Hi friends! A longer update this time to make up for the short stuff yesterday. Again featuring my Lavellan, Cha'cer. Hopefully you all aren't sick of her yet, haha. As always if you have ideas, throw them at me! Thanks!

I.

….

Cha'cer's metal sheathed knuckles hit the Templars chin with a satisfying crack. His head snapped back in surprise and his shield arm faltered. She watched his left foot move back to catch his weight. As soon as it made contact with the grass she dropped down low and slashed her dagger in a wide arc. A rush of thick gurgling red gushing just under his knee and a limp step rewarded her before she rolled out of the path of his swinging axe. She pushed herself off the ground as fast as she could and immediately regretted it as her vision flooded with a brilliant blue. The usually steady rogue wobbled. Cassandra's shield slammed into the quickly fading Templar, but Cha'cer saw the archer not far from her raise his bow and just couldn't orient herself fast enough. Two of his arrows bounced off the offending blue barrier but the third bedded itself in the thick padding on her right thigh with a thwack.

The elf let out a strangled yelp. In one fluid step she had her dagger palmed and thrown viciously into the eye of the archer. He fell over with the scream of a man about to die and she leapt on the opportunity. She heaved herself towards him with as much strength from her uninjured leg and brought her weight down in the form of a dagger across the back of his neck. She and the archer came crashing down together. Cha'cer made a point to land on her left hip and keep pressure off the right, but the damn soldier managed to tweak the arrow with a spasming arm before finally going still.

She kept her leg held up as she situated herself with only mild discomfort. Looking around for something to keep her leg elevated, she found the fresh corpse to be good enough. She snatched the bloodied collar of the archer and dragged the limp body underneath her injured leg before carefully setting her leg down on top of it. The arrow protruding from her thigh had a thick coating of slick grime. Hopefully not poison, she thought. Thankfully, not a lot of blood had been lost. The sticky red splotch in her thigh guard told her that the cut was shallow at best, not-serious at worst. Working off the adrenaline still pumping in her veins, Cha'cer pushed one of the leather bits of her collar between her teeth with one hand and grasped the base of the arrow with the other.

"Take your hand off the arrow, da'mi." Little blade. Solas waved for her attention as he made his way over.

She spat out the leather strap, shot Solas an irritated look, and did no such thing. She did however, decide to wait before pulling it out herself. The taller elf approached, unbothered, to sit at her side. He made a face at the corpse but did not press. Somehow through invading several bandit camps he managed to look exactly the same as he had when they'd left Skyhold. No blood stains, no bruises, not even a tear on the fabric. Cha'cer looked down at her own state of affairs. Three new tears in the pants (not including the arrow), four new no-quite serious wounds (not including the arrow), and one new bloodied weapon (the arrow). Solas took time and care to situate himself properly. He adjusted his robes just so that they wouldn't be in the way of his work. As he dug through his pouches for vials of bitter liquids and powders, Cha'cer wiggled her leg impatiently. Her hand was still stubbornly wrapped around the arrow.

"I see it, da'mi-" he said patiently before rapping the tips of her knuckes just sharply enough to make her let go. She scowled at him. He did not appear to notice. "—and I am working on it. Be still."

She had half a mind to pull the arrow out just to spite him. However the adrenaline was starting to run low and the ache of a muscle injury set in. She decided instead to lean back on her elbows and watch him work.

"I am not inclined towards superstition, as you well know," he started. Cha'cer snorted. He was referring to Dalish religion. He continued, "But seeing you fight is certainly a testament to your sheer luck."

It was not intended as a chastisement (probably) but it still earned him an icy glare. He raised his eyebrows in what must have been feigned innocence.

"Perhaps I would manage to demonstrate more luck without occasionally being blinded," she said.

This time her tone was not missed. His eyes narrowed just slightly—almost imperceptibly—before concentrating on his work. He poured a vial of nastily stinging goop around the penetration site of the arrow. Cha'cer clenched her fists and jaw to keep from flinching. Warriors did not flinch. He dipped long slender fingers into a pouch of powder and dusted his hands with it before pressing one to the wound. Warriors do not flinch. The other hand wrapped around the base of the arrow. Warriors do not flinch. Without warning he yanked and Cha'cer hissed with pain. It appeared she would continue to remain in the shadows and leave warrioring to someone more suited, she thought glumly. He dropped the arrow next to her without ceremony and pressed both hands to her thigh. The powder had some cooling relief, at least. He shot her a sympathetic look.

"Would you rather I let the other two arrows find their mark?" he asked.

He moved one hand to make a small pointed x's on her shoulder and throat. She did not miss his meaning nor the breath she didn't know she was holding. He seemed pleased. She scrunched her nose up and shook her head determinedly. Soft touches and the stupid thing he did with the eyebrows was not going to work this time. Cha'cer still had floating spots in her vision from the blast of fade light.

"Preferably not, no, but do your barriers have to be so bright?" she said. It was his turn to scowl.

"My barriers are excellent the way they are. Less bright means less shield, da'mi."

"Then less shield couldn't hurt."

Solas outright laughed at that. "I think hurt is exactly the word you're looking for. A few arrows short of dead, even."

"That's not true!" She sounded petulant and she knew it. He had his hands on her latest wound as they spoke. "I bet you I could last a match with Cassandra without a single barrier."

"Is that so?" His eyes sparkled, something he usually did when he felt he was about to make a point. She kept her chin high and kept her gaze level. She tried hard not to smile. "And what will you bet on this?"

His hands shifted so he could reach back into his pouch for bandages. The roll that had been thick that morning was maybe a quarter of the size it had started. The smaller elf pursed her lips. Cassandra was not far off, polishing the blood and teeth off of her enormous shield and scowling at something Vivienne was saying. Cha'cer chewed her lip. His hands tucked around her leg now dragging a little and lingering where he did not have to if he were only applying bandage. She flushed and grinned at him. He smiled back with no more than a raised eyebrow to give himself away.

"Another kiss," she named her price. She turned her head so that their noses almost touched and gave her most determined look. His eyes widened in shock and he nearly fumbled the bandage. It was though saying it out loud had broken the spell by acknowledging the magic existed. She almost thought she'd lost him on it but the glimmer hadn't quite left his eye. He gave her a look she didn't quite have a name for.

"Alright, da'mi. So be it."

…

II.

…

It was just past sunset in Skyhold. Streaks of violent orange tore through the sky around them. Torches from the gathered crowd warmed and lit the stones like the daylight hadn't left. Oddly enough the enormous very drunken crowd did not offer Cha'cer much comfort or courage. Iron Bull shouted vulgar cheers that mostly ended in head-butts and 'horns up'. She had no idea what on Thedas that would have translated to for her; a tiny very overwhelmed, very far from being the resident rabbit Dalish hunter of the Lavellan clan. No, instead she was here facing what was undoubtedly certain death. No more than a few metres away Cassandra paced with a polished sword and shield. Her armour glistened no more than what Cha'cer was sure was murder in her eyes. The elf cast a nervous glance at the crowd on her side of the courtyard. A round of hearty cheers and an extremely smug looking Solas. She gave her widest grin and lifted her dagger in the air. Her team roared.

Solas laughed. He had been kind enough to spread the rumor of the duel though no one she had spoken to seemed to know exactly what the stakes were. Some of the newer recruits had been convinced it was a fight to the death to see who should carry the title "Inquisitor". As far as Cha'cer was concerned, Cassandra could have that. The stakes were much, much higher. Steeling herself, she faced the raw strength staring her down across the yard. Behind her, Solas' face fell from cheerful to that of one who'd just realized they'd made a grave error.

…

III.

…

"Oh it's not that bad," Cha'cer coughed, waving away Solas's concern. She had been placed on the surgeon's makeshift stretcher. She wasn't entirely sure if it was necessary or just ceremonial. Blackwall and Bull lifted each end onto their shoulders and she was suddenly very high. From her cloth throne, Cha'cer twisted painfully over enough to raise a dagger at a fretting Cassandra. The recruits roared and lifted their drinks in response. Solas directed the two hulking men to her quarters in urgent hushed tones nonetheless.

Every step bounced the wound in her side just a bit more. She gagged a little and tasted copper. Adrenaline was still flowing through her from the fight and the wound was distant enough from her mind that she only winced a little when they let her down on the bed. She had, much to her delight, more than enough strength to shoot Solas a victorious grin. She was sure it would have been much more dashing without the tint of blood, but it worked nonetheless. He gave her an exasperated look.

"Lie back, would you?" His sounded irate. She pouted but did as he asked. He pulled the stool from her desk over near the bed and roughly dumped his sack of medical supplies on the ground. One quick glance at the blood gushing from her side and he abandoned the pile. Instead he quickly began undoing the buckles of her leather chest plate and vest. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Usually I'd make you buy me dinner first, but this time I'll let it slide," she said.

"It is not the time for jokes," Solas snapped.

"Surely it's not too serious." She tried to sit up and look only to have her shoulders firmly held down. She felt a bit dizzy. Cha'cer looked at him with a twinge of fear in her wide eyes. His expression softened.

"No, it's not serious, da'mi. Not lethal, anyway," he assured her. "It is a wound, however, that was entirely unnecessary."

She looked hurt. He avoided her gaze. His hands slid along the edges of her tunic nervously pushing the fabric up. Solas was careful to leave her covered as much as could be helped, and careful to keep his gaze on the wound in front of him. The mage had imagined seeing the bare skin of her midriff in plenty of other ways, none of which he was deserving of. The wound before him was his fault. He had encouraged the notion and worse, failed to prevent it when he saw it happening. Magic poured from his fingers into her skin and she gasped. He did not stop. Cha'cers skin was knitting back together at unnatural speed. The amount of power he was using was dangerous, he knew, but she was worth the risk. A risk she had taken. For him. He had been so foolish.

"You still don't believe me, do you?" Cha'cer interrupted his thoughts with a hand on top of his own. The blood on her fingers smeared over the tips of his knuckles. He did not look at her or answer. She squeezed gently. "Look at me, Solas."

He did not want to. He didn't want to see the wide eyes full of curiosity he might have lost, or the purple stained lips that could have stilled. He did not want to see the blood smeared on her tunic or the curve of her breast underneath. She tucked her hand under his chin and gently guided him instead. His jaw clenched uncomfortably and he furiously blinked back the fury that stung his eyes. She tilted her head and caught his eyes with her own.

"I am alive—"

"Fenedhis, da'mi, it was my fault, I shouldn't have—"

"Solas, hush."

He did.

"I am alive and I won. Just barely, obviously," she laughed a bit, winced, then continued. "And… perhaps you may have been sort of a little bit right about the barriers."

He smiled despite himself.

"But the point is that I won. Without them. You do not need to fret over me regarding battles." She offered him a proud grin. "Though, it may be a good idea to check up on me after such battles. Just in case, y'know?"

He laughed. She cupped his cheek and brushed it lightly with her thumb. He leaned into it just lightly. His hands continued to press magic into her abdomen trying to discreetly alter the time around her wound until the start of a scar started to form. Without Vivienne or Dorian to witness and a bandage to cover it, he could get away with pretending he knew anything about healing magic of the mundane variety. Her hand covered his again and squeezed. He looked at her and she had the lopsided grin that meant trouble. His eyebrows raised slightly.

"You know what else that means?" She practically purred under his touch. He was suddenly very aware of how warm she was. How soft and alive she felt. His breath caught. The warrior beneath him had won their gamble fair and square; no tricks involved. Keeping one hand pressed to her side, Solas leaned forward to touch their noses lightly. She traced the line of his jaw, open affection clear on her face. Her eyes were honest.

With just a tilt of her chin she brought their lips together. It was harsher than the fade, full of real skin and real heat. She hummed and pressed closer. He leaned into her harder unable to stop the hungry desire burning in his heart. She cried out and he realized he'd put too much of his weight on her wound. Magic or not it was still fresh. He broke the kiss hastily. Cha'cer gave him an apologetic look, nuzzling his cheek instead.

"Perhaps the prize could be altered, if you'd be so kind as to let me change the terms after a clear victory," she said. He grinned.

"Depends on the suggested changes," he said.

She patted the bed beside her. He shot her an alarmed look, eyes flickering from the wound back to her face. She laughed. "No, not that. Just… company. I hate visiting the Fade without a companion. Especially in such poor condition."

He opened his mouth to correct her, to say that her physical appearance had very little to do with her appearance in the fade, but thought better of it. Instead he nodded.

"I can accept those terms, da'mi."