This is a filler chapter, but I tried to add some Solavellan moments. It's a slow-build romance, so nothing steamy yet, no matter how much I'd love to have them go at it *perverted grin*

Anyway, enjoy!

They returned to Haven a day later, arriving early on the morning of the second day. Lavellan and her party were eager to find themselves proper beds, although the poor Herald was instantly roped into several meetings by her advisors (dammit Cassandra!). She only escaped after calling for a lunch break, at which point, she promptly disappeared.

Using her considerable sneaking skills, Lavellan managed to scale one of the cottages and leap over the tall wooden ramparts of Haven before anyone saw her, dropping down heavily on the snow below. The snow bit at her fingers as she landed on all fours, before she righted herself and tucked her fingers into the pockets of her coat. The coat she wore had been left within her cottage by one of the servants, lined with what looked like fennec fur and the hem brushing against the top of her thighs.

Despite the distinct lack of armor, her usual paranoia meant that she was still walking around in her leathers with both daggers attached to her hips underneath her coat. There was also one tucked into her right boot, pressing against the length of her calf with only the tip of the pommel visible near her kneecap. She had a bag full of supplies strapped across her back, filled with a notepad, pieces of charcoal, a few snacks, and a bottle of wine.

My poor ears… Lavellan whined internally as the wind attempted to instill frostbite upon them. As she began walking through the snow, she pulled the fur-lined hood over her head, rubbing the soft material against the points of her ears in an attempt to warm them.

Leaving Haven behind, Lavellan began walking the direction of an abandoned cottage she had found within the forest outside Haven. She had discovered the place after running an errand for Haven's potion-maker, Adan. No one had claimed the place after the events at the Conclave. Adan had mentioned that the healer who had lived there had died during the explosion, and Lavellan would guess that no one else knew about the house anymore, making it the perfect escape from the craziness of Haven.

Twenty minutes later, Lavellan had a warm fire crackling within the abandoned cottage, huddling close to the fire where the wind did not slip between the aged planks of wood. She sat on the fraying remains of a rug, the snacks and bottle of wine off to the side, half-eaten. In her lap was the notepad, and in her hand, the charcoal. What remains of the furniture is scattered within the room, the elf herself leaning back against the top of an overturned table.

She felt her shoulders sinking as the tension there finally eased, the wine helping to steady her hand as she made quick, minuscule marks upon the paper, drawing with such concentration that she no longer had to fight off the constant stream of thoughts, worries, and regrets that haunted her like ghosts since she had awoken in Haven.

A male voice interrupts her, "Oh."

Lavellan shot to her feet, daggers already in hand as she spins around into a defensive stance, eyes glaring in the direction of the doorway.

Solas?! She blinks in momentary surprise before she quickly clears the expression from her face. How the hell did he sneak up on me?

"Herald." He greets her, dipping his head. His eyes flicker around the room as he does so, quickly taking in the fire, food, and sketchbook. "I… did not mean to interrupt."

"Why are you here?" She demands in a flat voice, her body language wary. And then, as an afterthought, she mutters, "And don't call me that!"

Solas raises his eyebrows at her defensive demeanor. "This place is usually uninhabited. I was attempting to escape the crowds at Haven."

Slowly, Lavellan lowered her arms and straightened from her fighting stance, slipping her daggers back into their sheaths. "I suppose I'll leave you to it then." She says quickly as she turns to gather her things, quickly reaching for her notebook –

But someone else picks it up first.

"You're an artist?" Solas asks as he begins to leaf through the pages. His eyes widen at the pictures within. "These are… impressive."

Lavellan scowls as she snatches the sketches from his hands. "Not to mention private, Solas." She growls.

Solas blinks. "My apologies." He murmurs without inflection and with a straight face.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it." Lavellan grumbles as she tucks the drawings into the crook of her arm. The male elf opens his mouth to retort, but she holds up her hand to stop him. "Don't deny it. I can tell when you're lying."

Solas blinks again in surprise, his eyebrows rising. "Do I?"

Lavellan cocks a hip out and crosses her arms over her notebook. "Yes. You have tells. They give you away every time you lie."

"And what are they?" He asks her with infuriating calm.

She snorts. "Like I would tell you. That would only make it easier for you to lie to me." Lavellan pauses to fix Solas with a pointed look. "And you lie to me a lot."

For once, Solas seems incapable of speech. Wow, never thought that would happen. She thinks with a small amount of satisfaction.

"I…" Solas was unsure of how to reply to that statement. She wasn't wrong, but it was unnerving for someone to see straight through his calm façade so easily. "Did you want an apology, then?"

Lavellan sent him a sardonic look. "It wouldn't mean anything." She responds blandly as she turns and kneels down to shove her things into the sack. A hand on her shoulder stops her. She glances up to see Solas staring down at her with an unreadable expression, before he slowly sinks into a sitting position before the fire.

"You were here first. You don't have to leave." He murmurs softly.

There's a pregnant pause as she studies him, her green gaze flickering over him as it searching for a clue as to what he was thinking, perhaps looking for one of those tells she had mentioned earlier. When she finally deigns to speak, it is soft and hesitant in a way that is very much unlike the Lavellan that Solas had come to know.

"I… I suppose we could share this place." Lavellan offers as her body relaxes. She leans back on her heels and shifts into a more comfortable sitting position like Solas', legs crossed and once again leaning against an overturned table.

Solas merely nods at this as he leans against another spare piece of furniture near the fireplace and pulls a book out from somewhere within his weird hobo clothing. They fall into a comfortable silence, broken only by the scraping of her charcoals against parchment, and occasionally the whisper of a page being turned.

Unfortunately for Lavellan, she can no longer fall into meditation as she sketches, as her mind is too distracted by the man in front of her. The female elf finds her eyes straying from the parchment far too often, instead seeking to study the mage.

Solas never really talked to anyone else in the Inquisition, as far as Lavellan could tell. She never saw him walking around the town, never saw him talk to anyone except a few medics, and she most certainly never saw him with friends. Did he even have friends? He was an apostate, constantly on the run from Templars, never staying long in one place. He probably had neither friends nor family.

How lonely. The thought occurred to her with a momentary stab of pity – which she promptly stomped out. Ha, as if my life is any less lonely. Secrets, secrets, secrets.

She mentally sneered at herself, forcing her eyes back down to the drawing in her hands. Lavellan frowned at the various horses the littered the page, drawn in different sizes and from different angles. Perspective was always the hardest part.

"I…" Solas' voice interrupted her inspections. "I apologize for not asking for permission earlier, but may I take a look at your drawings?"

Lavellan stares at him for a moment, wondering if she is imagining his question. Why?

As if he could read her thoughts Solas quickly adds, "I am a bit of an artist myself, you see."

Oh. Lavellan hesitates, before giving herself a mental shrug and responds, "Only because you asked nicely."

Solas looks like he's trying not to roll his eyes at her as she hands over a few pieces of parchment that don't look too bad. She goes back to concentrating on her current sketch as he looks over the others quietly.

" I see that you prefer drawing people." He finally comments. "Although you do have a wide variety of subjects. Horses, elves, humans… and is that Iron Bull?"

"The Iron Bull." Lavellan corrects him sarcastically in a deep tone that mimics the large qunari. Solas lifts a brow at her as if to say, I don't care. She resists the urge to actually smile.

"I don't usually get many chances to practice with Qunari models." She explains as he passes the drawings back to her. "I don't usually hang around with them."

"What a surprise." He drawls with equal sarcasm. "And here I thought the Dalish and the Qunari were best friends."

She smirks at that. Then a strange thought occurs to her: Was Solas a city-elf or Dalish? His previous comments made it seem like he disliked the Dalish, which led her to believe that he was not Dalish. But then again, Solas certainly did not act like a city-elf at all. No, he was too proud – ha, Solas, get it? – and too confident. City elves were beaten down time and time again, until they knew their place. He did not seem to have much of an accent, so it was hard to place what part of Thedas he might be from as well.

"Solas."

He looks up from his book at her voice.

"Where are you from?"

She saw his brow crinkle and his mouth thin ever so slightly as he hesitated. So, he's going to lie about this too. He wasn't as good at lying as he thought he was.

"It's hard to say, really." Solas begins, already side-stepping her question, and she wants nothing more than to smash his abnormally shiny head with her bottle of wine (instead, she just takes a rather large gulp of it). "I've traveled to so many places, but none of which I could call home. I don't really remember where I came from –" Here his ear twitches ever so slightly and she knows it is an outright lie – "but I suppose the region known as the Dales comes closest to it."

Lavellan holds his gaze for a moment, before she breaks it by taking another long sip of her wine bottle. "Uh-huh."

"You don't believe me." He actually seems surprised.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I just know."

Solas goes silent, regarding her carefully with an expression of vague frustration.

"It's fine." Lavellan shrugged. "I can't really hold it against you. I mean, we barely know each other."

She takes another sip from the bottle and turns her face away to stare into the flickering fire. Solas nods slowly, before his gaze drifts down to stare at the book in his hands. But the words on the page turn into meaningless drivel, and once again he finds himself glancing back up at Lavellan.

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself, then?" He asks her. "An even trade."

Lavellan smirks. "So you lie about yourself to me, and I'll lie about myself to you?"

He sends her a reprimanding look, but she just chuckles.

"Alright, how about something simple, no?" Lavellan sighs as she leans back against her fallen table and rests the back of her head against it, staring up at the rafters. "Hm… What to tell you… Oh! My favorite color is bright turquoise blue."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"It's the truth." Lavellan shrugged as she held bask a snicker. "You?"

"I don't really have a favorite color." Solas muttered.

"Well pick!" She demands, channeling her inner four-year-old brat.

Solas really does roll his eyes at her this time. "I'd have to choose green, the rich green of springtime in the forest after the rain."

Lavellan snickered at that. "Wow, poetic as fuck. You just had to out-do me, huh? I say a color, you start waxing sonnets."

He rolls his eyes at her again.

Twice in one sitting. I think it's a record. Lavellan chuckles to herself. The fire crackles and snaps, one of the logs sliding off the pile and sending embers into the air. This causes both elves to glance over and realize just how much of the wood has burned away.

How many hours have passed? Lavellan wonders with incredulity. And to think she had not even slept since the morning of the previous day! The thought is accompanied by a sudden wave of exhaustion, and she tries and fails to stifle the yawn that overtakes her.

Solas gives her an amused look as she covers her mouth and rubs her eyes. "Long day?"

"I barely have any time to sleep anymore." She admits as she begins to pack her things. "It's getting late, Solas. We should head back to Haven before they send out a search party."

He nods at this as he hides his book within his robes and pushing himself to his feet. Lavellan is surprised when he reaches down and offers her his hand. She glances up at him in a moment of hesitation before she grasps it, and allows him to pull her up. Together, they head back to the town in a comfortable silence, listening only to the crunch of snow and the whistling wind.

Lavellan determinedly ignores the tingle that lingers where his hand touched hers.

.*. *. ҉ .*.*.

After sleeping the rest of the day and into the next morning, Lavellan is back up and to business. She speaks to the quartermaster about requisitions and supplies for their camps in the Hinterlands, before she finds herself being dragged by Cullen to the training grounds. She spends the rest of her morning observing the status of the Inquisition's forces and speaking with Cullen about improving their training regimen and team exercises. Then the commander practically hauls her to the Chantry where they meet with the other advisers at the war table.

"We still haven't managed to make it into Redcliffe village yet." She tells the advisers as she stares down at the map. "We've been too busy fighting off the rebel forces in the region and along the roads. The next time I head to the Hinterlands I'll make Redcliffe my priority."

Leliana places a small carved castle upon the location of the city. "My sources have not been able to enter the castle at Redcliffe, let alone get a message to its arl, Arl Teagan. This worries me."

"I might have to sneak in with the city on lockdown." Lavellan tells her. "They've sealed all the city's entrances to keep the demons out. They weren't even letting refugees in when I got there."

Leliana frowns but nods at that. Just then, a courier opens the door, quickly shuffling around the table to whisper in Cullen's ear and hand him a note, before the man exits the room just as swiftly as he had entered. They all watched the blonde man as he skims the note, his expression becoming grim.

"Bad news?" Lavellan tilts her head.

"Very." He sighs with a mixture of aggravation and defeat. "We've just lost an entire platoon of men in the Fallow Mire region."

"What?!" Cassandra gasps.

"That's not the worst of it." Cullen shakes his head. "They were captured by a band of Avvar, and are demanding to speak with a representative of the Inquisition."

"Tch, what if we don't wanna speak to them?" Lavellan mutters petulantly. "Well, I guess if they wanted to get our attention, they got it."

"We will go." Cassandra decides, and Lavellan shoots her an annoyed glance.

"And I suppose I've been volunteered as well?" The elf growled. Cassandra glared. She glared back.

"Don't you want to save our men?" The Seeker asked her in a challenging tone.

Lavellan did not answer, only growling, "I really don't like swamps. And rain. And cold."

"Herald!"

"Fine!" The elf whined under the deadly gaze of Cassandra, throwing her hands up in surrender. "I'm going."

Don't see why you couldn't just lead your own group… She thinks mutinously.

"We will head out tomorrow." Cassandra states, ignoring the strangled whine coming from the distinctly unhappy elf beside her. "I'm sure Leliana will send a note to her scouts as soon as this meeting is done, and they should have a base camp ready for us by the time we arrive."

They all nod at each other in a silent agreement to move on to the next task. Josephine clears her throat as she tilts her notepad and begins writing something with her quill.

"Herald – "

"Lavellan!"

" – we ought to send word to your clan about your survival." Josephine completely ignores her interruption. "I was going to do it earlier, but I realized that I had no way of contacting a Dalish clan. Even with Leliana's connections, it is hard to find them if you do not know where they might be traveling. Would you please assist us?"

There was an awkward silence that followed, as they all had thought that she would immediately answer. The advisers send questioning glances towards Lavellan, who remains silent, her expression pensive.

"…No." She finally answers in a soft but hard voice. "Let them think I am dead."

They all stare at Lavellan with incredulous expressions.

"But Herald –"

"They are safer this way, Josephine." Lavellan states resolutely. "I do not want them to get involved in this. We've made many enemies in the past few weeks, and we will no doubt make more in the future."

"But they are your family – "

"Josephine." The elf levels the Antivan with a glare. "Don't."

After another stiff pause, the ambassador finally sniffs with dissatisfaction and frowns as she jabs the tip of her quill into her notepad. "Fine. As you will, Herald."

Lavellan nods stiffly.

"In other news," Leliana breaks the tension as she leans over the table and places another marker on the map. "I've had my people within the courts of both Orlais and Ferelden doing some reconnaissance and quietly spreading word of the Inquisition. Also, Vivienne has given me a list of Orlesian nobles that might be sympathetic to our cause."

Leliana pulls out one of the shimmering, whispering shards that Lavellan had found while adventuring through the Hinterlands. "I've also had some of my people look into the strange artifacts you found using those ocularum."

"The what now?" Lavellan furrows her brow.

"The skulls with the glowing eyes." Leliana explains. "They seem to have been made with the specific purpose of finding these 'shards', though what they are and why have remained a mystery. However, one of the researchers I went to managed to connect them to an ancient temple of some sort, located in the far western desert."

"Should we look into it?" Lavellan asked her.

"I'm not sure yet." Leliana frowned as she turned the shard over in her hand, the small silvery object catching the light and shimmering. "Once my people have a location, I'll tell you if I think it is worth investigating."

Lavellan nods at this and glances over the members of their group once more. "Anything else?"

"You and Cassandra go and prepare for your journey to the Mire." Cullen waves them off. "I'll send another retinue of men to the Hinterlands to reinforce the demon patrols."

"And I'm going to continue my negotiations with merchants for supplies." Josephine stated, not meeting Lavellan's eyes. "The merchant you contacted in Val Royeaux, Madame Belle, has been most helpful."

"And I will continue my gathering information for you, Herald." Leliana bowed her head in Lavellan's direction, making the elf wince.

"Right…" Lavellan muttered. "Well, um, meeting adjourned."

.*.*. ҉, .*.*.

After the meeting, Cassandra and Lavellan both make their way to the quartermaster to order supplies for their journey, such as tents, bedrolls, and foodstuffs. Cassandra left Lavellan to decide who else will accompany them to the Fallow Mire, and inform them to be ready in the morning. Lavellan heads back to her cottage to pack her things as she mulls over who to pick.

She did not really know what to expect in the Fallow Mire, except the fact that it would be swampy. Cassandra was a good heavy-hitter, and she decided to bring Iron Bull along to see how well he fought in the field under her command. That made three close ranged fighters, so they would need at least one ranged fighter. So… Solas, Varric, Sera, or Vivienne? Wait, definitely not Vivienne.

She would kill me slowly if I made her walk through a swamp. Lavellan thought with a wince. Then again, Vivienne's specialization with the ice element would be quite formidable in a wet place like a swamp. Everything would freeze better.

And what if Varric isn't tall enough to stand above the waterline? Lavellan smirked to herself at the mental image of Varric tagging along in a tiny boat while the rest of them walked waist-deep in sludge.

Ew. Sludge.

Damn you, Cassandra. Lavellan thought as she entered her cottage and pulled out her travel pack, wondering if anyone in Haven happened to own thigh-high boots. She absolutely hated walking in wet socks. Wait – Vivienne would have thigh-highs!

No, they wouldn't fit anyway. Lavellan thought to herself with a pout as she glanced at her tiny little elven feet. While they were a normal length for someone of her height, elven feet were always too narrow for human-made shoes. She'd only end up tripping and falling headfirst into the mud.

Knee-high boots it is. She decided as she placed the boots next to her bed, sets her armor beside it, and begins folding a spare change of clothes into her pack.

So Varric and Vivienne were a 'no'. Sera would not be overjoyed about the swamp either. That left Solas, and considering his apostate status, he had probably traveled through worse places.

A human, Qunari, and two elves walk into a bar… Lavellan smirks to herself as she finishes her packing.

She exits the cottage and makes her way to the entrance of Haven, finding Iron Bull lingering near the large campsite that the Chargers had set up when they had reached the small town. He was talking to one of his men when she walked up and quickly sent the dwarf away when he saw her approach.

"What's up?" He asked her with an easy grin. "You need something killed?"

"Soon enough, I suppose." She chuckles. "I've got a group heading out to the Fallow Mire in the morning to look for some missing soldiers. You think you can tag along?"

"You bet." Iron Bull responded. "The Chargers have been busy helping with the training around here, so it's not like they need me. Plus, I haven't killed something in days. I'm getting twitchy."

Lavellan surprised herself when she let out a bark of laughter, quickly quieting down to a low chuckle. Iron Bull glanced at her questioningly.

"It's nothing." She shrugged at him. "You just reminded me of someone."

"Oh?"

She nodded, but did not elaborate. Instead, she glanced towards the training fields, watching as Bull's Chargers substituted as instructors. "What do you think of our Inquisition so far?"

The Qunari followed her gaze and hummed. "Not bad, for a fledgling organization. There's still a lot to do before you can start calling it an army, but you've got the right people leading. Cullen is putting his Templar training to good use, and it will be helpful for your soldiers to know how to fight a mage. Leliana is a slippery spymaster; scary but sexy. Josephine has a way with words that can make those snobby nobles swear the sky is green. And Cassandra does a good job guiding you along the way. All in all, you've got a good thing going."

"Yes, we are fortunate to have them." She nodded. "Anyway, I have more people to see about our trip tomorrow. Until tomorrow, then."

"See ya." Iron Bull waved her off lazily as she trotted back towards the entrance to Haven.

Lavellan made her way back through the gates, past the tavern, and up to the ledge which had become the unofficial medical center. Adan's house was in the center, the scent of herbs and chemicals drifting from his windows. The other Inquisition medics had decided to move into the cottages in the surrounding area, where they had easy access to Adan's potions and stay close to their comrades in medicine. It was also where Solas had chosen to stay, taking up residence in one of the smaller cottages on the edge of the medical cluster.

She noted the smoke rising from the chimney of his house and knocked on his door politely. There was a moment of silence as she waited for him to approach the door, her ears listening for his footsteps. Then the door swung open, and she raised her eyes to meet him for the second time that day.

"Herald." He noted with a small amount of surprise.

"Nice to see you again. And my name is Lavellan." She sighs for the fourteenth time that day (or fifteenth? She was losing count).

"Right." He nods, correctly himself. Solas steps aside and motions for her to enter his house. "Would you like to come in?"

"This shouldn't take too long, I don't think." She shakes her head and remains at the doorway. "I was wondering if you would be up for a trip tomorrow?"

"Let me guess, it involves fighting, fighting, and more fighting?" He responds dryly.

Lavellan shrugs. "We're heading to the swampland to look for a missing platoon of Inquisition soldiers. Knowing our luck, yes, there will be fighting."

"Swamplands?"

She notes a hint of distaste in his voice. "The Fallow Mire." She clarifies with a nod. "Hopefully there will be less mages and templars, but I make no promises. You don't have to go, if you are busy."

Solas shakes his head. "I am not. I will go with you." He pauses as his eyes dart towards Adan's hut. "I trust there will be enough health potions this time? Or do I need to make some of my own?"

The small crinkle in his brow gave her the impression that he was distinctly unimpressed with Adan's performance as a medic. She couldn't blame the cranky apothecary, she knew the poor medic had a hard time keeping elfroot in stock. Still, it amused her to see the elven mage so disdainful of the man.

Did those two get into a fight? She wondered. It wasn't hard to imagine, she could already see the two men arguing over the best way to distill elfroot or something equally innocuous.

"No, no." Lavellan assured Solas. "I'm sure Adaan will have enough potions this time. Just be sure to wear some boots. You don't want nasty mud sludge getting into your shoes."

"That would be a tragedy." Solas drawled, giving her another glimpse at the snarky man behind the façade of a studious apostate.

"Wet socks are nothing to laugh at." She told him seriously. "It's one of the greatest evils in this world."

Lavellan shuddered as she thought of the sensation of wet socks, cringing as she remembered how the water would squeeze between her toes with every step. Solas looked at her with exasperation.

"Sounds like a traumatic ordeal." He drawled again.

Lavellan scoffed. "You laugh now, but just wait until it happens to you in the marsh. Then you'll be sorry."

Solas raised a challenging brow at her as if to say, 'Sure I will.'

She bade him farewell and left to go speak to Master Dennet about horses for their journey. Then when that was done, she headed to the tavern for her dinner, before returning to her house and falling into a deep sleep, hoping her dreams would be kind.

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