The pretense was 'compensation', but Solas was not in any position to deny his desire to leave the dusty library. He'd been attempting to re-organize the shelves for what had to have been the thousandth time (this time arranged in chronological order) when the Seeker and her prisoner had interrupted him. The Dalish girl was interesting, at the very least. She did not seem to have any respect for her predicament, or if she did she was not planning on showing it. The way her eyes had lit up when he'd mentioned payment was telling of her life in the city and it made whatever was left of his old heart ache for a time when the People had not yet fallen. It was a familiar feeling.

Unfamiliar was eating at a nice restaurant with someone else. The last time he had had the opportunity, Corypheus had bent Thedas over his knee. Even then the opportunity had been squandered and like his usual, Solas remained blissfully in the Fade or with the sole spirit that had found himself outside its borders. The Inquisitor had been far too fascinated with the games that came with politics to notice or regret his absence. Not that he was bitter, of course. The time for bitterness had passed nearly two thousand years ago. And there was nothing in the world quite like uthenara to make you forget the friends you almost made.

In front of him, this new Lavellan, false Lavellan, slurped up noodles from a bowl filled with meats and vegetables. She had picked the most expensive pho available on the menu and had added every condiment she could get her hands on. Not that he had minded, he had promised compensation, but it was remarkable to watch such a tiny elf pack food away like a druffalo.

Her demeanor had warmed considerably since he'd suggested lunch but she had kept a carefully calculated distance away from him. He tested it only twice and stepped into the two foot bubble she kept and found her quickly moving just out of reach. She didn't even seem to realize she was doing it, but it made her distrust of the world around her apparent. And told tales of the life she had led thus far that compensation in the form of noodles was as exciting as the prospect of being grabbed was terrifying.

"You're staring," she accused with a mouth full of food. She swallowed with visible struggle. "What's throwing you off?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are you staring at?" She insisted.

He cleared his throat and pushed the leaves of his salad around with his fork. "Nothing, Lavellan. I was not intending to make you uncomfortable. I apologize."

Her eyes narrowed. It wouldn't have been so ominous without the thickly applied eyeliner and he wondered absently if that was the intended effect. She put her chopsticks down across the ceramic bowl and rested her chin on her palm. She studied him with the same intensity he'd been studying her with.

"Out with it, Keeper Solas." She said. He cringed. Of all the lies he had told recently, that was the one he had regretted most. "Is it the hair? The tattoos? Or…" She scratched just under her ear and pretended to have an epiphany. "Perhaps it's the Lavellan bit that's got your knickers in a bunch. So tell me, librarian. What did I do to personally secure the downfall of your clan?"

His eyebrows shot up. "I hardly suspected your involvement, da'len, and would ask that you refrain from the subject. I am not much of a Keeper without a clan."

She looked surprised, like she hadn't expected to actually hit a sore spot. She hadn't, of course. Solas was about as Dalish as Seeker Cassandra, but pretending your clan died in horrific ways prevented most shem from asking too many questions. Even if it did come at the cost of occasional Dalish gatherings. The food was awful.

"I… uh. Shit." She stumbled through her words awkwardly, light purple eyes locked on the steaming food in front of her. "Sorry. That was crass."

"It was," he agreed, "But you were right. Lavellan is not an unknown name to me." She watched him carefully, one eyebrow raised slightly and shoulders tensed as if she were ready to push away from the table and run. He knew the feeling well. "I imagine it cannot be easy to be compared to the dead or reminded constantly of their triumphs."

"Mm." She picked up her chopsticks again and toyed with the oils swirling on top of the broth. "Something like that."

Her hands were thin and scarred like she'd scrambled up enough chain link fences to last a lifetime, discoloured around the wrists only faintly where handcuffs had marred her skin. The lines were only a faint red now, far too gentle to have gone without healing. Still his eyes were drawn the to vallaslin. Only the more traditional clans still wore them. Those that had tried to integrate into society instead wore charms or chains to represent the gods they still believed listened to their prayers. But he was long over feeling guilty for that transgression.

The marks sat oddly on her features, like she had chosen them for decoration rather than a rite of passage. There was minimal scarring and the ink itself was an untraditional shade of purple. Still even with Ghilan'nain marking her face, he could hardly imagine the woman in front of him-the one that was trying whole-heartedly to fit a boiled tomato into her mouth in one go-tending to a herd of halla with any form of gentleness.

"So crime was an escape then," he ventured, noting her movements freeze at the mention. "It's very difficult to paint you like an ancient hero when you douse yourself in the streets the Seekers pretend don't exist. A life of crime would certainly do the trick."

Her eyes found his again, narrowed and trying to assess if he was a threat or not. "A life of crime," she repeated slowly.

"I have not forgotten the pretenses of your," he paused to find the right word, "involvement."

She snorted. It quickly turned into a laugh and soon she was drawing the attention of the other restaurant attendees. "Ah, yes," She said dramatically, waving her hand in some sort of fancy gesture. Solas frowned. "The sordid past. How ever am I to outrun it?"

"I did not mean-"

"What? You did not refer to the poor life on the streets? Scrapping for bits of bread and weeping as the noble shems passed me by?" Her ponytail bounced with enthusiasm as she played up this fantasy. The way her voice bellowed suggested offense, but the sparkle in her eyes spoke otherwise. She was toying with him. "Did you not refer to my emotional scars? I am wounded, Solas. Hurt, Solas. Did you even read the fucking case file?"

"Well, no. I skimmed." He admitted.

"You skimmed." She said knowingly. "So as far as you're aware, I've committed several gruesome murders, stolen a whole orphanage worth of children and spent my down time fucking halla in the middle of the Haven subway system."

Solas laughed, despite himself. "And have you?"

She grinned. It was a crooked thing, spreading across her face haphazardly and carefree. "No, but that's not the point. You can't lord my criminal history over me without even knowing what it is."

"Alright." He held his hands up in surrender as she took a huge bite of one of the roast pork slices. "Then how would you proceed were you in my place? Eating lunch with a potentially dangerous criminal that I am to be saddled with for at least a year, and you suggest I proceed without caution?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, you ass. For starters, you should have read the case file if you were that worried."

"Who said I was worried?"

She snorted. "What, fight dangerous criminals all the time then, ha'ren?"

"Solas," he corrected. Not as much as I used to.

"Whatever. You should've read the file." She pointed at him with the ends of her chopsticks. "Or, and I know this is crazy, but you could just fuckin' ask."

He frowned. "Ask who about what?"

"Ask me about my dangerous criminal history, you twat." She laughed again. It was a sound he was unused to but he liked it. It felt like camaraderie and campfires in the Hinterlands. "Shit, ask anything you want. Like you said, I'm saddled with your sorry ass for a year. Don't tell me you want to be strangers the whole time, yeah?"

Something dangerous glinted in the corner of her eyes and her carefully schooled neutral expression. It reeked of Orlesian politics and underhanded tricks. She wanted something. The look ill-suited such honest eyes, but Solas played along. Far be it from him to impede oncoming disaster. He had a knack for amplifying it, in fact. Why stop now?

"Alright, Lavellan. What is this sordid past of yours?" He took the opportunity to actually eat some of the salad he'd been playing with and watched her recount her crimes on the tips of skinny fingers.

"Seven cassette tapes, a bit of graffiti-there was this one time with a bus-well, you probably wouldn't care about that," She flinched suddenly as if hit and her eyes found his as she choked on words. "And well, uhm." She swallowed. "The last one isn't important."

A poor liar, then. Solas smiled easily. "That was when you fucked the halla, I assume."

She laughed loud and without restraint. "So, ha'ren has some humour in him after all!"

"Please, Lavellan," He repeated, "Just Solas. No need for formalities."

She watched him like he was a riddle waiting for her to say just the right words. He leaned back in his chair and let her. It had been a long time since he had played this game and he knew better than anyone the dangers of manipulation. She set her chopsticks down beside the mostly emptied bowl and bit her lip thoughtfully.

"You sure?" She asked. "Not going to put me in jail for disrespect or something?"

It occurred to him then that that may have been the only favour she was after. That could've been what she wanted from his friendship. It would be unbelievably easy to convince the Seekers of her guilt and rid her of her freedom. Of course, Solas would never dream of such a course of action but she didn't know that. She barely knew where her next meal was coming from. Perhaps he had overestimated her motives.

Solas smiled to put her at ease and nodded. "I would never."

. . . . . .

Dusk fell hours ago and the light that poured in through the library windows was artificial and cold. It was familiar, though Solas had grown weary of wishing it were not so. He walked barefoot around the library in an old green tunic that hung loose around the shoulders. Cole followed him with the books he couldn't carry, offering each one before Solas ever had to ask. It was an old companionship that even a thousand years had not changed. He wondered often if that was his own refusal to let memories fade that kept Cole glued to him.

The spirit made no noise when he walked so that only Solas' footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty library. As per city law, the building was public property and thus the electricity was cut to save expenses every night after about eight. It used to annoy him but after Cole had suggested a veilfire torch the dark hours felt more nostalgic than anything. He swapped Cole for the books and handed the spirit the torch as he sorted the books.

"She ticks like a clock, warm, smiles and laughter. This is new." Cole appeared perched on top of the shelf Solas was working on, feet dangling a few inches from some priceless copies of Haven historical records. Were the boy corporeal it may have been a problem, but Solas was used to him appearing and disappearing in odd patterns.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Solas said. "Suspicious even if pleasant."

"She is pleasant?" Cole asked.

Solas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Black hair, purple eyes, lipstick darker than pitch and teeth like a predator. You have teeth like hers." Cole bared his teeth to demonstrate. Solas snorted and bared his own teeth in response.

The spirit's eyes widened under the wide brimmed hat and he vanished from top of the shelf, taking the light with him. Dull green light thrummed from his personal office, leaking under the shut door and reflecting through the great glass window. Solas watched him for a second with the pile of books still in his arms to see if he'd return. Cole had apparently found the small Dalish shrine again and was toying with the incense sticks. The librarian set the books down defeatedly and followed the boy instead.

"Cole, we have already discussed religion and how it warps spirits from their original essense," he repeated for the umpteenth time, but the spirit was not listening.

His hands ghosted over the statue of Mythal. It was an untraditional piece, but the only one Solas could stomach. Most statues portrayed her as a silent guiding figure and ignored the legends of her wrath. This one had her balancing scales in one hand and holding the head of a dragon in the other. Slightly more accurate. The incense sticks in the pot beside her still were wrapped in their original plastic packaging. Cole pressed the tips between his fingers until the clear wrapping crinkled. Solas sat beside him wearily.

"Bright. So bright. She is unquenchable and furious." Cole's voice barely rose above a whisper but still conjured the image of his friend and mentor like she had died yesterday. "She is not forgotten. She is whole."

"Of course she is not forgotten." The words came out harsher than he intended but Cole didn't seem to notice. One hand still hovered over the statue. Solas reached over it and pulled it back. Cole's watery blue eyes found his again and he curled in on himself. It was such a boyish action that it was difficult to remember the days when Cole fought fiercely at his side. Solas sighed. "I am not angry, Cole."

"No, you are the Dread Wolf," the spirit replied easily. Solas smiled.

"I'm afraid that hasn't been true for a while," he said. "Not much use for a rebel god anymore. There's no place for a pantheon in this world." Solas' eyes fell to Mythal's figure again. It seemed so pointless. Everything did. All he had done and everything he had wanted was crushed just the same under the heel of the actual inhabitants of Thedas. The world was rotting and he couldn't tell if it was his fault or not. "Perhaps that is for the best."

"You gave up." Cole accused. "You could still help. You could help her."

Lavellan's face came to him clearly as if Cole had willed it. She had the will of a soldier and the shackles of a slave. In another time he would have lifted her out of her world without a second thought. "I can't do that anymore, Cole." Solas said. "People have to learn to help themselves."

"She can. She does. That does not stop you."

Solas' lips pressed into a thin line. He plucked one of the sticks from the incense pot and pulled it from its wrappings. He gestured and the tip burst into green flame. Carefully so as not to burn himself, Solas planted the ceremonial piece back in the ash pot as the twirls of smoke wove through the air above Mythal. It appeased Cole enough that he vanished again but he left the veilfire torch behind him. As soon as the torch hit the floor the light went out, leaving the false Keeper alone with his memories.

. . . . .

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Hi guys! Another update for you. Sorry this fic is taking a bit longer to update than my usual. I'm actually trying to build an intricate world for this one and hopefully I'll be able to capitalize on that. We'll see! If all goes according to plan, this fic will end up being twice as long as Champion and with ten times the plot content. Idk, it just doesn't seem right to write a simple love story for Solas and Lavellan, y'know? It's gotta be complicated and messy.

Anywho, for those of you craving updates or snippets of fics that may or may not get published, you should come hang out with me on tumblr (ingredient-x). I post all sorts of scraps and art that will likely never reach FF or AO3. Plus, I take prompts. So c'mon, come be my friend.