Chapter Four:
Redcliffe
"I still can't believe the way that Lord Seeker sucker-punched that Sister," chuckled Varric. "Just wild."
Cassandra sucked in her teeth before glaring at him darkly.
Solas tried to hide a small smile, but one look at Varric and he had to turn before a chuckle of his own escaped his lips.
Serana shook her head with a hint of amusement, though concern lingered for Cassandra. Cassandra was steadfast in her belief that something was amiss with the Lord Seeker. Serana wished she could ease her friend's worries, but recognized that more urgent challenges awaited them.
Currently, they found themselves approximately three miles south of Redcliffe village. First Enchanter Fiona's request in Val Royeux appeared to arrive at an opportune moment. Naturally, Cullen opposed turning to mages for assistance, but Serana couldn't fathom what kind of help Templars could provide against the breach. A magical problem demanded magical aid, a perspective she saw as straightforward. However, she acknowledged that her companions' opinions were shaped by biases and prejudices, and she was not exempt from her own.
Even before the village gates came into sight, Serana detected the hum of a nearby rift. The once-dreaded sound and sight no longer filled her stomach with fear, but the prospect of facing more demons still made her tense. Although closing the rifts caused her minor discomfort, she was becoming accustomed to the flow of magic accompanying each closure.
"There's a rift up ahead," Serana alerted her companions.
"This close to the village?" Cassandra asked, arming herself.
"It can never be an easy-going stroll, can it?" said Varric, dismounting Bianca from his back.
The rift came into view, and before them, Redcliffe soldiers struggled to repel the onslaught of demons.
"There is something different here," Solas said before casting a barrier around the four of them.
Serana and Cassandra surged forward, prepared to encircle the demons nearest to them. With a single step, Serana sensed a heightened pull of gravity, making her movements more cumbersome. An alarmed thought raced through her mind: What is this? She recognized it as magic but remained uncertain about its specific nature.
"Serana, move out of there!" Varric called out to her, pinning the demons in her radius with his crossbow.
"The time," Solas said, casting his own spells in her direction. "It is moving slowly where she stands."
"Shit!" Varric sprinted towards Serana, extracting her from the peculiar circle on the ground. He gestured towards Cassandra, who stood within another circle shaded in green. Her movements defied human limits, displaying an unnatural speed.
Regaining her grasp on reality, Serana swiftly joined Cassandra, aiming to attract the remaining demons toward her. She felt as weightless as the air, anticipating each movement before consciously making it. Soon, the rift's energy faded, and the circles disappeared. Catching her breath, she closed the rift and observed her companions.
"What," she began, still catching her breath, "was that?"
"That rift altered the flow of time around itself," Solas furrowed his brow, searching for the right words. "That is…. unexpected."
"Well, let's get in there, shall we?" Serana said.
They were met inside the gates by an Inquisition Scout who promptly informed them that no one had been expecting them, even after they had spread word of their anticipated visit. Serana was speechless.
"No one?" she asked suspiciously. "Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?"
"If she was, she hasn't told anyone," the Scout replied. We've arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations."
"Very well," Serana said, slowly sheathing her daggers. She looked at Cassandra, who met her gaze with a frown.
"Something feels wrong," Cassandra told her.
"I hear that," Serana sighed.
A young elf mage approached them as they made their way closer to the tavern. Serana recognized his robes to be Tevinter. She felt her stomach sink.
The Tevinter mage addressed the group as a whole. He informed them that the mages hierarchy was now led by a Tevinter Magister who had yet to arrive. He did encourage them to speak with the former Grand Enchanter, however.
"Former Grand Enchanter," Serana asked disbelievingly. "What the shite is going on here?" She turned to look at Cassandra who wore a similar expression on her face.
"Something really feels wrong," Cassandra muttered.
"Let's get to the tavern," Serana said, shaking her head.
Once at the tavern, the hostess was quick to inform them that the Magister had not arrived yet, but he had left the Inquisition a message to make themselves comfortable while they waited.
"Who does this guy think he is?" Varric shrugged. "Typical Tevinter." Shaking his head, he crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby wall.
Serana looked around the tavern, searching for the mage who had approached them earlier. Once she spotted him she stalked toward him menacingly. He shrunk in his seat as she approached.
"Where is Grand Enchanter Fiona?" she asked him in a grave tone.
"I-I-I believe she is with Magister Alexius at the moment. They should be back tomorrow morning," he said, swallowing audibly.
"Tomorrow morning?" Serana questioned incredulously. "Why prompt me to talk to her then? Is this some kind of game?" Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and briskly left the tavern.
Outdoors, the sun embraced her face with its warmth as she tilted her head back, eyes shut. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she attempted to stave off the imminent migraine. Solas' voice caught her off guard.
"Shall we stay here, or make camp near the gates?" he asked softly.
"I don't know," Serana said, shaking her head. "This all feels like some sort of trap. Do you feel that?"
"I believe there is something at play here that we could not have foreseen," he agreed. "Perhaps making camp would be the best option."
"Agreed." She said, "I'll let the others know."
"Tomorrow it is," she thought. She earnestly hoped they weren't investing their time fruitlessly.
Serana exited her tent, the darkness around her illuminated slightly by the village gate's braziers. She could hear Varric's soft snoring as she passed his tent. Cassandra lay asleep beside a small fire. Serana stoked the fire to keep its warmth alive.
She walked toward the sound of rushing water and was surprised to see a familiar face standing near a small waterfall.
"Solas," she said, approaching him slowly.
He turned and nodded before returning his gaze to the stars.
"I thought you would be in your fifth dream by now," she jested.
"I wish sleep always came easy," he said, smiling softly. "There are nights I must drink a special tea in order to find sleep."
"Do you not have any now?" Serana asked. "
"I am afraid not," he said. "Come, let us sit."
They sat on the ground under a big oak tree near the falls. Solas rested an arm on a bent knee, his other leg outstretched before him.
"I love the quiet of the night," Serana said, her eyes closed as she took in the sounds around her. "The sound of paws scampering in bushes, insects harmonizing, all of nature just existing as it should."
"I suppose the Dalish relish the nature that provides them shelter" Solas said, his head leaning against the tree's trunk.
Serana found the comment peculiar, yet it only ignited her curiosity.
"What are your thoughts on Elven culture?" she asked. "You seem to purposefully avoid labeling yourself."
"Here I thought you would be more interested in sharing your opinions on Elven culture," he said with an unexpected edge to his voice. "You are the Dalish among us, are you not?"
Serana tensed at the frigid undertone in his voice.
"My people come from the elves who refused to surrender when humans broke their treaty and destroyed the Dales," she said firmly.
"Your people were not wrong about that, at least." he retorted quickly. "We must mark the occasion of the Dalish remembering something correctly. Perhaps we should plant a tree," he added, his words dripping in sarcasm.
Serana stood up, blindsided by his unexpected foul mood and disrespect. "You insult my people."
Solas' eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was an unsettling tension in the air. Serana felt the weight of his words and the disdain hidden beneath them. It wasn't just a casual exchange of differing opinions; it was a deliberate jab that left a bitter taste.
"They insult themselves," he replied, a sharpness in his tone. "Remember, I have walked the memories of the Fade. I have seen the history the Dalish imitate."
Serana's mouth fell agape. The audacity of his words cut deep. She was proud of her heritage, fiercely protective of the Dalish ways, and she would not let anyone, even a fellow elf, belittle her people.
Solas' sarcastic remark hung in the air like an unpleasant fog, creating an uncomfortable silence between them. The words stung, and Serana couldn't shake off the feeling of being belittled for her heritage. Yet, she knew that continuing the confrontation would only deepen the rift between them. Taking a moment to collect herself, she decided to respond with a measured tone.
"Perhaps there's truth in what you say," Serana replied, her voice steady. "Our ways might not align with the grandeur of ancient elven civilization, but we strive to preserve what's left of our culture. It might not be perfect, but it's our truth."
Solas, realizing the impact of his words, sighed and rubbed his jaw slowly. The tension in the air remained, but there was a hint of regret in his expression. "I did not mean to dismiss your efforts," he admitted, the sharpness in his tone softening. "The world has changed, and the Dalish, in their own way, navigate through the remnants of a forgotten era."
Serana nodded, accepting his acknowledgment, but the unease lingered. The exchange had revealed a divide between them, a clash of perspectives that ran deeper than just a difference of opinion. As they sat beneath the oak tree, the night seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for resolution or further unraveling.
In an attempt to shift the focus, Serana gestured towards the night sky. "Look at the stars, Solas. They've witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth and rebirth of civilizations. Perhaps, in their own way, they can guide us through the complexities of our beliefs and histories."
Solas followed her gaze, and for a moment, the weight of their disagreement lifted. They sat in shared silence, contemplating the vastness above, hoping that the night sky held answers that eluded them on the ground.
Solas kneeled down, gathering herbs at his feet. When he glanced at her, a smile graced his lips, observing the spark that ignited in her eyes. Aware of the impracticality of pursuing romance, he valued their openness and her acceptance of him as an individual. Despite his inclination towards secrecy and evasion, he found himself residing among people where complete authenticity eluded him. However, with her, he could embrace a near-authentic version of himself, providing a welcome respite, akin to a breath of fresh air.
"Sleep comes for you, it seems," he grinned.
"I am tired," she agreed, stifling a yawn. "I find it difficult to sleep in those tents. It feels like a cloth prison. The way it traps heat inside is unbearable." She grimaced at the thought.
"That is a good thing in this cold, is it not?" He asked, amused.
"I suppose," she smiled. "It's just not home."
Serana's eyes trailed off into the trees across the river. Her eyes filled with a weary sadness that threatened to consume her.
Solas identified the yearning reflected in her eyes, and a profound ache resonated within his heart. He understood the sentiment well – the sense of being distant from everything one has ever known, with the awareness that a return might never come to fruition.
"Rest," he murmured gently. "I'll keep watch while you sleep."
She yawned, extending her arms overhead before meeting his gaze. Unintentionally, she held her breath. His eyes, dark yet faintly gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the trees, evoked memories of the wolves she once ran with in the forest. The recollection brought her a sense of solace, and the lure of sleep intensified.
She settled her head on the ground, lying on her side with an arm beneath it for support. His eyes remained locked onto hers as he sat cross-legged across from her. Sensing her eyelids growing heavier, she surrendered to the soothing embrace of sleep.