Chapter 01 - Ves
Character Creator - Selma
○ right after 'From the ashes' ○
Once upon another time, on a road not travelled, there was Vaesryn Lavellan.
And the Dreamwalker dreams of him, of June markings embedded in a smiling face, battle scars telling another story above the vallaslin.
'Ves', the wind whispers when he gets out on his balcony to clear his head.
'Ves', it calls to him when he looks out from the battlements.
'Ves', they yell on the battlefield when he gets hurt, these others that he met in his own world.
'Ves!', they sigh when sarcasm gets the best of him.
Oh, he's so young, that one - childhood memories are not so far, a mother's voice threatening her rebellious son with Fen'Harel's wrath if he doesn't do his chores. Well, maybe not properly young, but still able to see the beauty in all things, even in the middle of a battlefield. Willing to see the best in people, no matter what they could have done before.
Suspicious, when trust is not earned yet; and after that, loyal until the end. Caring, and loving. Helping whenever he can. Proud of his beliefs, not afraid to show kindness, not ashamed to show mercy.
Quite like her.
He's a popular leader, this one: his advisers like him, especially the antivan ambassador. She's so fond of him, the lovely Josephine, glad to see how hard he tries to learn diplomatic tricks and speech niceties, to become more than just another dalish archer. He's a winner of hearts above all else – he even succeeded in winning over Cassandra's. Does she still make small disgusted noises about this Inquisitor's poor choice of a lover? He bets she doesn't – in his world, she did not either, not until the truth about him being Fen'Harel all along was revealed. Surely, this Cassandra is as much a support for Ves as she used to be for Miriel.
With a single thought, light as a feather, he inquires about the Inquisitor's companions. Some familiar faces: a tevine mage, a qunari warrior, a brave dwarf, and himself among them, a quieter version, not an enemy yet. Obviously, Ves is fascinated by his stories about the Veil, the Fade, and everything magical. 'Solas' is more… relaxed, here. Glad to share a little of his knowledge about ancient times. Happy to meet a Dalish willing to learn the old ways. As proud of his origins as she was, the golden halla that must walk somewhere in this dream, where is she now? She's nowhere to be seen, around the Inquisitor that quietly ascends the rookery steps. And where is he going, in the darkest hours of the night?
He's headed toward a song.
Somewhere above, under the roof, a mourning soul is singing the tale of a broken heart.
Someone in this world knows the same utter despair that poisons his soul. The ugly bitterness that fills the hole in his heart where Miriel once stood and shined so bright.
Ves doesn't know such feelings, not yet anyway; and a glimpse at the future lets Solas guess how hard it may become for this Inquisitor, later on his path.
For now, he remains free of such a burden: his concern is mostly for the singer. Concealed in the shadows, he stops, not wanting to intrude, and carefully he gazes upward, as if he could see her all alone up there.
This is Leliana singing.
Ves knows of whom she sings: the Hero of Ferelden, the love of her life, brave Rasha from the Dales. Honest and caring, and oh Maker how strongly Ves reminds her of him sometimes! Rasha who wanted to play no game, Rasha who decided to settle no trick.
Rasha who sacrificed himself and slaughtered the archdemon.
And she sings, the young bard, the Chantry sister, the master spy; she sings for a love lost to her forever, for a soulmate gone far beyond her reach. She sings, quietly on her own, when no one's supposed to overhear. She sings softly, when the moon is high and the stars smile down on her, so that she will not break down and cry under the sun.
Ves is gone.
Silent in the darkness, he retreats carefully, choosing another place to stroll around, leaving Leliana to mourn in peace.
But the Dreamwalker doesn't follow. On her desk, half torn and stained with what looks like blood, a scroll has been discarded. A familiar handwriting stretches upon it, forming the first sentences of a report.
"My lady,
We arrived this morning in the Exalted Plains. Camp is settled where you requested.
We've seen some darkspawn close by, please send-"
Another hand fills the other half of the scroll.
"Sister Nightingale,
The advanced camp has been attacked. We have 8 injured and 1 casualty.
I don't know the appropriate funeral rites for Scout Miriel, she was the only Dalish among us, please send instructions.
Camp is now secured. We're waiting for the Inquisitor.
Scout Harding."
And here she is.
Dead again.
He will not find solace in this world.
Whispering a blessing to Ves in the night, wishing him well, the Dreamwalkers wanders on.
Once upon another time, on a road not travelled, there was...