Chapter Three:
The Herald
With her head held high, Serana traversed Haven, avoiding eye contact as she made her way to converse with Varric. The constant adulation and accolades upon her mere presence had worn her down, causing considerable discomfort. Consequently, she sought the company of individuals uninterested in treating her as if she were the 'Herald of Andraste'.
Serana's perspective on belief in the Maker remained open, but she found the extensions of that belief, particularly in the glorification of humans like Andraste, perplexing. In her clan, there was no tradition of glorifying individuals, but rather a deep respect for the ways handed down by their ancestors and the knowledge acquired in the fade. Her clan did not worship gods, although Serana was aware of other Dalish clans that venerated the Evanuris, particularly those with great power such as Elgar'nan and Sylaise. Shaking off thoughts of gods and goddesses, she focused on the broad-chested dwarf she spotted by his campfire.
"Varric," she greeted.
"Ah, Herald," he said with a smirk. He knew she hated that title, her glare serving as confirmation. "All right, don't hurt me." He said with a laugh and held his hands up in feigned surrender.
She sat next to him near the fire. It was midday, but the cold was inevitable, even with the sun shining in a sky free of clouds. The great tear above stood out like a sore thumb, set in the middle of an otherwise beautiful light blue sky.
"We've got a lot to do before taking care of that, huh?" He said, following her gaze. "I don't envy your position, or the talks you probably endure during those meetings." He said, nodding towards the Chantry. He handed her a torn piece of his sweet cake.
She silently nodded her thanks and began chewing pensively.
"You know," she began. "I have no idea what they truly expect from me. Other than closing the breach, I suppose. It feels like they want a leader and Cassandra even said as much. But it feels greater than that," she sighed. "It feels like they want someone to be their Andraste; their savior. It's baffling. I'm just one person. They'll find no divinity here." She shook her head softly, staring at the glowing embers crackling by her feet.
"The irony..." Varric trailed off. Her arched brow eliciting, "Well, you're an elf. Andraste and the elves supposedly worked together, right? Even though the Chantry tends to still peddle the mistreatment of elves." He shrugged. "Not my place to figure it out. Like I said, I don't envy you, friend."
Serana laughed sardonically. "She only joined forces Shartan after becoming enslaved herself. She didn't care about the elves before that. And I don't say that to cast dispersion on her efforts, or her supposed successes. I just don't see why that relationship is often brought up as though she were a complete martyr for tribes of all races. It's foolish."
"Well, either way you look at it," Varric said, "you might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going." He stood and dusted the dirt off of his trousers. "Heroes are everywhere. I've seen that. But the hole in the sky," he said, looking up, "that's beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle."
He opened his tent, prompting Serana to stand and dust herself off as well.
"Varric?" she asked.
"Herald?" He deadpanned.
Serana rolled her eyes followed by a small chuckle. She cleared her throat. "Do you have any of those tragedies of yours on hand?"
He laughed. "Just a second." He entered his tent and came out a moment later with a thin book in his hand. He handed it to her. "This one is probably my best work. But... I'll let you decide." He winked as she gingerly took the book in her hands. He took his leave and disappeared behind a thick tent flap.
Examining the book, Serana appreciated its light weight despite the thickness of its leather binding. She grinned, recognizing the title as likely a clever play on words, typical of Varric's style. Hard in Hightown.
The sun seemed to burn brighter as Serana made her way up the steps towards Solas' cabin. She was not expecting him to be standing right out front, and her back stiffened when she realized she had no idea what to say to him.
It had been two weeks since her projection, and she had not dared to try again. She was sure he knew she did something.
Their initial scouting of the Hinterlands unfolded as an awkward dance between them. Solas would steal glances in her direction, prompting her to look away. Conversely, when she stared at him, he wouldn't avert his gaze, leaving her to cast her eyes elsewhere to escape the seemingly all-knowing mage. Despite several attempts by Solas to engage in conversation, usually during moments of rest at camp or shared meals, Serana skillfully avoided letting him catch her off-guard. If she sensed him approaching, she would quickly retreat to her tent, holding her breath and waiting for him to call out to her. Yet, he never did, leaving her uncertain about whether she should be thankful for that or not.
Today, Serana resolved to accept whatever the man had to say about her intrusion. They had to work together, after all, and something told her he was different from anyone else in Haven. Indeed, he proved unlike anyone close in age she had ever met. His quiet wisdom imparted a depth that seemed to add years to his otherwise youthful visage. Serana found herself fascinated by his stories of the Fade and his retelling of historical events from various perspectives. She often eavesdropped on these stories or sat nearby with a book, appearing preoccupied while subtly listening.
Serana winced inwardly as Solas noticed her approach. He appeared slightly surprised to see her coming toward him, but his countenance changed as soon as she stood in front of him. He simply smiled warmly and greeted her.
"The chosen of Andraste, blessed hero sent to save us all," he said, a sly smirk belying sincerity.
Although usually annoyed with the title and assertions attached, his somewhat teasing tone eased her nerves.
"Am I riding in on a shining steed?" She quipped playfully, feeling emboldened by his smile.
"I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they are extinct." He said, turning toward the stone wall near the steps. "Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary." He added and beckoned her to join him with a nod.
Right. Posturing, she thought, rightly confused. She studied his face as he spoke of his journeys into the fade, and of spirits' reenactments of famous and forgotten bloody wars. The inquiring look on his face as he turned to her gave her pause.
"Every war has its heroes." He said. "I'm just curious what kind you will be."
Serana fought a groan at the mention of heroes. She couldn't seem to escape the idea that she was being metaphorically stuffed into a pre-labeled barrel.
"What did you mean about 'ruins and battlefields'?" she asked, shamelessly changing the subject. "You've mentioned such stories often."
"I did not think you were listening," he smirked.
Serana could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Well, shit, she thought, averting her eyes.
Taking pity on her embarrassment, Solas answered her question. "Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds."
"So, you're observing those spirits… pressing against the veil?" she asked. She found herself captivated not only by his words but also by the way his lips formed each one.
"Of a fashion," he replied. "When I dream in such places, I go deep into the fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen."
Serana hesitated a moment before speaking. "I am aware of such an ability. My people call it dreamwalking, and those who are able are called Dreamers."
"Fascinating," Solas said. He looked past her and seemed to be mulling over a faraway thought. "Are there many Dreamers in your clan?"
Serana hesitated before responding. While she desired to trust Solas, uncertainty lingered about his true intentions. Guarding herself and her people remained paramount, especially when she wasn't present to protect them.
"I cannot say," she replied. Mentally kicking herself, she grappled with the feeling of foolishness, reminding herself that she was doing the right thing.
"I understand," he said. "So much has been buried or forgotten of the old ways. In the fade, I have heard of Dreamers who were able to project their spirit into the real world, walking the waking world as though a spirit in the fade. I do not think that has survived the decay of time, however."
Serana fought the urge to wilt under his searching gaze, instead straightening and casually leaning on the stone wall. "Huh. Now that is an ability," she laughed awkwardly.
He smiled and looked beyond her once more. "It is why I traverse the fade as often as I do, seeking the answers that would otherwise be forgotten in obscurity."
"Yet you choose not to share that knowledge with others of our kind?" She asked curiously.
Solas' eyes quickly met hers, an indiscernible emotion flickered across his face.
"I share much of what I have learned with whomever will listen at the appropriate time. However, it is my experience that there is no desire for the truth to be revealed, not amongst those of our kind." Solas said, his tone seemingly ending the subject.
"Well, I meant no offense. You mistake my question for judgment, but there is much even my own people would not readily share with outsiders," she said gently. "I find your ability extraordinary. It is not something I have ever heard others speak openly about."
"Thank you," he smiled. "I am intrigued by your knowledge on the matter. Perhaps you'd be willing to share more another time."
"Yes!" she said, cursing herself for allowing her excitement to show so freely. "Yes." She repeated, this time more subdued.
Solas looked at the breach, his face becoming resolute in thought, and then back at Serana.
"I will stay then," he said, decidedly. "At least until the breach is closed."
"Was that ever in question? You've been with us for weeks now." Serana said.
"I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion," he said. "Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution."
"I do." Serana answered. She felt a sudden wave of admiration for him as he stood there proudly, even in the face of danger. He always did, she thought.
"You came here to help, Solas. I won't let them use that against you." The conviction in her voice startled her.
"How would you stop them?" Solas asked in a low voice.
"However I had to," Serana said, surprised at the underlying fierceness in her voice.
Solas looked pleasantly surprised. He smiled at Serana warmly and nodded thoughtfully.
"Thank you," he said. "For now, let us hope either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the breach."
Solas nodded his farewell and turned to walk toward his cabin.
Serana sighed, finding comfort in the idea that there was someone among their party who had the potential to truly understand her. She hoped she could provide him with the same comfort. Serana had to admit, she liked the man, and the thought of that excited her.