A/N: Hello lovies. A blessed yule, happy Hanukah, and merry Christmas to all. I hope your holiday season is filled with joy, light, and loved ones.
For all who have faved/followed/reviewed, I can't thank you enough. Lots of metaphorical gingerbread cookies to all of you.
R&R lovies...reviews are the best Christmas present a girl could ask for!
Evanthe walked quietly through the garden, her feet bare and sinking into the dew dappled grass. The air was unusually warm for the season, heavy, and crickets pulsed a rhythmic melody through the gentle stillness of the night. Brushing her fingers over the thick and waxy petals of a night lily, she smiled, hearing the soft foot falls of someone striding to join her.
"You walk too heavy," she chided softly, not bothering to turn around. "How are you to sneak up on anyone with a stride such as that?"
"Perhaps I do not wish to sneak," Solas replied, stopping just behind her. Evanthe could feel the line of his body as sure as if he had pressed himself against her. She was aware of every plane of him, the lithe grace that seemed to augment his limbs. "What brings you out at such an hour?"
"It's quiet," she replied. "I find I can escape for a moment, if the silence lasts long enough."
"Do you wish to run, da'vhenan?" he asked concerned, a hand falling upon her shoulder in a bid for her to turn about. She complied and stared up into his deep woodland eyes, his face free of any clan marking.
"Why do you not bear vallaslin?" she asked and he chuckled.
"Always seeking to evade the difficult the answers. Maneuver all you wish, da'vhenan, I shall not be deterred from my course."
"Would you hate me if I said yes?" she answered on a sigh, stepping away from him. A bed of monkshod beckoned to her, and she knelt low to smell the blossoms.
"Hate is too simple an emotion," he replied, "it leaves little room for circumstance and truth. Perhaps you wonder, instead, if I would look upon you differently."
"Hate may be simple, but that won't stop a great many people from feeling it should I up and rabbit away," Evanthe countered closing her eyes. "They've made me holy, Solas. An avatar for a goddess, and I can't quite bring myself to play along."
"Then do not play at all." he simplified as he reached out, cupping his hand beneath her elbow and gently urging her to rise. "Your obligation does not extend to fanatical hysteria."
"I don't like that I have the obligation at all," she huffed. "The breech threatens all of Thedas, and I'll do what I have been tasked with but...I can't help but feel like the people I'm helping...when this is over, the oppression won't end."
"You're right," he replied. "It won't. It is the nature of living. For all we claim intelligence we are nothing but animals scratching at one another. Seeking to roll those below us belly up in subservience. Even the gods...no amount of power makes up for the base nature in all of us." His last words drew her attention, the syllables gently edged in sorrow.
"What is it?" she asked gently, reaching out to brush at his face. He turned at the last moment, a small remnant of a smile upon his face.
"Forgive me. I am melancholy, it would seem. Here I came to offer you companionship in your midnight adventures, and yet I find myself engaging in sophistry. How abysmally self-involved of me. I shall go and leave you to the posies. I sure they are far more enjoyable company than I at present."
"Don't," she protested, catching him about the arm. "Please. I quite like your self-involvement. It gives me a break from my own." Solas smiled at that, laughing softly. Evanthe grinned slyly in response, urging him closer with a tug. "Besides, what if a rift were to open right in this very spot? You would leave me to battle it alone?"
"How very ungentlemanly of me, though I am certain you are more than capable of seeing to your own safety."
"Does not mean I don't enjoy the company, you are much preferred over spiders and worms."
"With such acclaim how can I help but accept?" Solas chuckled. "Though the creatures of the garden can be quite fearsome in their own way. You might prefer having an army of them at your disposal."
"No thank you," Evanthe said on a shudder. "Far too many legs and opportunities to crawl upon my skin."
"You are of the people and yet you flinch at nature?" The idea seemed to amuse the man to no end, as if her phobia were endearing and not, in her eyes, completely justified.
"I do not fear nature," she replied hotly, "just spiders. And them I do not fear, either. I respect them. There is a great difference. Fear is running from that which frightens you, respect is stomping upon the loathsome thing until you are certain it's dead and cannot come back to crawl upon you once more. A hero's action, even; valiantly crushing my foes in battle as it were."
"Yes, quite heroic," he laughed, reaching out to brush a strand of her pale hair back, "the gods themselves do tremble." Evanthe sucked in a breath, painfully aware of how close he hand become. She could feel his hand resting just below the curve of her head, his thumb brushing the delicate and pointed line of her ear. With gentle fingertips he exerted just the barest amount of pressure and Evanthe shuddered, leaning into his hand even as she was drawn closer to him. The symphony of crickets seemed to grow louder as every breath that separated them slowly disappeared, until he hovered over her lips. Evanthe swallowed hard, eyes trembling closed, and leaned slightly forward, desperate to close that last bit of distance.
"It appears matters are not as personal as one would think," she heard Cullen's voice offer on a whisper, the sound fanning out against her lips. Evanthe's eyes slammed open and she found herself staring not into woodland eyes of green, but hazel and all together human. "My but how fickle you are in your affections, herald," her commander chided before claiming her lips harshly with his own.
~oOo~
Evanthe sat bolt upright in bed on a gasp, her heart fair thundering out of her chest. Tentatively she raised a hand to her lips, as if she could perhaps feel the dreamed of kiss still upon them. Taking a shaky breath she struggled to calm down, to ease the tangled knot of desire, heartache, and memory that occupied her thoughts. The dream had been so vivid, such a perfect of image of a night best left forgotten. Everything but the end had been true to life, down to the minute detail of petals upon fingertips and the sound of the cricket's broken melody. For a dream to be so meticulously detailed, to ring so true to what had come before...there was but one explanation, and it infuriated her beyond measure.
Clenching her teeth she leaped from her bed, throwing the linens and furs aside with a mighty force. The light of the breech shadowed moon filtered dimly through her windows, casting the room in a low, unholy glow; a cloaking that matched her mood. Striding angrily to the door she fair ripped it from its hinges, only to be greeted by a weary and all together surprised man, his hand raised in the act of knocking.
"Herald!" he sputtered, eyes sliding from her face to her torso. When he paled she glanced down, only to immediately curse and close her arms tight about her. In her haste and anger she had forgotten that she wore naught but a shift of linen, soft and barely opaque from over use.
"Who are you and what ungodly purpose are you about in my chambers at this unmentionable hour?" she demanded.
"I am, Cesare, Herald," he replied, looking down at the floor most intently, as if the secrets to the gods and the world could be found in its splintered grain. "Skyhold's healer. I was told you wanted a full reporting of Lords Varric and Iron Bull's health once I completed my examination."
"And what of them?" she asked softly and with worry, all trace of her embarrassment forgotten.
"They are...stable, Herald."
"You speak as if that is not a good thing."
"It is the only good thing," he replied with a sigh, fingers rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Herald, you are a mage...you know somewhat of healing, yes?"
"In theory," she supplied. "Mage I may be, but I am first and foremost Dalish, and we do not shackle and train our spellcasters in such a way as the shems do. Healing was never my path. I know the theory of the medicinal craft, but not the practice of it."
"Then you understand enough. As a healer I can seal a wound, smooth the skin, battle an infection as it rages through a man's veins. But I cannot remove that which is of the body. The structure as it were."
"Yes, the mechanics are widely known," Evanthe agreed with impatience.
"I have spent twelve hours systematically trying to erase any trace of red lyirum from their tissues and yet still the infection remains."
"That isn't possible," Evanthe argued. "Even if the advance of the infection was great, your ministrations should have cleared a part of it."
"And yet it hasn't. The red lyrium...it is a part of them. As much as muscle and bone, it is it's own tissue at this point and I fear removal would be a threat to their life." Evanthe choked upon hearing the news. She had been certain with all that had been done to those she cared for that her heart could not break any further. She had been wrong.
"Will it...can they..." she stumbled out, unable to complete the thought lest it make it all the more real.
"Eventually," Cesare supplied, following the trail of her thought. "Though it appears the spread has become all but stagnant. Having no longer been subjected to forced contact with the element the rate of infection has significantly slowed. I can not give you a number, Herald, but from what I can gather they may measure their lives in years and not months."
"And do they pose a danger to the rest of the inhabitants?" she asked quietly.
"I do believe the risk is low. Neither show evidence of crystals found above the skin, and as such pose little threat to others, though I would not be cavalier about interactions."
Evanthe let out a sigh, both of relief and despair. All things considered it could have been far worse; Varric and Iron Bull could have been lost to her long before she had the opportunity to do anything. But the fact remained that two men would die far before their time. Just another pair of casualties in Corypheus's war...and of Solas' ambition. The righteous anger from before came surging back with a vengeance and Evanthe felt the tightening of it in her shoulders.
"Thank you, Cesare, I shall look in on them in the morning," Evanthe replied. Cesare, relieved to be done, nodded in gratitude. She could see that the man was haggard, and sleep called unto him like a siren song. A twinge of pity hummed through her chest; it could not be easy to be the only healer of a dying rebellion.
When the healer had taken his leave, Evanthe quickly retreated to her room and hastily donned a robe, tying the cord off with an angry jerk. Slipping out of her rooms she soundlessly stormed through the halls, the force of her progress causing the torches on the walls to flicker and dance, casting her shadow upon the stones. Glancing out a window she saw the first reaching grasp of dawn claw at the horizon. It was nearly morning, and she would see to Varric and Iron Bull.
But first she had a much less congenial visit in mind.
~oOo~
It was no surprise to her that he was awake, still kneeling in that infuriatingly clam manner. She supposed he would have had to have been awake to play her so. Evanthe swallowed a growl and barged into his cell, kneeling angrily to unlock the chains that bound him to the floor.
"Have you come to walk me to the executioner's block, da'vhenan?" Solas asked when she was working upon the final lock. Evanthe gave him no answer, simply hauled him upright and slammed him back into the cell's wall.
"Is it not enough to betray me in the waking world, but you must invade my dreams as well?" she demanded, a forearm pressed tight to his chest and murder in her eyes. "Execution would be too kind, indeed, for the likes of you."
"I know not of what you speak," he answered angrily, "accusations without merit do little to ensure truthful answers."
"Do not play coy," she cried, "it fits ill upon you."
"Speak plainly then," he shot back, "If coy fits ill upon me then hysteria hangs ill upon you."
"Stay out of my dreams, Solas," she snarled. "Is that plain enough?"
"What desire have I to invade your personal corner of the fade, when there are hundreds of far more interesting realms to explore?"
"I do not pretend to guess at your motivations," she replied, shoving him roughly before stepping away. "How can I when they lead to such chaos?"
"Whatever you are accusing me of, I had no part in," he answered, back still pressed tight to the wall. "If you were to enlighten me as to the cause of your visit-"
"So that I can live through the humiliation again?" she laughed in disbelief. "I think not, Solas."
"Then I shall have to infer based upon your rather cryptic rantings. Would you rather I guess? Recite a litany of all that I could have done to earn such a reaction from you?"
"Why should you hazard at guessing when you were the architect of it in the first place?" she snapped.
"Because guessing is all I have when there is no knowledge," he replied with just as much heat, striding over to crowd her. "I did not tamper with your mind, Evanthe. I may be guilty of a number of things but never that. If my visage crossed your path in the fade, it is not of my doing. Look, instead, to your own mind. You will find it can be villain enough all on its own."
"Why should I believe you?" she insisted. "You have shown me nothing but deceit I may once have believed your protestations, but no longer. From what I know of you, slipping beneath my mind and reminding me of something I once held dear in an effort to sway your cause is something I can easily see you doing."
"You know nothing of me," he replied low, stalking forward and forcing her back. "At one time, yes, I would have played such a trick. But that was...many years ago. This enemy you paint me does not exist. Nor, do I suspect, was the man you built up in your heart." Evanthe could retreat no further, her back bumping gently against the bars of the cell. Solas reached out, his hand wrapping tightly around the bar next to her head and stared intently into her eyes. She could not read the emotion trapped there. It seemed a strange blend of anger, regret, and a secret hovering on the edge of reveal. Evanthe swallowed hard, willing herself to lash out, but no words would come to her. "No matter how intimately, how long, or how shared an experience, we can never truly know another. There is always a part kept secret, held back; for if we were to see all of those we let close to us...the horror of the truth would be too much to bear." He dropped his head at that, eyes closed. Evanthe stiffened and leaned away as best she could, trying to avoid contact at any cost. "Hate me if you will. I have done much in my life that warrants it, but do not pretend to know me, da'vhenan. That is one crime I will not force upon you."
"You make no sense," she whispered, "you deflect and ramble philosophical in an effort to turn me from the topic at hand."
"I do no such thing. It is all connected, whether you can see it or not."
"Stay out of my mind Solas," she repeated.
"I will do my best," he replied, almost on a whisper, "but only as much as your psyche will allow. I do not come to your dreams, da'vhenan...rather they come to me."
"So you admit your guilt?"
"Hardly," he chuckled bitterly. "As I said, look to your own mind. If you dream of me, it is because your subconscious desires it. It requires no effort on my part."
"I desire nothing from you," she hissed.
"It appears your dream tells a different tale," he mocked. "Tell me, Evanthe, just what did you imagine of us in the wicked dark of night?"
"Not you alone," she replied sweetly, the syllables barbed in venom. "But Cullen too." Solas faltered at this, some of his control slipping, and Evanthe took it as a victory. "Perhaps you are right. After all, I cannot fathom why would you allow the commander to claim your prize...not when you were so close. Oh, forgive me, it was he that grew close."
"I see that you seek to play upon my jealousy. Play away, da'vhenan. You will find I have none," he countered, appearing for all the world as if he cared naught about her revelation, but Evanthe could see that the act was just a bit off. She had hurt him. Whatever lay between them, the deceit and the guilt, it did not change the fact that she had meant something to him. And he to her.
"You swear you had nothing to do with my dreams?" she asked, voice a bit softer now.
"I swear it," he replied stiffly, "There is nothing there to interest me. To do so would require the matter to be personal, and as you've made abundantly clear, that is not the nature of our relationship. Not anymore."
"Very well," she murmured, turning to exit the cell.
"Am I not to be chained?" he called after her.
"Why should you when you are to assist Dorian with his task?" she countered, turning about to face him. His surprised expression greeted her, and she felt a chasm spring up between them, vast and impossible to close. "After all, there are no reasons beyond personal ones to not take advantage of your talents. And as you said...that is our nature no longer."
The words cut at both of them, though neither would admit it. Evanthe mourned the schism that had parted them, but it was a burden she would have to bear. She would need Solas in the weeks to come, much as it pained her. Dorian had been right; her reluctance to grant Solas a bit of freedom had been more about the hurt he had caused her than his actual crimes.
As she left the dungeon she repeated the mantra "it is no longer personal" in her mind like a prayer. Hoping that with enough repetition a lie could transform into truth.