~ Two ~
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 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, holding 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 also 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. And 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 with 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 a good one to start with. Then you can read my best work." He winked as she gingerly took the book in her hands. Taking his leave, he 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 astral travel, 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, 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 sounds like some interesting folklore," she said with an air of casualness.
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, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"However I had to," Serana said, an 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.
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 eat of a special fruit in order to find sleep."
"Do you not have any now?" Serana asked knowingly.
"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.