She woke up a few days later in a cabin, her head throbbing and her tongue feeling thick and sticky, like she needed a drink. After everything that had happened, she'd have preferred some kind of strong alcohol. And yes, Siara could remember everything. Well, except what happened with those explosions. She didn't understand those.

"You're awake, I see."

"Uh… yeah…" she pushed herself into a sitting position, looking around. "Who are you?"

"My name is Solas. And you are?"

"Siara," she frowned. "What happened?"

"You were lucky. Very lucky. The conclave exploded. Very few survived. You are fortunate that you're among them."

"Where's… I mean…" Siara cleared her throat. "I was with someone. I… Where are the bodies of the, uh…" she cleared her throat again. Solas frowned.

"You were on your own when we found you. There wasn't even a body with you."

Siara's eyes widened before she looked away, not wanting to hear this. First, she watched her brother – her only family left – get killed, and then the body is just… gone? She didn't even get to say goodbye properly?

"Are you all right?" Solas asked gently.

"No."

"Would you like some time alone?"

"No," Siara shook her head, her face becoming emotionless. "What I would like is a drink. Ale would do it. But butterbile would be nicer, thanks," she put her feet on the ground and held her hands out to him, pointedly ignoring the fact that she definitely was not wearing what she had been before. "Help me up would you?"

Solas didn't look convinced, but helped her up anyway, even accepting it when she leaned on him for support as her left knee gave way slightly. Soon as she managed to put weight on both her legs, they set off. Solas watched her curiously. She didn't have the same mark as Trevelyan, when they had been found in very similar situations.

"Do you remember anything about what happened?" he asked, very much trying to get to the bottom of this.

"I'm not answering any questions until I have some alcohol in me first."

"Very well," he stopped and pushed open the door to the tavern. "After you."

"What a gentleman," she smirked, slipping inside and making a b-line for the nearest free seat. Solas followed, slipping into the chair opposite. It wasn't long before someone wandered over to take their order.

"West Hill Brandy for me," Solas said, "and, for the lady…"

"Whatever your strongest alcohol is," the waitress blinked a couple of times. "What? Isn't a girl allowed to drink?"

"No, it's not that, it's just…" Siara raised an eyebrow. "Yes, of course, right away."

She bustled off, darting a glance back at Siara, who was now playing with her hair, which someone had evidently decided to untie.

"Where's my stuff?" she asked idly.

"Safe. Soon as we are certain you are safe to have around we shall return it."

"You talk funny, you know that?"

Solas raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You talk like you expect people to respect you when they don't know anything about you, and you talk as though to give the impression you know… Well… almost everything. Why?"

"What's wrong with wanting people to respect you?"

"Nothing, I suppose," she looked around as their drinks were put in front of them. "Now, you had some questions, didn't you?" She drank about half her tankard in one go. "Ask away."

Solas raised his eyebrows, not sure if he was impressed or just surprised. Siara scoffed, once again looking around the room, her hair falling in loose waves about her shoulders, framing her face more picturesquely. Her skin appeared even darker than it actually was in the gloom, her skin being a light chocolatey colour. She had a couple of scars on her face, one on her jaw, one running through her eyebrow and down her cheek, though luckily for her the blade had clearly missed her eye. She had other scars, too, but they were a lot less visible, all the visible ones on her upper arms, some on the forearms but not as noticeably.

"Cat got your tongue?" she taunted, eyebrow raised elegantly as she leaned her head slightly to the side. Solas shook his head.

"Do you remember anything of what happened?" he asked. "The only other survivor from the centre of the explosion – Jacquelyn Trevelyan – doesn't remember much. I was hoping you could shed some light on this matter."

Siara concentrated on everything that had happened, but her mind didn't want to go past the moment her brother was killed. She finished the rest of her drink instead of answering, waving the tankard to the waitress to show she wanted another.

"I hope you're paying for this," she told Solas. "All my money is with my belongings and I sure as hell ain't working this off."

"I'll pay," Solas agreed, "so long as you answer my questions."

"No," she shook her head. "No, I don't remember anything. One moment it was quiet and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a place I still don't recognize," now she faced him, a small frown creasing her forehead. "I might remember running, but... I can't be sure," the frown vanished, her face returning to a near-blank slate. "I hope you've got deep pockets. Because right now, I'm drinking to honour someone."

"Do I look like I have a lot of money?" Solas raised an eyebrow.

"Not really," Siara admitted, "however, you can find someone to bring my money to us if it gets too bad," she leaned her elbow on the table, looking at him closer. "You're not a city elf, are you?" she asked. Solas shook his head.

"I am not."

"And if you were Dalish chances are you'd have the tattoos."

"The same applies to you."

"Yeah, well... I'm not Dalish."

"Nor am I," he watched her closely as the next tankard was set in front of her, the original being taken away. "You're not a city elf either. So. What do you count yourself as?"

"A weapon."

"That's a strange thing to think of yourself as."

"Not really," she shrugged, tracing the rim of her tankard with a rather long, delicate looking finger, even by elf standards. "All I have – had – were my family and my swords. So, we trained. We became the best at what we do. We left our clan when we were still pretty young, and they treated us like trash, anyway. We didn't like the city. Orphan elves in a city would be killed pretty quick, and we were nearish to Denerim. So, I'm not Dalish, I'm not a city elf... I'm a weapon. I'm a weapon because I fight and it's what I do best. Except for maybe drinking."

"Hmm..." Solas' eyes held a calculating gleam in them. "What is it you're doing here?" he asked.

"Getting caught in explosions, obviously."

"But what brought you here in the first place?"

Instead of answering, Siara took her first drink from the fresh tankard. Then she watched him, tracing patterns on the table top with one finger while in her other hand rested the tankard.

"Why so many questions?" she asked. "Why was there an explosion? What caused it? And what is being done about it?"

Solas smiled. He couldn't help it. This girl was smart.

"A rift to the Fade was opened," he explained. Siara clearly didn't believe him.

"The Fade?" she asked. "That place we go when we die and dream and so on?"

"Yes."

A shiver ran down her spine, though she didn't show it.

"OK, let's say for a moment I believe you," she leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "What caused this in the first place?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Solas frowned slightly. "It was more a 'who' than a 'what' as far as we can tell."

"From what you can tell?"

"I'm afraid I can say no more."

"Oh dear, what a shame. Just as I was beginning to get interested, too."

Solas scoffed, taking his first sip of his drink. At that moment the door swung open, a stench Siara knew all too well being wafted to her on a breeze. She pulled a face, covering her nose with the back of her hand. The smell itself wasn't even all that bad, maybe even almost nice, but for Siara it held negative memories. She hated everything to do with templars and the Chantry, and as a result she also hated the smell of lyrium.

In the doorway stood a human – though that wasn't surprising. He had blond hair and gave the impression of being someone in some kind of high ranking position, but judging by the way he walked he certainly wasn't born a noble and she doubted he was one now. For a templar he wasn't too bad looking. Hell, for a human he wasn't too bad looking, perhaps his most distinguishing feature being a small scar above his lip. Solas raised a hand in greeting and the man started walking over, the smell of lyrium growing stronger.

"Siara, this is Commander Cullen Rutherford, military commander of the Inquisition."

"It's a pleasure."

"Wish I could say the same," Siara muttered before drinking more, but not finishing it. "No offense, but I do have this thing about templars."

"What do you have against templars?" Cullen asked. "And how did you know I was a templar once?"

Siara shrugged, but Solas saw the look that briefly passed through her eyes. The hurt. The anger. The hatred. And regret. There was definitely regret in there too. Perhaps... fear? The previous emotions had confused him enough. But why would someone other than a mage fear templars...?

"You smell of lyrium, even if it's not as strongly as people taking the stuff do. As for why I don't like templars… I don't understand how anyone can want to control someone else."

There was obviously more to it. Even Cullen could probably figure that out.

"Mages can be dangerous," he looked so unimpressed, "that's why there are templars."

"Why do you believe in that so strongly? Why only specifically mages? Anyone can be dangerous, even those without magic. I'm sure you've taken the lives of many people. Why is it that only mages are called dangerous? And do you really think that every mage out there is going to do something stupid like the Chantry seems to think they will? Like Anders did?" Cullen eyes narrowed and Siara smirked. "See? Even you have a little bit of doubt somewhere in there."

She finished the rest of her drink and slammed the tankard down on the table, making a satisfying thunk. Slowly she turned to face Solas, her eyes cold. He looked at her with his head leaned to the side slightly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Any more questions?" she shrugged. "Or can I just start drinking in peace?"

"By the looks of things, you've already been drinking."

"No one asked your opinion, templar," Siara didn't take her eyes off Solas. "So? Your answer?"

"Tell me about who you lost."

"My brother?"

"Yes."

"I tell you about my brother and you get me my stuff back?"

"Yes "

"He was my twin. We were super close. Could trust each other with everything. He was a good guy. I watched his back, he watched mine."

"Was," Cullen said, making Siara look around at him. "What happened?"

"What do you think happened?" Siara snarled. "The bloody conclave blew up when we were inside."

Not the full truth, but that didn't matter.

"How come you survived and he didn't?"

"How should I know? I don't remember anything that happened. Why not ask your precious Trevelyan? Oh, right. She doesn't remember anything either."

"You have a bit of a temper, don't you?"

"My brother just died, and I'm being treated like a suspect," Siara growled. "Andraste's tits, what the hell do you expect?"

"I think we've asked enough questions," Solas cut in before Cullen could say anything else to anger Siara. "Cullen, what are your thoughts on Trevelyan?" Siara only half listened. It was only just hitting her now. Her brother was gone. He wasn't just out on a solo mission. He was actually gone. Not coming back. It made her feel vaguely sick. So instead of thinking about it she looked around for the woman serving, raising her hand to show she needed another drink.

"I'm right here..." he leaned on the table, looking at Siara. "I'm right here," he repeated. "Why don't you see me?"

He sighed. It actually made sense, and Jacen knew that. He could remember dying, could remember how it felt. But surely his sister of all people would be able to see him? Slowly he sank into an empty chair. This wasn't how he imagined it. He had dragged her out of the Fade, even if she hadn't wanted to go. She didn't even remember that? It made some kind of sense though. The short trip back from the Fade hadn't been the easiest, and the blow from the explosion wasn't the nicest one, leaving Siara unconscious for a few days.

Jacen had sat through it all. He never left her side. Clearly being dead had some advantages. But now... Now he couldn't even stop her drinking, something she'd had some problems with since she was around fourteen years old. She just needed to forget. That was all. But she didn't know when to stop. That or she did but chose not to. Siara being Siara it could be hard to tell. Even for Jacen. He sighed and looked at the two men with her. Solas and Cullen. Just by looking at them he could make a few good guesses as to what they were like. Clearly Solas was more than he seemed, even if Jacen couldn't explain why or how he knew. And Cullen... Cullen had some kind of troubled background. Something to do with the templars probably. Why else would he be here instead of chasing apostates or something? He turned back to his sister, sighing slightly. What good could he be to her if he wasn't even visible?

"Please just see me..." he muttered, but no one heard him. He didn't expect them to.