Part Four: Clariel
Tears ran down her mother's white and shaking face as Clariel finished her story, her voice hoarse from speaking into the stillness. She had told them everything that seemed relevant: the Evanuris and the true history of the ancient elves, Fen'Harel's rebellion, the eluvian network, the vallaslin...and of course, her own story. How their only daughter, scout and guide to the Dalish, had come to love the Dread Wolf who now threatened their destruction. Her mother clutched a leather-bound journal, the more detailed record of everything that she'd said. It lay in her lap, the buckles still unopened, as though she could somehow contain the terrible truths inside.
Her father seemed beyond crying, unable to look at her, staring instead at her metal hand. Her Aunt Deshanna, Keeper for the clan, sat thoughtful and silent, one arm around each of Clariel's parents.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence punctuated by her mother's hiccups, Deshanna spoke. "Thank you for bringing the gift of truth, da'len. I can only guess how much it must have cost you." Her hands shook, but her voice was quite steady and calm.
Clariel didn't feel like a child any more. She hadn't been a child since thwarting destiny and seizing the Anchor from Corypheus. But she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.
"What would you have us do with this information?" asked Deshanna when Clariel said nothing.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've only been in Wycome for a few days. I suppose..." She looked down from the lonely cliff on which they sat, at the campfires starting to burn in the Dalish encampment below. Somewhere down there, her cousins were probably cooking their evening meal, completely ignorant of what was brewing all around them. "I suppose I leave that judgment to you. I just want the elves to be safe and free from Fen'Harel's clutches."
"That is easier said than done. The Inquisition helped defend us, but there are many who might heed the Dread Wolf's call to a new world-even at the cost of their own lives."
"Haven't you been listening?" said Clariel, more sharply than she intended. "He doesn't want a better world for us. He wants to bring back the old world, and he's prepared to destroy all of us to do it!"
"I heard, da'len," said Deshanna calmly. "And I believe you. It is now my task to make sure your message is heard by more than us three. As I said in my letter to your friend Varric, there are already agents of the Wolf among us. We must be swift-and careful."
Clariel let out her breath in a sigh, both mollified and slightly ashamed of her outburst. "Aunt Deshanna," she began slowly, "I can't begin to-"
"We are the ones who should be thanking you." She smiled slightly as she stood, resting her hand on Clariel's shoulder. "Now, then. You have something else for me?"
Clariel nodded and pulled the thick stack of Varric's pamphlets out of her traveling bag, handing a sheet to her aunt to read. This version was much less detailed, containing only the essentials of the Dread Wolf's threat. No mention of his complicated history, or even of her own involvement beyond opposing him. Deshanna raised her eyebrows as she scanned the page, but otherwise made no comment. She folded it up, tucked it into her pocket, and held out her hand for the rest of the stack. She also took the leather journal from Clariel's mother, tucking that under her arm.
"It will have to be tonight, I think," she said softly. "While everyone is gathered outside the city walls, and we are less at risk of infiltration. If you like, you can stay here while I deliver your warning."
A warm rush of relief swept over Clariel and she nodded, watching her old Keeper walk back down the hill toward the rest of the clan. She chanced a look at her parents; neither of them had moved, or said anything. They seemed lost in their own world, one where she was a complete stranger to them. She blinked back the prickling in her eyes as she also got to her feet, brushing the dirt off her stiff legs.
"Well," she said in a tiny voice. "I suppose I'll just-"
She never finished the sentence. Her mother reached up, seized her hand, and pulled her back down into a fierce hug.
"I am so, so proud of you," she whispered.
"I-but-"
"You're not the girl who we sent off to the Conclave," she said through her tears. She let go, and Clariel saw she was smiling. Crying, and smiling at the same time. "You are the kindest, wisest, strongest daughter I could have hoped for, and I love you, da'assan."
Da'assan. Little arrow, her childhood nickname. Her mother's hands traced the empty space where Clariel's vallaslin had been, gentle and soothing as they had been when she was ten.
"You're not angry with me?" she asked, hardly daring to believe it.
Her father's head snapped up, as though he'd just realized she was sitting a few feet from him. "Never. But I wish it wasn't you," he said roughly. "I wish my daughter didn't have to bear this burden. I wish you could just come home for good." He drew a deep, shaky breath, and he suddenly looked about a decade older than she remembered.
"Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?" she asked, quoting one of his favorite stories back to him.
He gave a broken sort of chuckle, and laced his fingers through hers. "Always with the clever rejoinder," he said softly. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
Then she finally let them fall, the tears that she'd been holding back from everyone else. Let her parents hold her, let them share the illusion that she was still the little girl they could protect from the Wolf. But it only lasted for a few minutes; soon enough, the world and all its weight came rushing back, and she gently disentangled herself from her mother's arms.
"I've got to go back to the city tonight," she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I need to meet a friend. If you want, we can talk more tomorrow morning."
"I'd like that," said her mother. "Go on. You have a world to save."
"Again." They shared a small smile, and Clariel gave each of them one final hug before hurrying down the path toward the city proper. As she walked, she swapped the silverite hand for the small crossbow slung across her hip, and pulled her cloak up to hide her face.
She'd barely made it beyond Wycome's gates when a red-tipped arrow struck the cobbles in front of her; the guards were conveniently looking the other way at a drunken bar brawl that had spilled out into the street. Clariel heard a stream of curses that sounded suspiciously like Skinner and Rocky before another arrow nearly clipped her ear. She looked up to see Sera frantically waving to her from the opposite rooftop.
After one more glance at the guards, Clariel took aim and fired, sending her grappling hook spinning around the top of the chimney. Sera helped her climb, mouthing "Hurry up!" the whole way.
"You try climbing with just one arm," said Clariel when she was finally kneeling next to Sera on the roof. She reeled in the grappling hook, staring down into what could only be described as utter mayhem. "What are the Chargers doing here?"
"Being a distraction for you, dummy," said Sera with a grin. She tossed Clariel a scrap of red cloth to cover the rest of her face. "You're still hot shit. Don't want anyone recognizing you. Now come on."
Sera led her across the rooftops toward the alienage; they could just make out the top branches of the vhenadahl, covered in red and white ribbons. She whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Clariel as they moved. "Tip from a friend about some nob who got here two nights ago. He's got those face things, but none of the Dalish seem to know him. Keeps circling the alienage, like he's casing the place."
"Do you think he's looking for someone in particular?" asked Clariel.
"It's not that big an alienage. More likely, he wants suckers who will listen to Solas."
Sera stopped so suddenly that Clariel almost ran right into her. She caught herself on the chimney, then hastily backpedaled out of the black smoke pouring out from below. They were on the roof of a small, grubby forge just outside the alienage walls; They could hear the smith cursing at his apprentice below.
"You good with this?" asked Sera, and there wasn't any hint of a smile on her face now. "Fighting against him?"
Clariel tied the cloth over her nose and mouth. "I'm going to save him," she said fiercely. "But until I do, I'm going to be a bigger pain in his ass than the Evanuris ever were."
Sera's eyes lit up, and together the two elves edged their way along the rooftop. They dropped over the walls of the alienage, silent as shadows, back to back.
The arm at her left is...strange in the Fade. There's simply no other word to describe it. It seamlessly transitions from bow to hooks to lightning gauntlet at her whim. It requires no dials or harness, only her will to operate. In some ways, it makes the physical reality easier; the more she uses it in dreams, the more it feels like part of her body again. She amuses herself for a few minutes each night, doing all the things she can't in the waking world. Using the grappling hook to leap between trees, the silverite hand to lift herself up mountains. And then, she searches.
Despite her best efforts, Solas doesn't appear for several nights, and she finds herself wondering if Hakkon really did dissuade him. But on the second week of her stay in Wycome, the white wolf is waiting for her. Curled before an eluvian, encircled in a deep ring of purple flame. He stands up when he catches sight of her, and for one horrible moment, she wonders if his power extends to reading her thoughts in the Fade. If he's found out about the waylaid agent.
She pushes the thought aside and comes to a halt at the very edge of the circle. She's not here for his tools. She's here for him.
"Do you remember when we first met?" she asks. His tail twitches, and she takes that as her cue to keep talking. "I was so frightened. So sure I was about to die. And then you took my hand...and everything felt right. You saved me, Solas."
The jawbone necklace is in her hand, the lifeline that binds them together. "You needed me to stop Corypheus then. But if you mean for me to die with all the others, why save me again?" she asks, knowing the answer all along. "Why didn't you just let me go?"
He knows the answer too, for as the wolf changes to the man and walks through the eluvian, she can see his shoulders begin to shake. She calls his name just before he disappears, and sees him hesitate for a heartbeat on the threshold.
She gives chase this time, heedless of the licking purple flames. Hakkon's protection holds firm against them. But by the time she reaches the eluvian, the mirror's surface is already dim. She leans her forehead against the cold and unyielding glass, hoping against all odds that he's still listening.
"I will never forget you, ma sa'lath," she whispers. "Even if you forget yourself."
A/N: This got a bit rambly, but I had a lot to work out after Trespasser, so thank you for taking an interest :) With any luck, DA4 will be as good or better than Inquistiion, and we'll finally get some closure for Lavellan and her Dread Wolf.
Mad props to Patrick Weekes, Gareth David-Lloyd, and everyone at BioWare who brought Solas so beautifully to life.
Translation of elvhen phrases and words:
andaran atish'an: a formal elven greeting, literally "I dwell in this place, a place of peace."
ar lath ma: I love you
da'assan: little arrow
da'len: little child
Evanuris: the elvhen pantheon, powerful mages who came to be known to the Dalish as the "Creators"
Fen'Harel: the Dread Wolf
ma sa'lath: my one love
Tarasyl'an Te'las: Skyhold, or "the place where the sky was held back"
vhenadahl: the Tree of the People, planted at the center of an elven alienage
vallaslin: the facial tattoos of the Dalish; blood writing