AN: Yes, I know the mark can't keep the Herald from getting possessed, as we see in-game if you go the templar route. But Solas has his reasons for saying what he says. Basically, this fic should just be called 'Shhhh: Solas has his reasons.'
So happy to be past the beginning of the game phase! Now we're really moving!
Chapter 5: Fade, Fair and Foul
The lights are hot and spin in brilliant colors - first blue, then purple and red - and the air is heavy with the scent of spilled beer and body odor. The music thumps through her bones, and her dry throat is sore from screaming the lyrics.
'Cause baby now we got bad blood
You know it used to be mad love
So take a look at what you've doo-one
'Cause baby now we've got bad blood! Hey!
It all feels familiar, like it's happened before. In front of her Jules is scream-singing as well, her brown hair a frizzy halo around her head in the humidity. She has on the tiniest dress imaginable and high top sneakers, and no shame, her mouth open in a huge grin. She'll try to take a hot investment banker home tonight but end up puking in Errol's bathtub instead, but Errol isn't sure how she knows that.
Errol looks down as sweat drips into her eyes. She's wearing a cropped white tank top that shows off her red bra, a tiny skirt with neon sneakers, and her lips are painted scarlet, like a return of the early 90's. She likes the style - it shows off all the right parts. She's twenty-four, and it's been too long since she and Jules went dancing like this.
Now we got problems
And I don't think we can solve 'em
You made a really deep cu-ut
And baby now we got bad blood! Hey!
Now Jules is studying for her LSATs and Errol is working full time at a soul-sucking corporate job, and the only thing that drove them from their respective holes is the flyer Jules found on campus that proclaimed a "Shitty Pop Music" night at a local club. Their mutual secret weakness. Her father would be horrified to find out she liked Taylor Swift and Katy Perry. Her mom had to sneak her to a Backstreet Boys concert when she was thirteen by claiming they were going to a special mother-daughter puberty class.
Did you have to do that?
I was thinking that you could be trusted
Did you have to ruin what was shiny?
Now it's all rusted
They sing as loud as they can, clasping hands, twisting hips together, performing a little for the guys who linger on the edges and watch. Jules is smaller than she is, her skin a dark olive, lovely and delicate, a face Errol knows as well as her own, her best friend since before they could speak. Suddenly she misses her, a pain sharp and fresh, and doesn't know why, since they are so close Jules' bangles are scratching the inside of her wrist.
Did you have to hit me?
Where I'm weak, baby I couldn't breathe
And rub it in so deep
Salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me
"So this is how you spent your time before you came to us."
Everything in the room warps and slows. The music stops. Jules' face is frozen, her mouth a wide 'o' as she is caught mid-word.
A shiver ripples through Errol's spine as she turns to the source of the voice she had not expected to hear here. "This is a dream," she says flatly, trying to hide the sadness in her voice. "It felt so real."
"That's because you are in the Fade. It projects memories."
She sees him now, cutting through the crowd smoothly, as if they aren't there, his tunic and bare feet out of place among the jeans and suits. He is inspecting everything with great curiosity.
"The music comes from nowhere. Interesting. The sound is like nothing I've heard, and distinctly unpleasant… due to being unaccustomed to it, I'm sure." Solas examines the bar. "Is is certainly different from our version of taverns. Is dancing in your world always so… lascivious?"
Suddenly Errol is furious.
"This isn't your memory to go poking around in, or judging!"
He looks contrite and makes a small bow. "You are correct, I am being rude and judging a culture I know nothing about and intruding on a personal memory with your lover. Perhaps we can move to a location where you might be more comfortable and more… clothed?"
Errol flushes. "As you said, you know nothing about my culture. This is perfectly acceptable. And she is not, was not, my lover."
He raises an eyebrow. "So in your culture it is 'perfectly acceptable' to writhe against another woman you have no intention of bedding?" He looks around. "Ah, it is intended for the males. Part of a mating ritual, perhaps?"
"We're not animals, asshole," she snaps. "It's called having fun in my world. How about your mating rituals? What are the mating habits of elves, hmm? Since we're all animals here, maybe we should call it rutting instead?"
His jaw clenches slightly. "Point taken. My apologies, Herald. I should know better than most not to make quick judgments of other cultures."
"And yet you do."
"I did apologize."
Errol takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. "Fine, let's go. Just promise me never to use the word 'mating' in front of me again."
"I'd expand that deal to include 'rutting' as well. Awful word."
Errol smiles despite herself. "Fine with me. Let's go."
With one glance back, she follows Solas through the crowd. The music starts back up and the crowd keeps dancing, oblivious to their departure.
Now they are in a forest, the grass thick and soft under Errol's bare feet. She is silent following him through the dense trees, the nighttime air heavy with the scent of jasmine and pine needles. Above her, the sky is cluttered with stars, too many to count, and the moon hangs low on the horizon.
She realizes that they are both wearing robes, long and flowing but somehow not impeding their movements. Errol's hair is loose around her shoulders but braided at the front to keep it off her face. She feels taller, straighter, lighter, and she cuts through the air like a fish through water, barely making a ripple.
They reach a clearing, but Solas doesn't stop until he is in the middle of it. When he does turn, it is languid at first, more relaxed here than in the real world, and then he stiffens in shock and his eyes go wide.
"Fascinating," he breathes, and steps closer to her. "Are you doing this for my benefit?"
Errol takes a step back. The look in his eyes makes her uncomfortable. "What are you talking about?"
He lets out a soft hmm noise. "So you did it unknowingly. You shaped yourself into a reflection of this part of the Fade, of me, without even being aware."
Errol looks down and fingers her robe. Her bare toes seem longer than usual. "You mean my clothing?"
"Far more." Solas waves one hand and a hovering mirror appears. Errol peers into it, and sees her own face staring back at her, only her neck is longer, her eyes greener, flowers braided into her hair, and her ears…
"I'm an elf?" she breathes, unable to believe her eyes.
"You were just in your part of the Fade, in your memory, and modeled yourself after that image," he explains. "I helped pull your sleeping mind into a safe area of the Fade that I cultivated, and in doing so you not only followed me but somehow modeled your appearance after me. Perhaps your subconscious thought that this would appeal to me more?"
She blushes furiously. "I wasn't trying to appeal to you in any way," she says, her tone a little too harsh. He puts his hands behind his back and regards her mildly.
"That's why I said subconscious. It is unusual, however - in fact, I've never seen it done before. Those who enter the Fade in their dreams usually retain their own appearance, unless enacting one of their own memories, as you were before."
"Well, change me back."
"I can't. Only you can."
Errol scowls. "I don't know how."
He shrugs elegantly. "Then for now you will have to be an elf. I assure you it's no great tragedy. The elves have a rich history. You should feel honored to have this opportunity."
She looks at him flatly. "Now think about how you'd feel if I repeated that exact same sentence back at you with the word human instead of elf."
Something flickers behind his eyes. "It's not the same."
"I'm just saying… think about it."
Errol reaches up and touches the sharp tip of her elongated ear. It's highly sensitive. She rubs her thumb along it and half-closes her eyes, smiling slightly. "You know, this is actually pretty nice."
Solas' soft cough gets her attention. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her with a strange look on his face. "You should… you should not do that while in this form," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It's uncouth."
She drops her hand. "Oh, sorry."
There is an awkward pause that goes on for far too long as Solas looks pensively at the woods, the sky, anywhere but at her. Errol twists her fingers together, noting that they are longer and more elegant. She always hated her hands - normally they are square and blocky, better for chopping wood than playing guitar.
"Solas," she finally says, and that laser-guided attention is back on her. "I had my first lesson with Comm- with Cullen today. He told me about the Circles, and what templars do."
"Yes," he says thoughtfully. "It's a horrific system. At its gentlest a mage sits staring at the same walls their whole lives with an invisible leash around their neck. At its worst they are brutally killed or stripped of their magic and emotions."
"He sounded regretful." She chews on her lower lip.
"Something's on your mind?" His voice is gentle, like the first time they met, when he reassured her that her world was still safe across the void.
"He mentioned a Harrowing. He said that… to prove I wouldn't be possessed, I would have to go through something similar."
"No." Solas' answer is swift and sharp. "You won't do anything of the sort."
She looks up, surprised. "But… that seems to be everyone's worst fear. Mine too, really. That some demon might get up inside me, take me over…" She shudders. "If I have to pass some test to keep that from happening—"
"A Harrowing is a barbaric practice that you will not be subjected to," he says firmly. "It breaks down the mind of the mage, makes them terrified of the Fade, makes them more pliable, distrustful, weaker. It takes from them the shades of grey and makes the world black and white. I would not have that happen to you."
"Then, what?" Errol asks. "We just cross our fingers and hope that no demon takes a shine to me?"
Solas moves closer, surprising her enough that when he reaches for her left wrist she almost takes a step back. He turns her hand over and traces the wicked green scar with his finger.
"This magic is very old," he says pensively. His touch is light but still activates something inside of the Mark, and tendrils of green flare and wrap around his hand. "It guards you well. I theorize that any demon who would attempt to possess your body would find itself burnt out before it could take its first breath with your lungs."
Errol is finding it hard to breathe herself. There is something strangely intimate about the way the magic in her hand is winding its way up his arm, as if welcoming him, as if it knows him. "You theorize?" she finally rasps. "You could be wrong."
He hesitates, then carefully releases her hand, as if loathe to watch the magic go. "I rarely am."
Errol forces a smile. She feels shaky, and she's not sure if it's in a good way. "And so modest, too."
"If it makes you feel better, I also know of an amulet that would keep demons from entering your mind," he says, stepping away, his hands once again behind his back. "Though to have some interaction with them would be worthwhile. It's all a learning experience. It would mostly be for the benefit of your advisors. I believe they would sleep better at night if they felt you were adequately protected."
"I'd sleep better too," she says, and he gives her a secretive smile.
"Why? For the foreseeable future, whenever you are asleep, you will be here with me. There is a lot to learn."
Suddenly Errol is excited. In all of the strangeness she had almost forgotten. "Yes! Magic! Let's do this!" She opens up her hand and a staff is suddenly in it, just there as if it has been there all along. The Fade swirls along her skin like cool water with the edge of lightning.
He looks mildly impressed. "Your enthusiasm does you credit," he says. "As does the fact that you grew up in a world without magic, yet show no fear of spirits or the Fade. Your abilities seem to be tied to your emotions, which is why you were able to conjure fire and electricity in the heat of battle but not even the simplest spell when calm. So," he waves his hand and her staff vanishes, "I think we will have to concentrate on concentration for now, and channeling your newfound power in healthy ways."
Errol groans. "Don't tell me you're going to go all Mr. Miyagi on me."
Solas settles onto the soft grass in a lotus flower position. "I won't be distracted by your incessant references. I know they're meant to frustrate me. First, we calm our minds. Then, we will discuss theory. Sit."
Errol hmphs, but sits. She expects to see his eyes close, but he is smirking at her. "What?"
"I'm simply marveling that it's been twenty whole minutes and you haven't said 'fuck' once."
"Now you're trying to frustrate me. Fuck you."
"Ah, I shall have to reset the counter to zero." He settles back and closes his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. Errol wonders if that is part of his plan, to get her riled up before she is supposed to meditate. "Now clear your mind."
Bastard.