In the tavern, I let the music fade away as I read my Keeper's words of advice and well-wishing. I couldn't help myself, I grinned like an idiot as relief flooded my nervous system.

In one corner, Iron Bull sat with his men, drinking merrilly. I smiled affectionately at the pack of Chargers, happy to have them on our side. Krem was rather cute when he smiled and I waved a little when I caught his glance. The tavern was crawling with Haven inhabitants, but I sat at my table alone, sipping at a cup of water. Apparently being seen as the Herald of Andraste made me well loved, but not approachable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone unexpected enter. I perched my elbows on the table and offered Solas a seat. He took it with a nod toward my letter. "Did you receive good news?" he asked.

"My clan is safe. Leliana saw to that."

I pushed the paper away and a soft smile parted my lips. "You know, my Keeper told me many stories of our people. My favorite to hear about was the fight our people put up when Tevinter invaded the Dales."

"Your people got that one right. Let us mark the occasion of the Dalish getting something right. Perhaps we should plant a tree." Solas made a sour expression as if he had just sucked on a lemon.

"Tell me, Solas, do you despise the Dalish so much that you would make that face?"

I picked up the knife at the table and stabbed the tip into the oak of the table. It wasn't a warning, but it wasn't not one.

"I do not despise the Dalish," he bit out. "I have seen what really happened and most of the Dalish stories get their own history so very wrong."

"You said the Fade often has to be interpreted. What makes you so sure you're getting it right too?"

He paused as if considering what I said. "It's not a mystical prophecy you need to decipher. The Fade shows things as they are, even if that can be shrouded in a little mystery."

"If the Dalish are getting something wrong, shouldn't you tell them?" I asked, observing him with sharp eyes.

Solas had never appeared anything but pleasant, but this was ruffling his feathers. He didn't like talking about the Dalish.

"Would your clan listen to what I have to say or would they mock the flat-ear and go back to what they have always done–misconstrue the truth."

"Perhaps," I agreed. "But you don't know what they would have done."

"I assure you, I do," he said with barely contained vehemence. "At least you ask questions. The Dalish assume they have all the answers."

I shrugged, digesting his words and his apparent dislike of my people. I was never a religious sort. My clan kept to the old ways as any Dalish clan, but I was a curious child who grew into an even more curious adult. Even if Solas was telling me stories and lies, I loved to hear them. The thought that the Fade could enhance our knowledge and understanding of the past was too tempting to pass up. Could the Keepers be wrong? Could they have misinterpreted the history? It was fascinating to guess, despite how blasphemous it would sound to any other Dalish clan member.

Solas interrupted my thoughts, "You're not angry."

"Are you trying to make me angry?" I replied with a grin.

"No," he replied. He looked a little deflated. As if he was gearing up for a great fight that I wasn't bringing.

"Can you tell me more about what you know regarding the elves?"

"You would listen to my 'stories' so easily?" he asked.

"I didn't take you for a liar. Perhaps you are a raving lunatic. And perhaps you are not. Either way, I would like to hear what your understanding of our history is."

I earned a small smile from him; his dour mood was lightening already.

"Most Dalish struggle to even remember as far back as Halamshirel. But even that is not as far back as the elven peoples' stories go."

My ears perked up and I sat a bit straighter in my chair. "You're talking about Arlathan."

"I am indeed. What do you know of it?"

"Not much. You were correct that most Keepers' histories don't go back that far."

"It was a place of beauty." Solas's eyes softened. "A city without comparison. Imagine beings who lived forever and who used magic as naturally as you and I breathe."

I flicked the dagger, still sticking out of the table, absently. "Arlathan. I thought it was something made up."

"It is very much real."

"Is elven magic different from the ones humans use?"

"Yes and no. Magic is what it has always been, but those who use it do so differently. You can use water to put out a fire or to drink. Water is still water though."

I hummed in response. "Did they use blood magic?"

"Most Dalish frown on blood magic."

"I don't mean the Dalish. I mean our ancestors."

Solas paused before saying, "When you're immortal, it is hard to frown on any type of magic. It just becomes a tool."

What an odd way to think of something like blood magic. I was no mage, but the thought of someone controlling me, using me, made my skin crawl.

"Ah, the famous immortal souls the elves possessed. Is that also true? I don't feel very immortal," I teased. "Did they use magic to increase their lifespan?"

"No. It just was how they were."

I slid my index finger down the dagger absently, poking at the rounded hilt with a huff. Solas watched the motion with piercing eyes. So as to not appear like I was threatening him (again), I removed my hand and said, "I wonder what it was like…before."

"Before what?"

"Before elves were slaves. Before we were outcasts."

"It is all you have known."

"Isn't it all we have known?" I asked with a quirk of my eyebrow.

"I am an outcast for many reasons. Being an elf was just one of them," he replied.

"You're not an outcast anymore." I meant the words to be encouraging, but Solas returned them with his tight-lipped smile and I felt as though I had made a mistake.

"I must go. And, Lavellan–" Solas rose to his feet "–I am glad to hear that your clan is safe."

He left abruptly and my other questions died behind my lips. Next time, I'll pin him down and ask him more.