AN: This is a little something I got inspired to write after poking around tumblr and seeing some really great film-noir inspired pieces. While I can't claim to be as good at those writers, I thought I'd give the whole dark/gritty world thing a try.
Enjoy!
~Voi
It had been a long day and an even longer night.
The moon hung in the sky trying its best to chase away the dark, but the creatures that lingered in the cesspool below made it impossible. The gloom of the city seemed to stick to the citizens with the sort of single-minded dedication that criminals could only aspire to and Lavellan was done dealing with that for the day.
"Gods, what a shithole."
Lavellan sighed as she shrugged out of the too-large coat she wore, tossing it on her half-made bed on her way to the kitchenette. Flinching when the stitches in her side pulled, she cursed as she strained to see her bandages in the dim foyer of her dank back-alley apartment. In a city as populated as Val Royeaux it made sense that space ran at a premium, but even that did not excuse her cramped quarters. Smelling of mildew and the cloying perfume worn by the prosititues next door, Lavellan grimaced as she forced open her single dirty window and found the smell outside worse, albeit cooler in temperature.
Orlais' capital, it was supposed to the jewel in the empire's impressive crown. Instead, Lavellan found it closer to a fancy bordello. Nobles indulged their every whim and cared nothing for the corruption that ran rampant. Prostitution was the best means of turning a profit, and the Grand Cathedral was the place where such deals were made in broad daylight.
Oh how the mighty had fallen.
The Mage Uprising had lived and died all without their notice, but she could see the damage. Even now the citizens watched each other warily, suspiciously, and with healers being put to death for even the rumor of magic, disease was spreading faster than the blight itself.
The Inquisitor had been forced to send Lavellan to Val Royeaux when a crisis in Denerim had demanded her full attention, but their goals were ultimately the same. There was another faction beginning to take hold of the underworld, use that power to destabilize the already shaky empires and build their own atop the rubble.
An empire for elves.
The rebels called themselves the Creators, taking the names of the pantheon for themselves.
Lavellan hated that part of her sympathized. She had been raised away from cities, away from humans, and bore them no special love. But the time of elven dominion was long over, and it was time the People accepted that Arlathan and Elvhenan were only ancient ruins, nothing more.
Progress was not made by clinging to the past.
Besides, she had seen the damage these so called freedom fighters were capable of. The carnage was the bloodiest she had ever seen, a viciousness that seemed almost animalistic. Two years she had been living undercover, trying to find their leader, and the experience was slowly starting to wear on her.
Digging into her kitchen drawer for her pack of cigarettes, she lit one with little fanfare, taking a second drag when the first failed to steady her.
She had known there was going to be a murder tonight, had suspected. Fate had cursed her doubly though, and on her way to stop it she had stumbled upon a young elven man being accosted by a pair of rather aggressive women who had confused him for one of the red-light districts delicacies.
Lavellan imagined the man would have been fully capable of freeing himself except that one of the women had proved to be a mage, a Tevinter noblewoman no doubt, since those were the only ones left alive after the purges. Two nobles against a commoner, an elf. Had she chosen to leave the scene she knew it was possible she would have read about him the following day in the paper.
Nobles had a way of making their little indiscretions…disappear.
And so she had stuck around, warning them well off with a little show of her own when they had been stubborn. Much good it did her though, the elven man seemed rather put out at the end of it, it seemed he was an assassin and she had chased away his targets.
She snarled. It figured the Crows would take to infiltrating the brothels. They never did have much in the way of scruples when it came to doing business. In the end, her detour had made her a moment too late, and by the time she had arrived the target was already dead, the killers on their way out. They had actually surprised one another, and she now had a side wound to show for it. Considering that the two that tried to remove her were now dead she figured she had received the better deal.
Her half-assed attempt at sewing herself up had only earned her a litany of curses and a sort of brief unsteadiness that was more dangerous than the wound itself. If she was going to recover properly she needed a healer who would not ask questions. Unfortunately her usual physician, Anders, had recently fled with his lover across the Waking Sea.
Selfish bastard, she thought bitterly.
He had eluded the mage purges thus far, the least he could have done was sent her a letter telling her he'd gone. She'd dragged herself to the squalid little shopfront on the other side of town only to find him gone.
Setting the coffee pot on the stove, Lavellan remembered the agony she had endured on her trip back, the staggering pain that had ultimately forced her to duck into an alley way and press herself to the slimy walls as she gasped for breath. It had started to rain, a torrential downpour that beat down on her mercilessly despite her condition.
Huddled beneath the narrow overhand, she had tried to swallow down her fear, but her extremities were beginning to chill, and that was never a good sign.
It was then that she had saw him. Tall and skinny, sunken features that spoke of hunger and a life lived too close to death, the young man emerged from the shadows like a ghost, a spirit. Given that she had been well trained, the fact that she had not even heard him following her made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in warning.
Eyes large, luminous in the dark, the young street urchin zeroed in on her bloodied side, pausing for only a moment before he darted away, pale blond hair glinting from the greasy street lamps.
Alone, likely bleeding out, Lavellan had braced herself and slowly lowered herself to the ground, shivering at the night air dipped lower still. Half lost in the haze of injury as she was, she had been only vaguely aware of the boy, the ghost, returning some time later, this time accompanied by a taller figure. A man with ears as sharp and pointed as her own, his appearance made her stomach clench in recognition. She knew him well, too well.
She snarled, trying to get away from him, but his grip was firm despite his gentle touch.
"No need to be surly, Lavellan."
He had chided, "You and I both know you cannot afford to be picky right now."
His hand drifted lower, slowly peeling back her coat and shirt to brush against the edge of her wound, making her jerk and gasp in pain.
"What in the world are you involved in this time?"
He asked, though the question was more musing than actually directed at her for an answer, "You promised to keep safe."
He sighed as his hand finally settled beneath the wound, and with a small whisper prompted the magic to flare between them. Green and glowing, it washed over her like a wave, soothing her wounds as well as pulling her under. And before she quite knew what was happening she was asleep.
She had woken to find herself in an alleyway closer to her home, sheltered against the rain by the well positioned lid of a trash can. It stunk, but it worked, and Lavellan grudingly accepted the kind gesture knowing that she would likely be required to pay it back soon.
A knock at her front door brought her back to the present, drawing her attention away from the now-screeching tea kettle. Turning her stove off, she crossed the cramped quarters with little hurry, plucking her revolver from beneath her bed pillow before approaching her entryway.
She didn't bother asking who it was, no one ever answered anyway. Instead, she gave the doorknob a sharp twist, a well timed kick, and the door swung open to reveal the man who had saved her life just a few hours earlier.
"Solas." Lavellan took a drag from her cigarette, exhaled slowly, blowing the smoke from the corner of her mouth, "I thought I told you to leave me alone. Forever."
"Did you?" His blue eyes glittered beneath the hood of his cloak, the smirk on his lips was sharp, delicious curve on his angular face, "It seems I've completely forgotten that."
"You haven't forgotten anything. You have a mind like a trap." She said with a frown, "So, what brings you to my doorstep?"
He raised one brow but said nothing.
"I did not ask you to-"Lavellan sighed, stopping herself short as she glanced around to check if anyone was paying attention to them. It was not uncommon for men to be coming and going on this floor, but she was not willing to take risks either.
Ten seconds was a small price to pay if it meant she could continue her two year charade a little bit longer.
Gesturing him inside, Lavellan scowled when he passed her and plucked the cigarette from her lips and took it for himself. Inhaling its poison with smooth smirk and groan of contentment, he smiled.
"At least you know to buy quality." He said, "Though I supposed that was why you came to me in the first place."
Lavellan felt her cheeks heat, and his roguish smile said he knew exactly what she was thinking of. Their history together was a long and convoluted one, but once upon a time he had been her lover, and that sort of history was not dismissed in a city such as this.
"Tell me, do Inquisition agents regularly moonlight as jazz singers, or are you a special case?"
"Me, an Inquisition agent?" Her lips curved into a smile, "Aren't you cute."
His eyes narrowed, "You deny it?"
"Considering I spend my days getting groped by would-be pimps inbetween music sets I don't know when you think I have the time to go and do something like that."
"You're smarter than that, Lavellan." He said gently, "Don't think I haven't noticed your late night trips to the Alienage at the far side of town."
"You have someone following me?" She drifted away from him, towards the small make-shift bedroom and its floor to ceiling mirror, "Should I be impressed? Flattered?"
Her hands skimmed the curves of her body as she reached up to undo the catch that held her dress closed. And with little more than a shrug, she loosened her gown and sent it pooling to her feet in a silken tumble. Smiling, she bit her lip when she saw felt the heat of his gaze travel the length of her body, the translucent fabric of her slip, lingering on the silk ties that held her stockings up.
"Can't you tell I thought of you today?" She teased, touching the little ribbons, "But it seems you've only thought of intimidating me."
She tilted her head, watching him through the fringe of her lashes, "Have I ever done anything to worry you, to put you or your position in harm's way?"
He was on her in a moment, hands splaying wide on her hips as he stood behind her, pulling her back ever so slightly so that she might feel the heat of him, the strength that anchored her so effectively.
"I'm still injured." She breathed as his hand crept higher still, playing across the curve of her ribs.
"I can make you better." He whispered, and again his hands glowed with the green of his magic, "I will always make you feel better."
She looked up, at their reflection in the mirror and was horrified to see tears in her eyes.
"I know." His expression was tender, somber, "I cannot undo that injury, no matter how much I may want to. And for that I am sorry."
"Why did you betray me?" She whispered, her voice trembling.
Solas smiled sadly, "Does it matter?"
She turned, faced him as her hand knotted in his shirt, "Did any of it matter to you?"
He skimmed the side of her jaw with his thumb, "Yes. All of it."
And there in her apartment, beside the one man she loathed above all others, she wept. And the only one who cared for her tears was the one who had, with a gesture, destroyed her entire world those many years ago.