently the guards have not deemed it an important chore, and his apprentice has gone missing. I was hoping to gather some elfroot for him while we are travelling."
Incompetent humans. The elf sighed to himself. "Then I will make some for our party." Solas informed her. "That way we are not wholly unprepared in our travels."
Lavellan glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "That… I would appreciate that." She murmured, seemingly taken aback at his generosity.
Solas waved away her thanks. "'Tis is only practical."
"Indeed." She mused, and turned to leave him.
He watched her go with a sense of foreboding. Her feet whispered over the snow with nary a sound, her braid flicking in the wind like a cat's tail, back and forth. She walked with a hunch to her shoulders, and yet there was unwavering strength in the set of her shoulders and the glint in her eyes.
She was touched by Fate.
He almost pitied her.
.*.*. ҉ .*.*.
Nydha POV
She strode down the stairs, bypassing the tavern and towards the gates of Haven. Nydha had been informed that the blacksmith was located just outside the gates, and she intended to get her hands on a proper set of daggers before she headed into the Hinterlands.
Approaching the main walkway of the village, Nydha recognized a familiar head of blonde on a rather stout body. Varric was standing with his arms crossed, gazing into the fire lit between a couple of tents. The dwarf was frowning, the flickering of the flames were reflected in his troubled eyes. She wondered what he was thinking about – troubled about the Breach perhaps?
Tch, why should I care? She pushed such silly thoughts away. Nydha took a moment to study this latest companion of hers, as she had with Solas.
Varric had that shifty look to him that all surface dwarves did, but the dirty blonde hair swept neatly into a half-ponytail and that well-made and well-worn coat of his bespoke of a comfortable amount of money. The embroidery of his tunic and the casual presence of gold in his earring and simple chain necklace told her that he was likely merchant class, and probably had more influence than he presented.
The dwarf knelt down next to the fire, poking the logs with a long stick and causing the flames to flare. Nydha could tell when he noticed her presence, as he darted a glance at her boots, and followed them upwards to her face. She approached him after he waved her over.
"So…" Varric spoke first as she drew level with him. "Now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most-wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day."
She snorted at his observation. "I'm a fast worker." Nydha replied dryly, and then shrugged as she answered his original question. "It's not the first time that I've been caught up is such… drama. Although never anything on an apocalyptic scale, I'll admit."
"I'd hope not." The dwarf said in an equally dry tone. "For days now, we've been staring at the Breach watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. 'Bad for morale' would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived! You would have to be one unlucky bastard to have gone through it twice."
Nydha smirked back at him. "Thankfully, it has not come to that just yet."
Varric gave an amused huff and stood up, brushing the snow and soot on his hands onto his trousers.
"Oh, and before I forget," The elf spoke up. "Cassandra and I will be setting out for the Hinterlands in a day or two. You and Solas have been invited to come along, if you so wish."
The dwarf raised a brow at her. "Invited? Awfully polite for a Dalish, aren't you?"
Lavellan gave him a questioning glance.
"Don't look at me like that, I've had my own experiences with Dalish elves before." Varric gave her a pointed look. "And they have never been a very friendly sort. Except for Daisy, but she was her own brand of crazy."
I won't deny that. They're pretty proud of that reputation too. She thought.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not a nice person." Nydha shrugged. "However, Keeper Deshanna was never one to tolerate ill-manners."
"Even to non-elves?" He asked her in a disbelieving voice.
"Actually, yes." Nydha conceded with a nod. "The Lavellan clan is considered quite liberal amongst the Dalish tribes."
Varric snorted. "Never thought I'd hear the word 'Dalish' and 'liberal' in the same sentence."
The elf gave a noncommittal hum.
"…So, the Hinterlands huh?" The dwarf mused. "And you invited the apostate?"
She gave him a probing look. "Do you have a problem with mages, Varric?"
"Wouldn't be the first time I've worked with apostates." He shrugged. "I just haven't had the best of experiences with them in recent years."
"Haven't we all?" Nydha muttered in agreement. "But Solas seems to be quite disciplined. And he is useful."
The dwarf sighed. "I suppose you're right. Personal grievances aside, we're gonna need the help of more than a few mages before all of this is over. Magic started this shit, and only magic can fix it."
"Unfortunately true." Nydha sighed, rubbing her forehead, annoyed at the entire situation.
He glanced at her, his eyes flicking from her clean hair to her new clothes. "So, what made you change your mind?"
"About what?" She looked down at him quizzically.
"Well, when we first met, you were more than a little resentful about being dragged into this mess." Varric pointed out. "Now you're telling me to suit up and move out? I would have thought Cassandra would be the one rallying the troops."
She frowned at his words. "Don't get the wrong idea. The moment that I am free of this stupid Mark, I'm leaving."
Varric crossed his arms and stared pointedly into the fire. Silence stretched between them, yet she knew that their conversation was not over. She could see his thoughts turning in his mind as he found the words which he wanted to say.
"I like to think I'm as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this?" Varric muttered while shaking his head. "Thousands of people died on that mountain – I was almost one of them. And now there's a hole in the sky. Even I can't walk away and just leave that to sort itself out."
Oh great, now he's trying to guilt me into caring. Ugh. Outwardly, Nydha merely shrugged. "Then it's a good thing that I am selfish and irresponsible."
Varric shifted and looked up at her from the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't blame you for running." He admitted to her, much to Nydha's surprise. "I've written enough tragedies to know where this is going."
"Yup." Nydha nodded with a grim smirk. "We're all gonna die."
"Thanks for the reassurance." Varric glared at her, and she snickered in response.
Awkwardly, the elleth patted his shoulder and left him to brood. She turned and walked down the steps towards the main entrance, making a quick stop at a nearby merchant to sell off some of the knick-knacks that she had 'acquired' (read: looted and/or stole) during her last adventure. As she exited the gates, she took note of the soldiers practicing their drills in a field off to the right, and made a mental note to examine their skills.
But first, weapons.
.*.*. ҉ .*.*.
She arrived at the smithy and put in an order for light armor. Although most of the armor was pre-made, certain pieces had to be made-to-fit, and so Nydha spent another hour with the blacksmith going over her measurements and armor tweaks. After another half-hour haggling over weapon prices, Nydha caught sight of the soldiers in training and headed over to watch them. Walking down the snow-ridden path, she shivered and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to warm the points of her ears. Elf ears were so damn sensitive. She rubbed her nose as well, in a paltry attempt to get some warmth there too.
As she approached the training field, she immediately noticed the presence of the Seeker. Cassandra was a tall woman, muscular but not bulky, yet imposing due to her ever-present glower. She was a better warrior than most, not only because of her skill with a sword, but also in her precision and strategy. Nydha usually considered sword and shield warriors as bulky and cumbersome, but Cassandra had proved her wrong in being surprisingly agile in battle despite her shield.
At the moment, it appeared that one of the practice dummies had severely insulted the Seeker, judging by the ferocity with which she attacked it. Hack, slice, bam! And the dummy fell to the ground in pieces. Nydha raised her brows at this.
The Seeker certainly never fails to impress.
"Imagining Roder-dick, perhaps?" The elf drawled as she approached the warrior woman, giving the fallen practice dummy a pointed look as she kicked it with one of her boots. "Huh. Impressive."
"You flatter me." Cassandra responded dryly, then gave a forlorn sigh as she sheathed her weapon. A moment of silence passed between the two, but Nydha could tell that the warrior wanted to say something to her.
"What is it?" The elf finally asked Cassandra.
"Did I do the right thing?" The Seeker asked with a lost expression on her face.
Nydha shrugged in response, leaning onto one leg and placing a hand on her hip to wait for the warrior to clarify.
"What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life." Cassandra muttered as she moved on to another practice dummy, falling into a battle stance and drawing her blade, leveling a hard gaze at her target. "One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool… And they may be right."
Aren't we all just a little mad? Her inner crazy giggled a bit. Nydha stepped around the woman as she lunged for the dummy, rounding her to stand on her open side. When Cassandra had finished a combination of slices and blocks upon the target, the elf spoke up.
"I am no inspirational speaker," Nydha began, "So I will not pretend to know what words that you want to hear to make you feel better."
The Seeker snorted. "I care not for comfort, Lavellan. If you have something to say, then say it."
I can appreciate that kind of attitude. Nydha thought with approval. "Very well." The elf nodded, leaning back and crossing her arms. "You instigated the Inquisition. Why? What was so important that you felt there was no other option but this?"
Cassandra paused in her attacks, lowering her blade and straightening from her stance. She glanced at Haven, and then at the mountains, where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had once stood.
"…I do not think that you were behind the attack on the Conclave. There is more going on here than anyone can yet fathom." She said to Nydha as she gave a frustrated huff. "We needed to act! But I knew that the Chantry was not willing to, and none of the kingdoms of Thedas were particularly involved in the Conclave to immediately come to aid."
"People died at the Conclave – my friends – and I would not let their deaths go unanswered. If we did not act, I knew that no one else would." Cassandra let her sword dip until the tip of its blade touched the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. "But is this the Maker's will? I can only guess."
Nydha scowled at the Seeker's plea for the Maker. The elf had never been one to believe in gods – sure the Dalish had their pantheon, but according to legend, their gods had been locked away. So they lived in a godless world anyway, discounting the Dread Wolf.
"The Maker is not going to save our asses." The elf told Cassandra without softening her words. "You're previous statements were true: there was no one else in a position to act in the aftermath of the Conclave. We cannot always wait on the mercy of a god – this is something the Dalish have learned time and time again."
The Seeker gave her an unreadable look, before replying in a low voice. "I knew that there would be resistance from the Chantry. But your Mark is the only defense we have against the rifts. It is our only chance to close the Breach. And when we do that, we will hunt down those who are responsible for this chaos, and we will end them. Whatever consequences I must face when all of this is over… Then I will pay whatever I must."
Nydha hummed at that, mulling over her words. And hopefully I'll be far away when that day comes.
Cassandra interrupted her thoughts by speaking once more.
"My trainer always said, 'Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.'" She said to the elleth."But I see what must be done, and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again."
At this, Nydha chuckled.
"I did not blame you for your conclusions." She told her. "They were perfectly logical. While I was frustrated at the circumstances, I do not blame you for it. If someone thought they could set me up to take the fall for what happened at the Conclave, they did a damn good job."
Cassandra studied the elf's face for a moment, probably discomforted by Nydha's casual dismissal of her almost-execution. "That does not make it right. I had no proof."
"Human courts have never required proof to condemn elves before." Nydha laughed harshly. "To be honest, I never expected a fair trial, especially when it was an elf versus the Chantry. I expected to be the scapegoat, regardless of whether anyone actually thought me guilty."
The Seeker looked as if she was going to protest, before she froze and a guilty look crossed her face. "…I suppose you are right."
Again, Nydha shrugged. It was a harsh truth, one that humans were often too willing to overlook. Cassandra turned away from her and made as if to walk away, when she paused. The Seeker turned back to face her, a curious look on her face.
"I realize that you are Dalish… but what is your view of the Maker?" She asked curiously. There was something in her eyes, as if searching for an answer in Nydha .
Nydha was not sure that she was comfortable with that look.
"The Maker, huh?" The elf sighed, uncrossing her arms and putting her weight onto one leg, a hand on her hip while the other hung at her side. "I don't really believe in any gods. The Dalish gods are supposed to be locked away, no longer able to help their people. Andrastians say that the Maker watches over us all, but if he does exist, he seems unconcerned with our sufferings. Even without such stories, I am not one to rely on fortune, or the benevolence of an unseen deity. We all must make our own way in this world."
Cassandra studied her for a moment. "That is… a rather pragmatic way of looking at it."
Lavellan gave her a small smile.
The only blessing that a rogue needed was that of Lady Luck.
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