"A dodecahedron holds its shape stronger than a cylinder of stacked wards. It can contain more volume inside relative to the area it occupies in her body. Its shape ensures its contents can fit comfortably inside and not spill into her bloodstream."
Silence as four sets of eyes stared back at Solas after that explanation. They all looked confused, just in different permutations of eyebrows, eyes, and expressions. In that silence, he could hear the steady cadence of Aevina's breathing, like a breeze brushing and rippling the surface of a placid lake. His open palm hovered over her left hand that rested over her chest. It was slow and steady work but it was dull, and the woman's heartbeat, if she was not dreaming badly, was a treacherous lullaby that threatened to carry him to sleep. He welcomed the distraction the others brought into the cabin, even if it meant being met with stunned silence.
Only the Seeker nodded, lower lip pushing up in full appreciation of what Solas was doing.
Leliana looked up at the Seeker, who immediately understood the question implied. "He's rebuilding the wards into something better, basically."
The spymaster, the storyteller, the newly-arrived ambassador, and the commander all reacted with understanding and appreciative nods.
"It is also a more efficient and convenient form to contain and release the magic stored within," Solas continued.
All eyes turned to Cassandra again.
"Easier to open and close the wards."
They all went aah.
"Pardon me, but how long do you think this is going to take, ser mage?"
Solas raised his eyes from his task at hand to quickly appraise the lady ambassador, who was bundled in a thick outdoor cloak and fur-lined hood, looking like a child beside the commander.
"Hours, lady ambassador," he said, not wanting to put an unnecessary deadline on himself. The work is too intricate to be rushed. "And Solas would suffice."
"Of course, if you say so. Would it be possible to interrupt it for a couple of hours…Solas?"
Cassandra frowned. "No. The faster it's done, the sooner we can all move on."
"But my lady, the crowd outside—"
"Can wait in the cold for all I care."
The people of Haven turned into devout believers almost overnight. Now every free time that servants and merchants, soldiers and scouts, recruits and visitors found was spent waiting and praying for a Dalish mage to wake up. It mattered little that it was the same Dalish mage they feared and branded a terrorist mere days ago, or that there had been attempts on her life while she was unconscious, before he found her and was basically made to guard her in the same cabin. She saved them, and for that, she was forgiven and accepted.
"Let the commander take care of them," said the Seeker.
"Even if you move her, they'll just follow her around," Varric said. "She's a divine figure now. No use in hiding her."
Cassandra's face soured as she looked down at the dwarf. "I thought I already told you to get out?"
Varric pointed at Solas. "He needs my help."
Solas nodded. "I actually do, this time."
"Ouch, Chuckles."
Disgusted Seeker noises followed. Varric grinned ear to ear.
"They also block the way to the infirmary," said the commander. "And the apothecary."
"The tavern, too," said Varric, "although it's mostly empty now that everyone's quit drinking."
"And there is the small matter of…uuh…propriety."
They all knew the ambassador was being delicate with her words but it seemed none of them understood whatever it was she wished to say or imply. It wasn't until she cleared her throat, softly so it wouldn't be mistaken as just caused by the cold, and looked meaningfully at Solas, did her meaning register.
Ah. Of course. Aevina has been elevated from prisoner to celebrated hero; it wouldn't be proper for her to remain in her current arrangement, with a man—an elf and an apostate, no less—under the same roof. "If you provide me with an alternative sleeping arrangement, I would be happy to relocate. Preferably somewhere close so I can keep watch on her condition. Hopefully not behind bars, as well."
"That is the last place—" Whatever the ambassador said was drowned out by the others suddenly talking over each other with their own ideas about where to house Aevina.
"FINE!" The Seeker placed one hand on her hip and started pointing. "Find me a new place for her."
The ambassador nodded.
"Extend the perimeter in the meantime. The way to the infirmary should not be crowded."
"Yes, Seeker," the commander said.
She looked at Solas. Her voice was softer this time. "You are welcome to stay in this cabin; consider it your personal quarters." And then her eyes found Varric, which hardened her tone once again. "And you—"
"He needs me, Seeker."
"Stay out of the desk, then!"
"And waste your effort of bringing it here?"
"Seeker?" The ambassador raised her hand, which essentially ended their bickering. "There is still the matter of her title."
"Title? Ah. I thought you approved of it?"
"Of a designation, yes. But not an unofficial title, and certainly not the one the people are using..."
Leliana crossed her arms across her chest. "It seems appropriate given what we've witnessed, no?"
The ambassador tried but Solas found her smile uneasy and placating. "Of course, it is properly religious. However…the lady is likely not Andrastian given her heritage. It would be improper to address her as herald of a god she doesn't believe in, don't you think? It would be like asking her to betray her own faith. Would you betray your faith if the Qunari called you their prophet?"
It was a brilliant point, something Solas himself had not considered. It brought up another question which he knew would eventually sour his perception of Aevina. Is she religious? The Dalish are, but to what extent? Can she be convinced to abandon her gods? How would this affect his plans?
Solas studied her face, serene in slumber, and the vallaslin that marked her as clearly and loudly as any scar left by manacles or whips or branding iron. And for her to be proud of it?
He didn't expect to be bothered by it so much. It is a shame to see such a vulgar mark staining such fine features…
The Nightingale seemed unmoved. "The people chose her name. I doubt we can change the people's will."
"Even the templars are warming up to it," seconded the commander. "People find it inspirational, and I'm not just talking about the devout and the religious."
"But…" The ambassador looked pained for a second.
"What do you suggest, Josie?"
"Leliana, we can wait. At least until she wakes up. And then we can ask for her thoughts on the matter." This time she found solid ground for her thoughts. "It would not be fair to push this title on her if she is not a believer. But as long as we don't formally acknowledge the label, we will have the flexibility to choose a more appropriate designation or title later on, something she would agree with."
"Something elvish, you mean." The Seeker had her arms crossed now, too.
"I understand your concern, my lady, but it doesn't have to be elvish or Dalish. We just need something more…neutral."
"Like 'Hero of Ferelden'?" Varric interjected.
The suggestion fell flat as the ambassador half-mumbled, "The people actually chose that title, Master Tethras."
"Like 'the Champion of Kirkwall', then?"
Her eyes brightened up. "I believe something like that could work."
"Then let's workshop names, shall we, your ambassadorialness?"
The ambassador rewarded him with a short giggle. The Seeker made disgusted noises.
"Come on," said Varric, challenging the Seeker with a frown. "Who do you think came up with Hawke's moniker?"
"The 'Herald of Andraste' is the perfect title for her," declared the Seeker. The spymaster next to her nodded.
"We very well can't stop people from using it now," said Leliana.
"What if she later denounces Andraste?" challenged the ambassador. "Or the Maker? Or bring her own gods into the matter?"
The Seeker's eyes were cold. "Then you will take care of it."
Leliana placed a hand on the ambassador's shoulder. "Some things can get away from our hands, Josie. We didn't recruit you for nothing. This is part of the job."
The ambassador did not look reassured, but she did not say another word in protest.
It would be difficult to divert a river once it found its path. Solas knew that much. He was once maligned and insulted, called by a name that mocked his spirit-form; he tried to ignore it, dismissed then fought it. It was only when he embraced it as his own that he conquered it.
Fen'Harel.
Dread Wolf.
He smiled to himself. The names grew on him. He gladly carried the monikers; it added notoriety to his legend, striking fear into his enemies before they even heard him approach.
He wondered how Aevina would carry her new name. The Herald of Andraste. Solas hoped, for her sake, that she wouldn't burn as Andraste burned, or fade into obscurity as the Hero of Ferelden had, or become dressed in scandal as the Champion of Kirkwall. Thedas has an uneasy history with women. Much more so when they rise above their station. Even more when they become heroes.
DAILY ROUTINE OF SOLAS
Before Dawn: Leaves cabin while it's still dark. Walks outside Haven with his staff lit up. Usual route: gate - smithy - south trebuchet - frozen lake - uphill - old apothecary's cabin - training grounds - back to the gate. Does some magic exercises while walking. Picks elfroot leaves. Sometimes stays to watch the nugs play in the snow.
Then kitchen - cabin. By this time the sun is rising and he reemerges with the elfroot he collected and waits outside for the apothecary's to open. Works there with Adan until the kitchen starts bringing breakfast for the Herald and the patients in the infirmary. Adds a fresh tincture of his making to the Herald's liquid food. He tastes everything they feed her. Once told Flissa's cooks to adjust the salt for the Herald. I don't think they liked that.
After Breakfast: Attends to the Herald. Visits the other patients in the infirmary. Returns to the apothecary. Stays there until midday.
Midday: Master Tethras comes around with a servant carrying their lunch. They eat inside the cabin where Master Solas still supervises the Herald's feeding. They play cards or talk until the hour is over.
After Lunch: spends an hour healing the Herald. Stops for a nap. Goes to the apothecary to help people who have come to consult a healer.
Late afternoon: Goes out to walk around Haven, this time without his staff. He usually carries a book or two and goes to the Chantry first, then comes out with a different book. Sometimes Master Tethras joins him but Master Tethras gets sidetracked by other people along the way so Master Solas goes around alone most of the time. He doesn't talk to anyone. He just walks alone but only until the smithy. Then he follows the periphery of the training grounds. Stops to watch the soldiers train and spar. The soldiers don't mind him as much now. Maybe because he doesn't carry a staff on his afternoon walks.
Early Evening: Just as the sun sets, he returns to the cabin to check on the Herald's condition again. The servants bring him his dinner ration and the Herald's food. They replenish the cabin's fires and boil water in the fireplace. He helps them feed her.
After Dinner: The servants bring towels and clothes for the Herald. He leaves while the servants give the Herald a sponge bath and a change of clothes. That's when Solas eats his dinner outside by the campfire with Adan. As far as I know they don't talk at all, they just eat in silence. Once the servants are done, he returns to the cabin and resumes healing her again until the Seeker or Sister Nightingale stops by to check on the Herald. He reports on his progress with the wards and updates the Hands of the Divine on her condition.
Late Evening: Solas goes to the public baths after everyone's gone. He brings his staff. I think he uses it to heat the pool. I saw him wash his clothes there twice. I think he almost lost his trousers to fire when he attempted to dry them with magic so now he dries them in the cabin, near the fireplace, and removes them before the servants come in the morning.
Then he reads by the fire for some time before he checks on the Herald one last time. After that, he extinguishes all the candles and goes to sleep.
That is all I have observed for three days. I will continue to monitor.
Leliana sighed, shook her head in amusement, then picked up a slip of paper and a pencil. "Charter" she wrote on the outside, then flipped it to scribble her message inside.
Show Rector a sample of a good surveillance report. We have time now to train him. Let him shadow you with proper surveillance for at least two days.
She signed it with a small mark near the edge of the paper and folded it. It went on top of her outgoing pile. She then reread Rector's report, this time more leisurely as she leaned back on her armchair and crossed her legs. Deacon would call it a waste of paper and lead, and would probably give Rector a hard time about how quickly he was using up supplies. She wouldn't tell them she didn't mind—at least not with this one.
After that, Leliana folded the report and slipped it inside the pages of a book. It was too wordy yet still lacked details from the usual surveillance reports that land on her desk, but she's still keeping it. It's a beautiful example of a former Chantry scribe's first attempt at literary and technical writing. She smiled, recalling her many first failed attempts as a lay sister. It was amateurish, but then, everyone had to begin somewhere.
***
The angry templar made a disgusted noise, said something about telling a story to the Divine...and then Aevina realized the dwarf was looking at her.
"It's good to meet you, Varric." Yes, that was his name. Chest hairs. Beardless.
"You may reconsider that stance, in time." And this one...she knew his name, didn't she? He saved her life...
"Aww. I'm sure we'll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles."
The angry templar was not happy for some reason; she and the dwarf exchanged words. Seeker, he called her. Was it...Cassandra? Always angry. Yells a lot.
"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I'm pleased to see you still live."
She had heard this before, those exact same words, delivered the exact same way. She had been through this entire conversation before. Her head swirled as realization crept in...
A dream.
Cold clutches at her chest.
"Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process," said the elf who was not a Keeper.
Aevina shook her head. No. This is not just any dream. She had lived this.
This is a nightmare. And in this nightmare, the Dread Wolf had found her.
In this dream, she dies at the end.
***
Wisdom shuddered, disturbing the tufts of feathers on her chest. Beside her, Solas stood like a sentinel set in stone. They watched from a high ledge as the Dalish woman reenacted a fight they had already won days before.
He scoffed. "I cannot believe she just realized it and still got half of it wrong."
Wisdom glanced at him, there again in his mortal form. Something troubled him; something always does whenever he is ill-tempered. His callousness spoke of a worry or a problem that he was actively resisting. Or was it perhaps because Aevina is Dalish? Attached to the word are memories with scars that still fester, too recent for even Wisdom to reflect on and learn from.
Be patient, lethallin. She had stewed in this realm for days. For her, this must feel like the afterlife.
"If past behavior is any indication, she would likely be reliving the fight and dwelling on her mistakes."
She is not the only one that dwells on their mistakes.
His lips curled. "Mine are far greater than hers."
Wisdom studied his face to find what thoughts and emotions hid behind his eyes as he intently followed the Dalish woman's slow progress through that fateful day's events. It was clear he was studying her, from the mark on her hand to the vallaslin on her face, to her choice of words and how she spoke them. Was he, perhaps, looking to find something in her that he could identify with? Something that he recognized in himself? A thought or sentiment mirrored, perhaps? There was a hint of desperation in how he observed her. Was he trying to spy for weaknesses to exploit?
Is he a champion studying a promising challenger, fearful he would be unseated by someone he found to be inferior?
A sculptor looking at a chunk of clay and imagining its potential before he even touched it? But she is not unformed clay; she is much too Dalish to bend and conform. A gardener then, perhaps? Appraising a wild rose bush, planning how best to tame its wildness and prune its leaves and buds to pass his exacting standards?
Or a predator planning how to manipulate its prey into loyal and utter submission?
Perhaps an orphan reaching out across the millennia, hoping to find someone to catch his grasping hands?
He could be none of these things. He could be some of them or all of them at once.
At the heart of it, he could just be like he always had been: curious and seeking knowledge for its sake. The idea crumbled as quickly as she conceived it. That aspect of him he had already left behind, long ago and far away. He was called to a purpose. He had developed ambition. He had been betrayed. He had struggled. He had sought vengeance. He had championed a cause. He had rallied his People. He had humbled their gods.
He had won in all the ways that mattered...until he lost everything that mattered.
There is no simple curiosity now, no knowledge sought for its own sake. No wisdom that he wouldn't twist to serve his purpose.
Even so…or perhaps because of it…he is far lonelier now than she had first thought. Although that is something she could not help him with; Pride would never admit to feeling lonely, and Wisdom would never force a lesson to anyone not ready to listen.
He eventually turned his back to the ledge and folded his hands behind his back. It seemed the Dalish woman fell short of his assessment.
What happens to her now? Will you still escape with her?
"That remains to be seen. I would need to get to know her better first."
Of course. Observations must reach critical mass before you make a conclusion.
"There are also more pressing issues at present. The Elder One has survived the explosion. He was last seen by my agents in the Vimmark Mountains on his way north."
That is troubling news indeed. The Elder One does not take kindly to defeat.
"He wouldn't see this as defeat. Merely an accident he did not account for. He had set other things in motion, considering how his agents are moving all over. Orlais, Tevinter, the Free Marches, here in Ferelden. There are even whispers in Orzammar."
You have agents to match.
"Not with his numbers and reach. There are still places my agents cannot access. But humans can easily unlock them for me; for now, this fledgling group may yet serve. We may even do the world some good in the process."
Down below, Aevina stood before the chantry cleric and the Hands of the Divine. "Isn't closing the breach the more pressing issue?"
His lips curled into a smile. "I have within my reach possibly the best and most powerful agent I can have."
Aevina turned to Cassandra. " Now you're asking me what I think?"
Solas turned to Wisdom, too. "I have appointments to keep. Would you…?"
Of course. It is fascinating to watch her dream.
Wisdom shuddered again, this time from the shadow that suddenly loomed over her.
Ma serannas, lethallan, the Dread Wolf whispered before he quietly stalked away.
Wisdom was left wondering what Solas wished to accomplish with his plans. Their trust in each other is implicit, but he would not divulge any of his plans to her. Wisdom, on the other hand, would not ever press the matter. He would not heed counsel he did not ask for. And she would not give away wisdom that is unwarranted and unearned.
But Wisdom knows the shape of things, knew it from all the lives that lived and perished. There are paths we all must take and there are lessons to be learned on the journey. Solas knows this, as well: that he is on a path unlike any he had tread in the past. What he may not yet realize is that he is underestimating the lessons down that path. Many rocks he would tread on would break his skin in familiar ways. Some nettles would brush his hands and sting in new ways. An old, familiar poison from an innocent flower would hurt in ways it never did before.
They would all repeat until the lesson is learned.
The most important lessons are sometimes won with tears and time. Some lessons cost many lives or take a lifetime. Some, one can only learn through mistakes, with too steep a price made in blood, sweat, and pain. But lessons like that need to be taught so the price is paid for only once—suffered for just that one time—and then etched into the skin of the world, a scar never to be forgotten.
Wisdom knows all this. But she would not argue a matter still unresolved, nor force a bud to blossom before its time. The lessons will not be learned in one sitting. Even she, the purveyor of truths and hard-earned lessons, must wait for experience to ripen. And so must Wisdom bide her time.
This ends Act 1 of my retelling of DA Inquisition. I hope you enjoyed reading this!
I'm currently in the process of writing the next Act which basically asks the question, "How does a millennia-old being fall in love with a Dalish woman" with the added challenge of portraying that Dalish woman as someone who canonically and unapologetically fits a woman with a Dalish background: someone raised far from human civilization, who lived all their life camping outdoors, who is racist against non-elves, who grew up knowing for a fact that there are eight gods watching over the elves, and whose life experiences (filled with poverty and danger) color the way they view the world. This is no AU; this is a deep dive. This is playing the game on Nightmare mode with realistic angst and fluff around themes of found family, overcoming prejudice, earning friendship and respect, denial of feelings, and love-hate romance. :D
Follow me on ao3 for when the next Act falls (same author name as here): contessaXchaos. Thanks!