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Chapter Text

Getting anyones attention at all was proving to be the biggest challenge. A bigger challenge than keeping any modicum of sanity she had left in tact, or her aching, empty belly, or even a bigger challenge than not recognizing her own hands, legs, feet, chest. Shit, She’d been putting off glancing at any reflective surface for all 12 hours of this nightmare. It took a good half of that time to see any kind of human settlement, and another 4 hours to reach it. Thank god (or whatever) for brain fog—a simply genius survival mechanism built into that normally fabulous brain of hers was sponsoring this continued “Mission of Immediate Needs.”

“Ser, excuse me could–”  Shit, she’d been cut off again. The girl let out an exasperated sigh. Not even a glance! Mr. Too-Good’s only response was urging his mare into a faster canter, practically running her over in the process.

“Savhalla, da’len, thu ea?” a tan elven man with short, curly, blonde hair shot a concerned look down from what appeared to be a large buck. Soft blue lines tattooed his face gracefully. He shifted on his mount and swung his left leg over gracefully to dismount, the arrows in his quiver softly clacking against one another. Why, he wasn’t wearing a full shoe! The elf man had half shoes. The elf. Elves? Had there always been elves, she wondered.

“Da’len, are you OK? That shem about ran you over, though you’d do better not to stand in the path.”

No, no, no, no. She mentally reasoned with herself. That was not going to be the detail that derailed her into the rapid-fire questions she was longing to spew. Now was not the time, though the bubble forming in her chest was swelling and the familiar hot feel of pressure building in her face glazed her eyes over.  “Ah….”

He smiled and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, sensing her anxiety, “I was not aware any other of The People would be attending. I am the hunter Souren of Clan Lavellan. Are you lost?”

“…Yes, that’s an understatement.” She sighed and lowered her voice to barely a whisper,  “Where… where is this?”

Souren’s brows raised in surprise, “This is the road to Haven, and you are nearing what is soon to be The Conclave. Is your clan not nearby?”

“Clan? Oh. No. I…am not sure I have one of those I–” What was her name? Where was her clan— her family? Panic rose steadily. She felt Souren’s strong hand guide her and his mount to the side of the path, biting his lip. He glanced her up and down, noting her torn clothing, dirty feet, and long, tangled hair. In his eyes it was plain to see something had obviously clicked in his train of thought.

“Well, what do you remember?” his voice remained steady and kind. Souren gently urged her to sit and grabbed for a satchel off his mount. He pulled a soft pouch of animal hide from the bag along with a cloth-wrapped parcel. Sitting next to her, he offered her them both. “Sathan, da’len.”

She timidly accepted both, and after a time breathily spoke, “Thank you.” In the parcel was an assortment of dried fruits and meats, and the soft pouch contained what tasted like a very weak mead. It tasted amazing to her and she felt her mind clear a bit. After the color returned to her cheeks, she began to speak. “I woke up in the dark a grove in the valley with no one else around, then I walked here, through the woods… for a long time. Till the sun started to dip again. I’ve been trying to ask people where this is, but none of them will say anything to me. They look at me like I’m diseased.”

“Aye, the Shems are very rude towards us Dalish. Though this is to be a meeting of peace, there is not much of it yet.” Souren met her eyes, “Do you have a name?”

She knit her brows, eyes glazing over.

What really happened? Souren wondered to himself. Earlier he had thought this behavior reminded him of stories of escaped elven slaves who’d had their memories obliterated by their captors. When they wondered into villages, they’d have no recollection of themselves or where they were. She was lucky, in some respects, since sometimes these escapees were simply “duds” the slavers turned out after they wiped too much and took away even their language. In recent years the Tevinter slavers and bandits had been dipping down further and further into Navarra and the Free Marches, but he’d never heard of slavers on the border towns of Ferelden and Orlais. They just didn’t come this far south. It was possible, however, someone on their way to the Conclave was involved; perhaps a mercenary group dumped her off after they realized their “purchase” didn’t fit their needs or something equally alarming. Whatever had happened, Souren’s pride as a Dalish man and as a father insisted he keep the platinum-blonde elven lass near; there was no reason to believe the shemlens wouldn’t try whatever happened in the valley again. He immediately decided he believed their fault in this, as horrible things done to the elven nearly always had a human hand to start.

“Ah, it’s OK, da’fen. Names are easy enough to give and receive. Think on it a bit while I speak with my vehnan.” Souren gave her shoulder a squeeze before rising to his feet, extending her his hand to help her up. “It’s just a bit farther— come.” He lead her with one hand, and the mount’s reigns with the other.

She followed him wordlessly, glad for Souren to take her by the hand and lead her; at least someone knew what was happening. She’d been straining so heavily under the unseen weight of her own uninformed decisions that it was nice, at least, to be lead for a time even if it would not last. All her feelings from the day weighed heavily and she became increasingly aware of how sore, cold, and exhausted she felt. The too-large tunic she had on her lithe frame was dirty and unraveling. At one point, it might have been white or cream, she mused. Her tangled, long hair swung at her back and she raised her eyes to look forward: a long line of travelers waited near a tent. A pretty, dark-skinned human woman with a clipboard was hovering about and scratching down details on her list. Near the head of the line was another elf with distinct, green face tattoos— a woman. To her back was strapped a leather-wrapped staff with an opalescent crystal gracing the top.

“Ah, Isene is near the front registering for a camp site and signing our clan’s name to the meeting books.” He pulled to the side, standing out of line. Souren’s eyes met Isene’s, which then darted to the girl with a curious, questioning look. She soon emerged from the tent and strode over to him confidently.

“It seems you’ve kept busy, Souren?” Isene softly smiled and turned to the lost girl, “Isene, First of Clan Lavellan.”

“Yes, this da’len is lost but we may speak more of it when we get to our campsite. It is no business of these….” he trailed off, eyeing the humans. Isene caught on quickly and they made haste away from the registration tent.  She was a strong-featured woman with dark brown eyes and stick-straight, shoulder-length raven hair. Her skin was freckled and tanned like Souren’s, but besides that they looked nothing alike. When Souren and Isene spoke, they stood at a familiar distance, bodies turned and gestured in an intimate fashion. Both were older than her, but still had a youthful grace in their bodies and lacked lines of age. Souren stole quiet glances and nearly intimate touches from Isene that the nameless girl turned her eyes quick from as they walked down the mountain.

About half an hour later, as the sun was breathing its final light over the crest of the snowy-peaked mountains, the three of them sat around a fire near a tent made of animal skins. Souren had been careful not to let her overhear the majority of what he spoke to Isene, which made her uncomfortable, but she was too tired to get upset or too curious. She was thankful for their kindness, and it was no business of hers what secrets they kept or feelings they shared, even if they were about her. “So, Da’fen, have you had any luck in thinking of what we should call you?”

Truthfully, she hadn’t really been focusing too hard on it. There was so much to consider in the here-and-now, that she had pushed any thoughts of herself and who she had been prior to this day to a small, dark corner. “….no, but what do you keep calling me?”

Isene grinned, “Da’fen, little wolf…since you’re a stray that’s followed us home. It’s not a proper name though, just an endearment. Do you have any ideas?”

“No, I….still do not remember.”

Souren grinned and his eyes shone, “Ah, well we could help. Isene? What about Mythalen? She has Mythal’s vallas'lin.”

“No,” she pursed her lips, “It does not suit her. Aye, I doubt she even knows anymore what these are for us.” She gestured to her own tattoo then grinned, teasingly making light of the situation, “Ah, didn’t expect to have to name another babe so soon.”

She did not even think about her own face and suddenly it dawned on her she still did not know what she looked like and her voice rose in slight panic, “Do you have a mirror? I haven’t really seen myself…”

Isene nodded and slipped into the tent, producing a cloudy circular mirror framed in bent branches. Her heart jumped as she peered upon herself, ice blue orbs piercing themselves. She gingerly ran her finger along the red lines etched faintly and delicately into her forehead in the shape of a tree. She did not know how she felt about it, or herself. Her skin was pale and smooth, cheeks pink and soft with a certain graceful look of freshly-melted adolescence. Long, grey eyelashes and full pink lips. The unspoiled beauty of adolescence clinging to the bones of a woman. Young, but old enough to stand among Souren and Isene with self-agency. Old enough she should be given respect and give word for herself. She felt relieved, idly thumbing the rim of her long pointed ear. Were they always this big? She reflected the mirror downward a bit and peered at her body. Slight and thin, and hard to see under the heavy weight of the featureless tunic. It made her look considerably younger and shapeless than she thought fair.

Souren and Isene wavered internally over which side of the invisible line of adulthood to approach her. Though she had her vallas'lin, to the Danish that was, in a greater sense, more symbolic than representative of the reality of adulthood. Many 17 year olds held their vallas'lin but not the true maturity of their adult years. Clans were eager to grow and give responsibility to children, for children could be a strain on the clan and most Keepers fully believed that only the true pain of adult experience could make a child grow. There was little coddling in the Lavellan clan. Isene and Souren both took their vallas'lin their 16th winter, which was 14 years ago for Isene and 17 for Souren. As an adult, Isene was quite sure she was still a child when the Keeper made the decision.

Shortly after her Keeper had made her his First, and then Souren had been introduced to her at the Arlathvhen. They would bond and he would join the Lavellan clan. She had known Souren a week when they were married, and that night he dutifully ended her girlhood with little true affection. By her 17th winter she was heavy with child and heavy with resent towards of her Keeper and her parents.  It all went too fast, and all had been decided for her. Her mother had explained, with much sorrow, that some of the clans were struggling because the Blight had crept towards the very edge of where they roamed. More children needed to be born to fill the still empty roles— especially mage children. It was Isene’s duty, or as her mother called it, “her blessing as both a woman and a mage” to yield to this expectation of sacrifice. While her mother had married for love, she explained it was not possible for all of her children.

Souren was nice enough, but distant. He was obviously still trying to find his footing within the clan while missing his own birth clan. He was filled with energy and eagerly bedded her often but made few attempts to inquire about her worries or day-to-day until the birth of their first. There, sitting close beside her as she wailed and sobbed in the sharp pain, he took the full mantel of adulthood. The child was at least a full week late; a full week of intense anxiety and fear. Yes, birth was dangerous. He fearfully recognized his hand in her fate and that a woman and child’s life swayed on a thin rope as Isene, his wife, was exhausted after a long and arduous labor and struggled to push out the child. He was a hunter, and birth was not an uncommon miracle among the clan or the halla, but this felt more real than any other of those moment he’d witnessed. The gaping, bloody wound between her legs— legs he had thoughtlessly spread and filled thinking only of his own pleasure— and the pure pain and hate in her eyes spoke to him silently of her resentment. He felt like he could not breathe until the ocean in her belly finally crashed from her in a final wave of terror and adrenaline, and the now-wailing child lay shaking on her bare chest. Both were alright, and would survive. The healers soothed her torn body, commenting on how she had been a bit too green to have pushed out such a large and overdue babe, but that they had expected this and explained to her before the labor it would be painful and bloody. She should be happy to live, they told her, and firmly pulled her afterbirth from her as she stared at her child, hypnotized by his eyes.

Afterwards, Souren’s respect and gentleness for her grew immensely. He danced around her— courted her— as if they were strangers. He was a loving father. He got to know her likes and wants and habits. Irene’s heart grew as well, realizing he also deserved pity and a chance because of course he was selfish; they had both were yet children when they bonded. Mihren’s birth had been her real come-to as an adult in the clan. Souren began to call her his heart— his vehnan—and approached her timidly and gently. They finally made love. Mihren was nearly two summers old and walking when she again swelled and this time, out of love and real feeling, not duty. She’d grown to relish their intimacy and the care he showed her when they lie together reflected his feelings as well. By the time they had left for the Conclave, she had born 5 children of her own, 3 male and 2 female. Only the female children showed promise as mages, and one would have to be sent to another clan when she came into her magic. Isene was exhausted and welcomed the chance of a break, leaving her family to the clan for care. The clan loved her, and the Keeper was proud of her strength as a mage and adherence to her duty as a woman, but the frosty feelings Isene had for him never truly thawed and he was aware she still held him at a distance. 

Even after the blight, those who had traveled in search of trade also had never come back. The clan knew very well of the threat of slavers growing so both Isene and Souren felt a strong affection towards their young da’fen already.  Yes, Dalish life was currently very hard. The Lavellan clan had moved north west and also suffered the violence of the mage and Templar rebellion. Wycombe was not a kind city to settle near and when Isene and Souren had set out as ambassadors to the Conclave, there was a heavy tension.

“What about Laisa?” Souren mused.

“Best to bless her with a more favorable name than that.” Isene clipped at him.

Her ears perked, “It’s pretty, what does it mean?”

“Lost soul.” Isene glanced at her, eyes neutral. ”I was thinking more of your beauty, da’fen. Why not Leena? A shining appearance, or beginning. I was saving that name for a special child, and it seems it is you.”

Leena grinned, accepting the gift, “OK, though, I do not feel very shiny right now…”

“Let us bathe— there is a lake near. I can thaw a portion of it with my magic and heat the water. When we return I have some special treats to celebrate your Naming Day.”

Chapter Text

Leena was aware of herself among the darkness that was feeling, bursting, opening for her. The vague image in her mind felt malleable and fresh: again she was sitting in her first instance, bright and light. A dazzle from which all fire catches light. In the very edge of her periphery was a curiosity pushing into her brightness: a foreigner, a traveller. She ignored what was unreachable and looked before her at the clearing in which she began. Maybe not began, but began again. The heaviness and fear radiated and threatened at her— all loud whispers gripping at her ankles. Ankles that felt weightless and free from herself— a spirit that was a beast apart from its flesh. Leena stood again and again in her first instance, rewinding and setting the scene as she remembered but each time stripping away more and more of its heaviness. Soon it was shining nearly as bright as she shone and delight caught fire in her gaze. Leena painted the trees fantastic colors of purples and reds, whites and gold. She grew them taller and taller and farther apart. Each stood as a grand monument to wonder and filled all the empty space she possessed. In her she felt the source of everything she needed to know grow— the same as nothing. From nothing comes everything. Soft whispers in a language she recognized gripped at her, returning. The full rush of the day stood outside her perfect forest as did the traveller. Did she dream this man? She was sure it was a man, not some mimicry of man like some thought up dream that suddenly ceases. He came from outside, not within, and there he chose to stay though she left the door to her dream wide open and inviting. Soft words she spoke in a tongue she could barely grasp, flew off her honeyed lips like sparrows, Come and fill me with your journeys, traveller.

Somewhere, on the rim of nowhere and creation, the Traveller sighed, delighted. The pure light and pure magic before him intoxicating and calling to him. She knew he was there but knew not who was there, and with a trusting and Fearless heart called to him. He had watched her push the Fear away methodically and each time replacing it with so much beauty. He could not so easily fall to her temptation, though she was something like Wisdom, Innocence, Strength, Hope— no harm would come to him from speaking with her but he knew this was no spirit, and that she would possibly remember. This was a woman, a real Person, not some manifest of his Dreaming. He could hear— no, feel— her call out from within his own night and he bounded past all the noise in-between. Since he himself had began again, woken from his deepest of sleeps into the light slumber of earth, he had felt lost in a desert and she, oh, she was an oasis of feeling. He felt his strength building as he lifted a finger and rippled the periphery to say Hello light and airy, much more playful than he thought. He surprised himself. The forest hummed and swayed at him in appreciation, colors casting rainbows and singing bird songs for him to invite him in again with no pressure of Command. They danced back and forth for the next half of the night— casting gentle echoes and illusions for the pleasure of each other’s company.

The Traveller awoke, all his tension dissipated. What a gift, he thought, what a lovely soul. She’d never asked more than what he was willing to give. He stood at her door all night and took in her beauty. Her naked, dazzling beauty. Not once was he tuned away. Her honey lips and rose-peaked chest spoke to him on a base level, unabashed and so real. A spirit of Love? No, she was as real as he and spoke in the voice he wished to hear. Longing filled his chest— a longing to step inside that forest and approach her as a man. To kneel before her and dust his lips against the back of her her hand in appreciation for trusting such an intimate vision and engaging him in such a wonderful dance. He wished to cast pleasure down upon her in every meaning of the word, so that when she woke she was breathless and content. Right into her soul he peered without bars; he felt gratitude and longed to gift her with whatever she could beg. Such beauty and honesty of spirit should be rewarded and nurtured. A glimmer of hope shone in him through the day as he trekked through cold, harsh woods not nearly as lovely as hers, as he grew closer and closer to the empty movement of humanity and the wicked stench and agitation of a war momentarily on hold. The Traveller sucked in a heavy breath and saw the Temple of Sacred Ash upon the hill. In just a few days, he pained, this folly will end. A sharp voice inside him flashed the image of Her and he felt sadness in her eventual loss. Such a lovely Person deserved not this bare and sad world and it was his folly that caused it— a folly he sought to correct. It weighed heavy in his mind as the Traveller looked out upon the rolling valley filled with tents and men. Somewhere was perhaps his Dreamer with her honey lips and innocent breast, too bright to fully behold. The graceful point of her ears and soft pads of her feet walked somehow among these shadows.

When Leena woke she felt a strange calm— hadn’t she already been awake? What a feeling it was. How bright were dreams when all she had expected was enveloping darkness. What a playful force called to her from beyond. She dare not force his hand— she understood space— but she longed to pull him closer. He had felt so real, realer than Isene and Souren combined. Her campmates voices hummed over her sleepy heaviness, and somehow she understood their words like songs. “On dhea, ma’falon.” She sung back.

Chapter Text

Isene had gifted her with a beautiful periwinkle wrap of thick lambswool. It felt heavier than the light ironbark chainmail on her chest and thighs. Isene’s clothes were a bit big on her frame, he body having been pushed through many trials of womanhood and feats of pure strength to tell her current story. Leena’s body was comparatively unpunished. She had a thin frame and lacked the necessary accouterments of motherhood that had become so apparent during their bathing. Her body had never created anything or nursed any injury. The scars on Isene’s back told Dalish stories of living off the land and Leena’s feckless visage told another. Was she really like them? Her life before never had gifted her with more than a single freckle and the paled blood-red writing on her face. All the scratches and cuts she had were committed to recent memories, and reflected her yesterday. Isene had dressed her in the spare light armor and showed her how to slip into the foot bindings. It was curious that at at this Conclave, which Souren had explained to her, everyone was wearing full armor and carrying weapons. That morning, Souren was delighted she sung to him, confirming to him she would not be completely lost, and had responded in kind. Yes, she was a true elf, he was sure. He felt comfortable filling her in on their place in the talks and stressed to her the importance of appearances. They would register her of Clan Lavellan to keep her close and Souren promised to teach her the bow when all was said and done.

“Da’fen, we’re going to go into town to get supplies. Please keep watch and do no wander away from the camp. We will pack up and head into the Conclave’s grounds tomorrow— hopefully we can find a closer spot. We will talk again to the Ambassador about an additional member joining late.” Isene did not question trusting her, as it was as important to show trust in her as to actually trust her. Leena nodded in agreement and the two Lavellan took their leave. She fixated again on adjusting and tightening the heavy leather belt around her waist so that the front of her wrap did not gape and bemoan the lack of whatever it expected to be there. She sat on a downturned pail and poked at the fire, again alone; it felt like an entire week since yesterday morning came to her. Leena’s thoughts turned inward. It was not just Why that bothered her, it was Who and What. The knot in her stomach unbound itself as she realized there was most certainly a Who and What and that the Why was probably selfish. Her thoughts lingered on Souren’s distant look of concern and sadness when she initially spoke to him of her trial that day. She bit her bottom lip and decided she would ask him his thoughts since she knew not the motivations of the this country or people.

Leena peered into the tent. In the corner was a spare bow next to a spare staff. She sat beside them and drug her hand over them both, stopping and rolling the staff in her grip. A shiver then a spark flew through her fingertips and the orb on the end glowed expectantly. Magic, of course. Smiling at the revelation and not knowing any better, she gripped the staff and felt its weight in her hands. It glowed warm and she felt a damn burst inside her as the satchel in the corner of her eye caught on fire. “Shit!”

“Careful there, knife-ear” a haggard looking man in mages robes growled at her from the next campsite. “If you’re playing around go somewhere where you won’t catch a whole camp on fire.” He waved his hand and extinguished the now cindering sack.

Leena said nothing, but nodded and slunk back into the tent where she waited for Souren and Isene’s return. About an hour later, Souren’s voice shook her from a light doze. “Fenedhis! What happened? Leena?”

Isene was inspecting the ashen remains of her bag, mouth turned at the corner, “Fire magic, Souren.”

“…Ir Abelas, ha’hren,” Leena frowned and emerged from the tent, turning to Isene. “I touched your staff, but I didn’t know it would react like that, I promise.”

Isene let out a loud laugh, face now an all-out grin, “It’s no problem, but I shan’t be thinking you’ll be learning to use a bow now.”

“A mage… this will complicate matters when we return.” Souren smiled softly and gave Isene a strong look. The clan already had its mages. 

“What do you mean?” Leena frowned.

“Well, it’s fine now, we will worry about it then! Not much we can say about it now. It is not her fault. Leena, we will need to learn some safety basics so this does not happen again. I do not have time this week to teach you much but it’d be dangerous to let a grown girl walk around an encampment of mages without any knowledge of control. After we eat we will go for a walk in the woods and find a safe space.” Isene stoked the fire and set about preparing their midday meal. Souren sat with a paring knife showing Leena how to peel apples in one long strip.

“Souren, I’ve been thinking and I wanted to ask you something.”

“Aye, Da’fen.” He tossed the apple peel into the fire and a pleasant fragrance wafted around the camp. Isene was making herself busy filling the now boiling pot with chunks of meat and plant cuttings.

“Why do you think I am this way? I mean, there must be a person who knows me or knows why.” Leena kept her tone even.

Sourness knife stilled, “Aye, I am sure somewhere there is someone who knows exactly who you are, as there is someone who knows exactly why you are the way you are now. The problem is finding either, and getting an admission from the later.” He hesitated visibly, then looked at her. “Da’len, it is not a pretty thought I have as to why, but you must know.”

Leena shifted and looked straight at him, “Sathan, ha’hren.”

“This Age is not kind to our kin, da’fen. There are men who wish to take pretty girls of all kinds, but especially elven, and use them as chattel. Slave traders, Leena’lath, who employ the darker mages to do their dirty work. You see, a person who cannot remember themselves are easily convinced of who they are or what to do. They know not any other life and rarely struggle too much.”

Leena fell silent, and looked to her feet, “Are there many such people?"

“Aye, but normally not here in these parts of Thedas, which is why it is odd. If there is any other means or reason for you to be in such a state, I know not. I have lived long enough and traveled enough to know the signs, however.”

The smell of ram stew mixed with the apples and was not unpleasant. As if this was his cue, Souren grabbed the lid of the pot and tossed in the sliced apples. Isene sat next to Leena and placed a hand on hers, “But you have been blessed by the Gods and now sit with your kin instead, da’fen. Surely you’ve been graced by their favor.”

Souren smiled, “Mythal enaste, aye?”

Chapter Text

Once the gates to the Temple of Sacred Ashes were open, the temporary campsite cleared out with haste leaving massive amounts of waste and refuse behind what was once a beautiful, pristine lakeside meadow. Humans were filthy; such little respect for the nearby inhabitants of the forest and even townspeople made Cassandra wonder how much she could expect this hodgepodge collection of ambassadors to be considerate of each other. Still, she had faith that the Divine’s decision to call for the Conclave was wise and the proceedings would produce results. The original plan was for a single week of talks, in which delegates would all participate in voicing their concerns and opinions to the Chantry with the neutral parties present (the Valo-Kas) and then, after counseling each, the parties would finally meet. Unfortunately, the current air was of disbelief. Neither side could agree whether or not the Chantry possessed the ability to actually have neutrality and whether a mercenary company really could be a check. Mages were already claiming they were at a disadvantage, and that their factions were being unfairly lumped together while the Templar order and Seekers were buddy-buddy with the clergymen. Tension and fear was high, and the small force of Inquisition solders Cassandra had begun amassing to protect the interest of the Conclave and, if required, give weight to the Divine’s directive to reform the Inquisition. Currently it was an idea- a hotly contested one at that. Her interrogation of Varric Thethras had given her little to know clue as to where Hawke or Fenris were, and none of the agents Leliana had sent were turning up either. So far, there was little taking this Inquisition seriously and she could feel her own stress level rise considerably as she peered out over the sheer filth already left behind outside of the sleepy Chantry town.

“What bothers you, Cassandra?” Divine Justinia’s sweet voice softened the harsh look on Cassandra’s face.

“Most Holy,” she smiled and uncrossed her arms, facing the Divine, “what can I help you with?”

“Ah, I should be asking you but yes I come with a request. There is already a bit of a disagreement down in valley over lodging….those who were not given space in the Temple have been camping in what little space we have there. ”

“Yes, of course. Things were already tense before we pushed people even closer.”

“It is the group from Teventer that’s causing issue. Clearly, all these tag alongs expect to see something. I was not expecting so many…”

“Spies?” Cassandra smiled. Justinia was so innocent. Yes, they had taken to even registering them. There was no way to not notice a band of Teventer mages shifting around such a small town, or a group of shifty looking dwarves. Hell, even the Dalish had made a presence. All in all, there were close to 150 additional bodies milling about the sleepy mountainside village, which, without the aid of Ambassador Josephine, would have been a logistical nightmare. “Surely, Most Holy, you knew upon announcing this Divine Conclave there would be many parties interested in the outcome. What we decide here has implications all over Thedas.”

“Yes, and I am sure there are those we are unaware of as well.” She smiled, a gleam in her eyes. “We shall see.”

Leena, Souren, and Isene had waited until the majority of the humans were beyond the gates before even packing their things. It was late afternoon by the time the three of them made it down the path to the Temple. It was much more crowded that they expected and fights were already breaking out due to the close proximity and general tensions. “This… this is not a good idea.” Souren sighed. He and Isene had made the decision not to seek out the Ambassador and inform them of Leena’s presence at the Conclave, mostly because they did not want to explain or make a case for more access to facilities. Technically, they weren’t even invited, they just had shown up at the insistence of their Keeper. After much hounding, the Antivian Ambassador had assured him someone from the Chantry would be willing to listen to the concerns of their People, but whether she had any influence or whether it was just lip service, he did not know. Besides, them not knowing of their now third member gave them the ability to task her with another important job: spying.

Yes, she had shown promise in magic but Leena was not skilled by any means. What was important is she was as innocent as a halla. Ignorance and naivety were the best disguise. She was small and, with the right posturing, unnoticeable. Neither Isene or Souren had mentioned it to her. Was it underhanded? Perhaps, but the intent was good. If she could give them an idea what to expect it would give they, the Dalish, a heads up on precautions. If things turned sour for mages, it did not bide well for their current allowance of three mages per clan. What they really wished was a lift in this restriction: the clans were very capable of self-governing their magic and rarely had any issue with Abominations. When it did happen, they were given swift and merciful deaths. These events were used as teaching points for magic users of all age, as well, as they were the ones required to kill. Children with magic were taught from an early age to stay away from the Fade, and important lessons about He Who Hunts Alone there. Fen’Harel was very real for every Dalish child— a story told commonly and repeated often. He made sure to remind Isene to have that conversation with Leena before the days end, incase she learns of her own volition how to enter and draws the attention of demons. 

The overwhelming flood of faces and voices crowded into such an intimate space did not give Leena a good feeling about the week. The energy and mood was nearly a physical threat in itself. When they arrived at their small corner of the valley (“you’re near the statue of Andraste singing to the maker and falling to her knees”), another group had already taken the spot. In an effort to be diplomatic, they had approached the group gingerly and asked to squeeze in nearby. This had not gone over so well. The plainly-dressed mages were very snippy and spoke down to them, uttering what Leena now recognized was a racial slur (“knife-ears”). Souren was a proud man, she could tell. It was pride that brought him here in the first place, and if it had not been for Isene he would have snapped completely at them but her strong and diplomatic presence leveled him out considerably. They were a good match. Isene had caught the sympathy of some circle mages (one of which was an elf) and they managed to squeeze up next to them.

Hours later, after supper, Isene approached Leena, “Da’fen, it is time for us to take a walk and speak.”

Curious, Leena rose from the edge of the tent and followed Isene silently out of the valley into the forest now illuminated with the glow of the moon. Isene broke the silence, “What do you know of the Fade, da’fen?”

“The Fade?” Leena tilted her head.

“Dreaming, even. Da’len, last night, did you dream?” Isene smiled sweetly at her.

“Oh, yes,” a pleasant smile crossed her face, “I quite like it. It’s wonderful. Everything is light and moves so easily to my will.” Leena felt her excitement rise. She wanted to tell Isene of her dream and the Traveller, but before she could Isene spoke.

Isene frowned, “You must be careful, da’fen, Dreaming takes many minds and seduces them with demons. It is not a place to make your presence known. I am surprised you found yourself there so easily, but it must speak to your potential as a mage. Mages, you understand, have an inherent risk in that we can be possessed. It is why we are here at the Conclave, and why this war even is an issue. We have the ability to become perverted by these demons. The time you are most vulnerable is sleeping and wandering the Fade, da’fen. There lives the Dread Wolf, who can bring you fresh nightmare and steal your soul away and replace it with a demon.”

“The Dread Wolf?” 

“Fen’Harel, Leena. He seduced Gods, so, we are no match for him. You must be on guard and lay low in Dreaming until you are at least more competent. You must not let the Dread Wolf catch your scent.”

Leena’s mind drifted back to her experience, the fear she had chased away, and the Traveller. Had she felt malice in him? No. While she trusted Isene spoke with the best intent, there was fear in her eyes. Leena’s instincts told her to take her advise with a grain of salt. She would build her first wall between them, and not speak of her dreams. Leena had so few memories to cling to she needed her dreams to fill her with something, even for a few hours. She sighed, “I understand, ha’hren. I will be cautious.”

“Now, I want to see what your muscles remember, da’fen.” Isene removed the staff from her back and handed it to Leena.

Chapter Text

The time in the forest had been productive after their conversation. Leena’s grasp of magic was present to some extent and she was able to cast a few basic spells after a few lessons and continuous attempts. She was in no way a fully trained mage, but she could certainly pick up spells easily. Isene suspected that before her loss of self, she must have been more than proficient and did not worry about her capacity to defend herself in necessary. Even if Leena’s fate lay outside the Lavellan clan, Isene felt comfortable she would be an asset to where she ended up at the end of the week. She could think of at least three clans that were looking for a female mage for mate bonding; she did not wish anyone to enter into an arranged match against their will, but it had turned into a more positive experience for Isene than she would ever admit to her Keeper or mother. Souren was a fine provider and father, and had proved himself affectionate and passionate for her. Their bond was deep and, though they might not have been soulmates, their love was real and enduring. Leena would make a fine catch for any clan, and though she might lack the knowledge of particular spells, in a pinch, instinct would surely kick in and she could defend herself. The nature magic and healing magic most clans relied on could easily be learned. So far, they had worked specifically on a barrier spell, a basic flame attack, and controlled frost. These three things should sustain her in the wild, but perhaps not if any violence erupted at the Conclave. Isene considered their conversation about Dreaming fine, though she was surprised when she sensed some general resistance coming from Leena; she was surprised that Leena immediately had pushed herself into the Fade last night and would have to remember to place wards to ensure it was more difficult tonight.

Souren was already preparing for bed when they returned, and soon all three quickly turned in with heavy wards set to protect from general theft. All valuables were in the tent, but even foodstuff was desirable and targeted by quick hands who’s owners packed poorly.   

Leena found it considerably difficult to even sleep; the constant chatter from the neighbors and drunken yelling echoed across the Temple valley. When she did slip to sleep, she felt a heavy weight on her chest pinning her down for half the night and only when she focused did she lift it and enter the Fade. Tonight she walked quietly through the valley, which looked much different empty and in the light of her dream’s day. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was somehow younger, newer. The large stone monuments and tall peaks of the roof were painted brilliant colors and plated partly in golds and silvers. The road looked smooth and carefully maintained and looking up at the mountain pass the snow was carved carefully with alternate routes. She drew her eye up to grand doors near the Temple and she allowed her feet to carry her forward by a third hand.

As she entered the chamber she watched the phantom of a memory— a fight playing out in indistinguishable voices. For a split second, the image of a woman approaching an urn appeared and vanished, leaving the chamber once again empty. The scene around her rippled and changed, no longer in the temple, and no longer on solid ground. She felt her mind pull an invisible thread closer and closer, till she saw again another room, with the silhouette of a different woman from the other side of a shining mirror. A hand reached towards her and beckoned her. The image beyond the mirror was faint but distinguishably green. Leena woke up.

It was still dark when she bolted straight up in her bedroll, a fine sweat across her brow. Leena quietly slipped on her under-armors then slid out of the tent and finished dressing, still tingling with residual energy from the dream. It’d only been a few hours since she laid, but Leena felt full of energy and decided a quick walk would help her get back to sleep. Carefully she slipped out of the wards, forgetting, momentarily, she would have to also make her way back in if she returned before they woke.

There was a strange calm within the encampment; hours early was nothing but restless tension and now the air of exhaustion had permeated the inhabitants and urged all to rest before the real event. Leena’s feet carried her closer and closer to the Temple, which was strangely unguarded. An unsettling feeling filled her gut— where were the guards? It was suspicious to her that such a supposedly holy place, where this world-changing meeting would unfold, stood for even a moment unwatched. In fact, it was quite odd not a single soul sit on guard in the encampments. Parties without mages could not set the magical wards, thus would need to take turns sitting watch if they distrusted their neighbors. Judging by the earlier mood, that would be everyone. Even the chatter of crickets and the wolf calls were absent.

A smokey voice rose out from a distance, “Keep the sacrifice still.”

An Orleasian voice pleaded, “Someone… help me!” 

She did not think for a second; Leena’s feet, with the knowledge of the temple in her dream, targeted the exact room from which the cries came from. She threw the doors open, “What’s going on here?”

“Quick, run while you still can!” a woman, the Divine, floated in shining red wisps of energy. Below were  the responsible parties; armored mages Leena had seen pouring into the camp earlier. the light reflected off their winged shoulders and cast the bloody hue back towards what at one point might have been a man. He was a man no longer. The monster held a glowing sphere closer and closer to her face. His head snapped to meet Leena’s eyes.

“We have an intruder. Slay the elf.” the momentary distraction allowed the suspended old women to slap the orb from his hand, and it catapulted across the floor.  With the same lack of thought that lead her here, she dove for the orb. In a flash of brilliant light, her left hand burned with an intense light.

She was falling. Leena was falling, except she was not. As if caught by a net, she dipped into the strange green hue of what felt like a dream. The woman was there— they were now running. As soon as Leena’s body carried her further, the thoughts slipped again from her mind. Each step drowned out each thoughts spoke to her like a river carrying away a leaf or a broken branch. All the could do was move forward in the heavy weight of the Fade. Another light and a desperate struggle. A difficult decision. Again, falling, but this time to a black and dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The strange sensation of a steady, powerful presence pushing gently into the blackness of her dream. Leena was vaguely aware of how weak she felt and the strange ache in her left hand that was making her listless. The sharp heat of pain radiated from the palm of her hand and traveled up her arm. The presence was blanketing her and pushing the waves of pain back and caging them to that single extremity.  Her dream-self exhaled as she felt herself become more solid, more real in her consciousness and reached for the presence protecting her from the angry energy lapping at the outside perimeters of her dream; she could tell there was an ocean of fearful energy waiting for her on the other side of that safety. Her hand felt another’s and softly entwined their fingers, folding them together tightly, as if praying.  An echo of a warm voice soothed her and pulled her from the safe darkness she built for herself, “Vyn thena, da’len. Ar envy isalemah na.”  Wake, da’len. We will be needing you.

Suddenly aware of her body, Leena coughed and shifted against a thin bedroll, immediately noting her hands were restrained in shackles. A cool mustiness filled her nose as she realized the dim light was illuminating some fashion of dungeon. Two guards stood at the room’s egress and she paused her movement so as to not alert them prematurely. She wanted to take in her surroundings: she was a prisoner. There was no thread of natural light, just the orange glow of candles and torches. She raised her body from the shadows and sat in a haze, peering down at her hands sleepily. This alerted the gaurds. One left wordlessly, his quick steps echoing off the old granite bricks.  “Where is this?” she looked at the remaining guard, but he remained silent. He unlocked and pulled her from the cell, roughly moving her to the center of the room then took an offensive stance with his sword postured at her. The other guard and returned and joined him. Did  these people think she was going to hurt them? How could she, a small, weaponless elven girl, bound at her hands, even begin to hurt them? Why did she constitute a threat? The familiar rush of questions filled her. Somewhere, she felt another ache similar to one she’d felt a few days earlier: a giant hole in her memory. The last thing she remembered was waking from her sleep near the Conclave. Her hand startled her and gave a bright green shock, sending pain down

Furious steps echoed cacophonously down the steps, “You!” A shorthaired woman, face angry, sword in hand, “Tell me, why shouldn’t we kill you now? The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead— except you.”

A chill washed over Leena, “What do you mean everyone is dead?” Her eyes grew wide and the faces of Isene and Souren smiling gently at her flashed before her like a phantom.

“Explain this.” The aggressive solder grabbed her left hand painfully, her strength partially raising her off the ground. She threw her hand back down.

“I…can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t!” She shouted and circled her, hand on the hilt of her sword defensively.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!” She pleaded. These people wouldn’t believe her; they wanted to kill her.

“You’re lying!” She gripped at her and shook her roughly.

Another woman moved in the shadows, a violet hood covering her red hair. She remained much calmer than the short haired woman, and firmly removed the woman from Leena, “We need her, Cassandra.”

“All those people…dead…” She didn’t believe it. So many questions flooded her mind. Her heart pained for them, and she understood clearly why Cassandra was so angry. She would be angry too, and it was natural to look for an immediate outlet for such uncomfortable feelings.

The hooded woman stepped closer, “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

“The dead of night…all was silent…then I remember running, things were chasing me, and then a woman? She reached out to me… but then.”

Cassandra spoke up, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana, I will take her to the rift.”

“What did happen?” Leena looked up and met her eyes.

“It would be easier to show you.” Cassandra kept an even tone, but the sorrow seeped through slightly, eyes softening momentarily.

They stepped outside into the sick, green hue of the day. It was impossible to miss: they called it the Breech. A massive rift growing, spewing demons. “….unless we act, the Breech will grow until the swallows the world.”

A pang of fear overcame her, and her hand reacted violently, pulling her back down to the ground. Casandra knelt to her, “Each time the Breech expands, so does your mark. And it is killing you. It could be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“You say it may be the key, but to do what?”

“Closing the Breech. Whether that is possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”

“You still think I did this, to myself?” Leena wasn’t sure what she expected, but she felt incredulous.

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong.”

“And if I am not responsible?”

“Someone clearly is. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.” she paused.

“I will do whatever I can…” Giving in was all she could do.

Cassandra moved her roughly through the torn up town, eyes all falling to her. She could feel the knives of hate in their eyes, throwing daggers. “They have decided your guilt. They need it. They mourn the death of our Most Holy….” she was still talking, but Leena was having trouble listening. “…Until the Breech is sealed. There will be a trial, I can promise no more.” She cut the ropes from her hands and motioned to follow her. Cassandra strode with purpose and did not look back.

“Where are you taking me?” they walked the familiar path from Haven to the Temple. She bitterly remember that she had traveled this same path days earlier with Isene and Souren.

“Come, your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breech.”

“Tested?”

Before they could get to the forward camp, Leena collapsed again to the ground, hand surging in a white-hot pain. Her nerves were on fire, her blood boiled— everything sung and shook heavily within her. Cassandra again pulled her to her feet. They were coming faster. Casandra remarked on the chances of her even surviving such an attack, and implied that it must be holy; Leena could see where this was going. Cassandra’s faith radiated from her— poured— at every given opportunity. 

Cassandra stopped dead in her tracks and Leena saw exactly why: a twisted, dark form in front of her, hands reaching out. This is what she had meant by demon. Her heart pounded; was she expected to survive this? A woman of so little practice and very little memory? She was practically born days ago. Sucking in air, she spied a staff as Cassandra yelled and dove at the beast. It would have to do. She would have to do. Scraping what little knowledge she had, Leena shot a storm of fire and ice upon the beast. It stilled and then dissipated in a hiss as mysteriously as it has appeared. Cassandra’s eyes shot to her, “Drop your weapon!”

“Yes…I….” she hesitated, having acted on instinct without realizing the social implication of such an action., then bent to place the staff back.

“No… wait. I cannot expect you to not defend yourself, and I cannot defend both of us. Keep it with you. I should remember you came willingly.”

Leena nodded and followed Cassandra as fast as her feet allowed. The journey up the mountain to the camp was a blur and quite exhausting. Cassandra had given her potions, but even they did not fill the deep exhaustion she could feel pitting in her stomach. “Be mindful of your mana, we do not have any lyrium potions on us.”

As they crested the hill, another group of demons awaited near an eery green tear above them. Tear was as best as she could describe it— it was like nothing she’d seen but Leena assumed it was exactly what Cassandra had been speaking of when she spoke of the Breech. An open wound that spoke to her open wound. A reminder that under the calm exterior of the world was an underbelly now unseen, just sometimes felt. At the crest they were not alone; several solders were already fighting the wave. Each manifestation was quickly dispatched back into the wound till there were none, “Quickly, before more come through!” A strong, slender hand gripped hers and firmly thrust it into the air. She gasped as she felt a pull and became acutely aware of magic she’d never controlled before course through her. The rift snapped shut.

She stepped back and looked at her hand in awe, then to the man. She took a good look at him for the first time: he was not unlike herself. An elf, and a mage. He was handsome but unconventionally so— and wore neither the robes of the Circle mages she had seen, or robes like her fast family. He held himself with dignity and an air of nobility— a stark contrast to his very common dress. Careful eyes of blue from a healthy freckled complexion.  “What did you do?”

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” He smiled, a carefully held look on his face.

“I…well, it’s something. I mean, at least it has a use. Besides glowing and all-around general confusion. Doesn’t seem to be a coincidence?”

“Yes. It is not. Whatever magic opened that Breech in the sky placed that mark on your hand. I theorized the mark on your hand might be able to close these rifts. It seems I was correct.”

“You mean it could also close the Breech itself?” Cassandra strode forward.

“Possibly,” his arms fell in front of him, and eyes locked onto Leena’s, “it seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Leena let out a stifled laugh in disbelief. Salvation? Really?

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” A dwarf turned his cuff in and stepped forward. ”Varric Tethras. Rouge, storyteller, occasional un-welcome tag along.” Cassandra sneered, but said nothing.

“Are you from here? Are you with the Chantry? Or…?”

The elf mage let out a single chuckle, “Is that a serious question?”

“Technically,” Varric looked down, “I am a prisoner like you…”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet! Here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.”

Leena broke the awkward silence, “Ah, well. It’s good to meet you, Varric.”

“You, may reconsider that stance in time.” the elven man commented with a sidewise smile.

“Aww, I am sure we will become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra approached him, sneer still plastered to her face. Leena could sense the tension in their relationship was old, deep, and resentful. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“…Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” He cut her off. “Your solders are not in control anymore.”

“Uhg…” Cassandra walked away, defeated by the obvious need for support.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be any introductions.” He smiled, eyes still searching her face carefully.

“He means, I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.” Varric shook his head.

“Oh? You seem to know a great deal about this all. I am grateful…thank you, Serannasan ma, hah’ren.”  Leena met his eyes sincerely. He smiled and looked a bit taken aback; what kind of man does not expect at least a thank you?

His lip curled playfully, “Nuva lasa su ma enaste.”

Cassandra interjected, “Like you, Solas is an apostate.”

“Technically all mages are apostates now, Cassandra.” he paused, then said proudly, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond any Circle mage. I came to offer my support. If the Breech is not closed, we are all in danger regardless of where we came from.”

“That’s a commendable attitude.”

“Merely the sensible one. Although, sense seems to be in short supply right now…”

Leena genuinely smiled for the first time since she woke, saying nothing. His eyes were penetrating her, questioning; his gaze was unraveling her a bit. “….pardon me for not asking earlier, but no one seems to agree on your name?”

Cassandra interjected before she could answer, “There was only one clan of Dalish at the Conclave, Solas. It is quite clear who she is.” She turned to Leena, “She is of Lavellan!”

Solas knitted his brow and turned back to Leena, “Excuse me, Seeker, but I would wish to hear it from the lady herself.”

“I was with them, yes….” she paused. Leena did not know whether her truthful answer would be deemed suspicious, so she kept herself brief, “…You can call me Leena. ” Cassandra took this as confirmation she was correct and dismissed the interjection from Solas as nothing more than a show of his often strong personality. Solas, on the other hand, let his eyes continue to search her face. He saw her omission, though he knew not what she left out, he had sensed she was not answering wholly. Would he always make her so uncomfortable?

Solas kept his gaze on Leena as he spoke to the Seeker. “Cassandra, you should know, this magic is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.” She turned and strode forward.

As soon as Cassandra was out of earshot, Solas’s voice carried softly into her ear like a song. He spoke Elvhen with such fluidity and grace she nearly mistook it as particularly articulate burst of wind. “It is healthy to be cautious of them, da’len. I did not expect your full response but trust I mean to protect you.”

Leena did not know how to respond. She was glad they were also hurrying along the pass so that she could ignore her feeling that she was constantly passing. Leena did not see herself as a liar, no, because she had nothing to lie about. It was none of their business where she came from, nor did it really give change to their current scenario. Solas was merely checking her— prodding her to open a bit so that he may peer inside. What gave her anxieties away to him? she deflected his comment. “You speak so beautifully.”

Finally they came close to the forward camp and he met her eye as they halted, “As do you.”   Leena’s nerves rattled; over that final push was surely a rift. She had hit on the entire reason he even called her out— it seemed she was unaware of her own tells. Solas did believe she came with the Dalish into the Conclave. That much was apparent. Whether he believed she truly was of the Lavellan clan, he still had not made his mind on. Leena said nothing on his comment, but instead moved swiftly towards the rift. Did she speak well? She didn’t know. Had she always? She remembered what little Elvhen she spoke with Isene and Souren. Since when did so many words live in her head?

“Leena watch out!”  Cassandra snapped her back to the demons falling from the rift, wind knocking from her as she was swept backwards by a burst of energy from a wraith. She quickly got to her feet, defensively casting barriers before diving into her magic again. She was becoming much more confident in her handing of her staff. But what had she done before to close the rift? She concentrated. Without Solas’s hand guiding her and his magic prodding her, a small panic boiled in her belly. Concentrate!  She reached from inside, grasped at the strange magic, and thrust it forward, threading the needle so to speak. She imagined the thread of magic drawing the rift closed and watched multiple threads spew from her hand and tuck the gash shut.

“We’re clear for the moment. Well done.” Solas approached her and wordlessly lifted her hand, peering at the mark.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s damn useful.” Varric glanced over at the still glowing mark.

“Let us hurry.” Cassandra was at the gate, glaring back at the idlers. There was no wonder or mirth in her eyes and she did not care how Leena closed the rifts; she cared simply that they closed. 

Chapter Text

Leena hadn’t really disliked anyone until she met Chancellor Roderick. He was abrasive, accusatory, and nothing she said made him have any modicum of faith. Not that she could blame him for his overwhelming fear— war breeds fear. Hell, simply not knowing breeds fear and there was a lot they didn’t know. Considering she knew only a handful of people, and given the current state of the world, Leena suspected she would dislike many more people in possibly much greater amounts than the foolish Chancellor, who insisted on calling her the “evil elven woman-child” who “plots the overthrow of the Chantry and destroy the world.” Nice. 

“…I order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

“Order me?!” Casandra barked incredulously at Roderick, “You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat!”

They fought at an increasing heat, until Leliana managed to disrupt and defuse the argument, urging them to move forward. “We serve the Most Holy, Roderick, so please…”

“Justinia is dead! We must wait for them to elect a new Divine then wait for her orders!”

“Wait, isn’t closing the Breech more important? How long do you expect all of that to take, Chancellor?” Leena snapped. Between Roderick’s attitude and the increasing pain in her arm, she couldn’t let to this insane show of bureaucracy tie them back any longer.

“You brought this upon us in the first place!” he roared, stepping closer to her with anger glowing in his eyes. “Call the retreat, Seeker! Our position here is hopeless.”

Cassandra thrust herself between Chancellor Roderick and Leena. “We can stop this before it’s too late!”

Leena sighed, stepping back, and glanced at Leliana. Cassandra had suggested charging ahead, and Leliana was wanting to take the mountain pass through a mine and back down.

“…we lost contact with an entire squad up there! It’s too risky.” Cassandra was always a bit too sure in her opinions, it seemed. For Leiliana to sway her would be near impossible— it would take another voice.

All the bickering was making her head pound, which was making her hand pound as well. In the corner of her eye she saw the flaring of the Breech, and soon enough Leena was gripping her arm in pain. Both women turned to Leena, slightly thrown off. Cassandra spoke, “How do you think we should proceed?”

“Me? You’re asking the elven woman-child’s opinion?” she quipped, still gripping her hand and rolling her thumb over the palm. “Well, then, I would side with Leliana on this one, but because we also have a chance of recovering those soldiers. We can work together— we all know what’s at stake here.”

“Fine. Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.” Cassandra strode away stoically.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

Leena stood at Cassandra’s side as they climbed the windy cliffs leading to the mine entrance. Though the construction was old, it was recently reenforced and seemed sturdy enough.

Odd enough for a dwarf, Varric seemed particular uncomfortable with the idea of roaming around inside an abandoned mine, “And your missing solders are somewhere in there?”

“Along with whatever is detaining them….” Solas reminded.

“We shall see soon enough…” Cassandra was right. They did see what detained the solders— more demons. Another rift was inside the mine but Leena had suspected as much when her hand began to pulse expectantly. Cassandra was also right in that this had been a dangerous path. As they caught their breath momentarily in the disheveled passageway, Leena’s eyes fell momentarily to a broken mirror in the corner. Her frost eyes met her own again with a wary and discomfort. She was scraped up from the fight, scarf torn, clothes dirty— still as pretty as the first time she’d seen herself, but tired and pained. The pain of her mark showed through to her expression. Her pale ashen hair had flecks of blood (whether her own or another’s she knew not) soaked in places and on her countenance quite a serious expression. This is me, she thought, this is what they see and know of me. She did look quite Dalish. The vallas'lin, the clothes, most importantly the long pointy ears… Why would he think anything else? Why should she? Yes, she didn’t know all the Dalish things, but Souren had made perfect sense to her with his postulate and there had been no argument. Something felt off, however. Perhaps it was Solas’ simple questions and quiet suspect that made her so uneasy, and his own curiosity and doubt was reflecting onto her malleable mind.

The dull, filtered light and Varric’s voice brought Leena back to her current reality, “Well, I think we found our missing solders.” Their bodies laid scattered and torn upon the ground. Leena’s stomach lurched as she fought back the urge to vomit. She’d never seen or smelt such a disgusting thing. These were people— dead people. Prior to this there were only demons and wraiths. While it was obvious that demons had slaughtered these men and women, it occurred to her it just as easily been a man or group of men. War. This was the beginning of a war and she was to be dragged around like a puppet? How many of these rifts were there? And what of the thing that started it? Was it a demon or a man? Eventually, Leena feared it would not simply be demons she stayed. With this thought she lost the battle to contain herself and shakily spilt her bile-filled  stomach in a bush.  “Listen, Snowflake, you’re gonna probably be seeing a lot worse things than that.” Though his words were sharp, his tone was sympathetic. No one had expected any of this, to say the least.

“Let’s just hurry.” Her voice was raspy.

Cassandra looked at her with an uncharacteristic softness, realizing her prisoner was in no way a harden warrior as she was. She’d been fighting her whole life and often forgot of the unsullied emotionality of people apart from war.  “That cannot be all of them.”

“So the other’s could be held up ahead?” Varric’s hopeful tone flickered through the thick air as they continued down the mountain.

“Our priority must be the Breech. Until it is closed, no one is safe.” Solas had not spoken since before they’d even entered the mine, voice sharp and cutting.

Yes, but he was right. They would try and save the others’ lives but as long as the sky gaped at them, it was pointless. What would they be saving them for? Leena felt a second wind.

“Well, I’m leaving that to our elven friend here.” Varric grinned at her. “How you holding up, Faerie Fingers?”

Leena glared at him and Cassandra groaned, “Oh no, Varric, don’t start with that.”

“What’s wrong, Seeker? Your’s not pretty enough, Princess?” That one earned him a sharp smack from ‘Princess.’

Leena sighed, lip turned at the corner, “Well, pick one. Can’t have you jumping around with it or we’ll never know who you’re talking about.”

“Oh, won’t we? No one else’s got a magic shiny thing stuck in their hand. Besides, It’s not so simple, Twigs, gotta find the right fit.”

“Not that one.”

“Noted.”

“There’s another rift nearby.” Leena snapped back on course, “Hurry, I can hear the solders.” She rushed into the fight, spanning barriers all around. With the addition of the remaining solders, they quickly banished the remaining demons and Leena sealed the rift like it was second nature.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” Solas stood beside her, note of satisfaction on the tail end of his words.

“Yeah, well let’s just hope it works on the big one.” Varric took a swig from his hip flask.

“Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra.” A masked woman rose to her feet aided by Cassandra.

“You should thank the prisoner, Lieutenant, she insisted we come this way.” Cassandra gave Leena  rare smile.

“The prisoner? Then you…”

“…it was worth saving you, if we could.”  Leena bowed her head and looked away.

“Then you have our sincere gratitude.” the Lieutenant saluted her.

“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment, go.” Cassandra dispatched the solders.

Solas was already moving towards a more direct route, “The path in front of us appears to be clear of demons as well.”

“Hurry, let’s go before that changes.”  They tore down the path, climbing down more mining structures and bounding across more rickety wooden platforms.

Varric turned to Solas as he ran, “So holes in the Fade don’t just accidentally happen, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bare, it is possible.”

“Yes, but there are easier ways to make things explode…”

“That. Is true.”

“We will consider how this happened after the immediate danger passes.” Cassandra cut their conversation off curtly as they approached the scene where she fell from the Fade, but they were all silenced by a field of skeletons— all fused to the very flesh that once held their life. As gruesome as they were, Leena felt little but sadness. They were more symbols to her of the massive destruction and sadness. Somewhere among these ruins lay the charred remains of Souren and Isene, curled together in their tent. At least they had been asleep, and together. Souren and Isene had fallen asleep that night with their bodies close together, limbs tangled and expressions of peace.  She must choose to remember them like that, and not of these raw monuments of pain screaming silently. A fire still raged around them and the long green tendrils of the massive Breech called to her and pulled at her hand.

Varric broke the silence, “The Breech is a long way up.”

Yes it was. Could she do it? She must try. Leena’s heartbeat felt so loud she wondered if the other’s did not hear it. It was more prominent in her ears than the crackle and shifting of the massive rift.

“You’re here!” Leliana’s voice came from behind.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple.” Cassandra delegated, then turned to Leena, “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

“I can try. I am not sure I can reach it, let alone seal it, but I will give it everything I have.”

“No, this rift was first— it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breech.”

A thick voice, no a ghost of a voice, echoed, “Now is the hour of our victory… bring forth the sacrifice.” A shiver ran down Leena’s spine. This was too familiar— she had heard this before.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra knew inside her somewhere what it must be, but did not believe it.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breech.” Solas had no trouble believing, however. None of this seemed at all surprising to him.

Varric made a startled jump and detoured around the shining red, eery crystals jutting out of the ground on the path down to the Breech. “You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker?”

“I see it, Varric.” the Seeker responded, disgusted.

“But what’s it doing here?” he sounded amazed.

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium form below the temple. Corrupted it.” Solas’ explanations always seemed the most likely. Cassandra knew that before the Breech a large presence of lyrium existed below the temple. Large was an understatement— the entire building reeked with magic. She could sense it from all the way in Haven the first time she arrived. No wonder whoever did this chose this place. Among all the reasons to do this at the Conclave, the sheer abundance of lyrium was certainly a good one.

“It’s evil! Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

“Keep the sacrifice still.” the same deep voice called out.

“Someone…help me!” a woman cried.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra’s heart dropped. What Solas had said must be true— this was a record of what happened here.

Leena dropped down into the rubbled mess, and approached the crackling rift, hand flailing. 

The woman called to them again, “Someone…help me!”

“What’s going on here?” it was a disembodying experience to hear the echo of her own voice respond in turn.

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you.” Cassandra shook her head in disbelief, “But…” the sky crackled overhead.

A strange calm broke to reveal a blinding light, and the shadows played out the scene— part of what Leena could not remember. The shadowy figure and a woman bound in light, “Run while you can, warn them!”

“We have an intruder. Slay the elf.” as his voice rang out through the valley she knew there was more missing.

Cassandra was near frantic and approached her hastily, “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine? Was she…was this vision true? What are we seeing!”

“I don’t remember. You know as much as I do now.”

“They’re echoes of what’s happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Solas remained calm. “This rift is not sealed but it is closed, all be it temporarily. I believe with the mark the rift can be opened, then sealed properly and safely.” he took a breath, “However  opening this rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons. Stand ready!”  Cassandra called out to the troops, who readied their weapons in anticipation for what Leena was about to do.

Leena took a deep breath and stepped forward and raised her hand, silently calling upon the energy of the mark to open instead of close. With a force that took all the air from her lungs, she stumbled back and watched the rift turn into an open wound, massive demon falling triumphantly out as if he had been waiting and knew they would come. It’s skin flickered with an eery purple electricity and its scream rendered her immobile. He was at least as tall as four of them stacked, and heavier than all their bodies combined. “Sh…shit.”

Their entire force descended upon the Pride demon.

“Hurry and disrupt the rift, to distract him!” Cassandra called out to her stunned form.

Leena leapt to her feet and approached the rift, lifting again her hand to try and pull at the rift. She could feel the interference reach its peak and heard the demon cry out, and Cassandra’s battle cry urging everyone to attack while it was stunned. Leena staggered back and counted in her head. Any moment now, the rift would flip open and more things would come spewing from it. She had been in battles with them earlier, but her inexperience weighed heavily upon her. This was greater than those scuttles. She felt Solas approach her and place one guiding hand on her side then firmly pull her away from the rift, snapping her back to the very real there, “Da’len, prepare! Sathan, follow my lead if you are unsure.” 

Taken slightly aback, Leena finally exhaled and nodded her head, moving a safe distance from the now sputtering rift. She was thankful for Solas, though she did not currently have mind enough to verbalize that thanks. Now was not the time to test whether or not she’d been gifted a warriors instinct; Solas knew she was too precious to let make grave mistakes of sheer inexperience and it was very obvious to him she was near the edge of her mental and physical stamina. The Pride demon was being assaulted by the majority of the forces, so Solas directed they hold off the newly emerging demons and attempt to disrupt the rift again.  Due to their strategic efforts, the Pride demon was loosing momentum quickly. Leena dove back into the center of the field and disrupted the rift once more, sending the Pride demon to its knees. “Not much more now!”  she heard Solas’s voice call to her as she swayed on her feet. The solders rushed the Pride demon and it fell.

“Now, seal the rift! Do it!” Cassandra ordered her, and she acquiesced. Leena’s hand reached once more for the sky, shaking and tensing. This time the rift pulled at her very self, ripping past her hand and drawing on her innate power and draining what little remained in an insant. The sky stitched and wove together loosely but It wasn’t enough, no. With a strangled cry she crashed into a heavy darkness.

Chapter Text

The Breech had settled. It wasn’t closed but it was steady, as was the mark on Leena’s hand. They had not completely failed and now it was apparent that under the right conditions (which was currently under debate) Leena could actually close the Breech. It was Solas who had anticipated her burn out, and Solas who had caught her tumbling, trembling frame, and Solas who stubbornly carried her back to Haven tucked tightly to his chest. Though she slept steadily and her fever had been reduced, the worry now, at more than a full 24 hours since they attempted to close the Breech, was if the small elven woman would wake at all. Adan and Solas both could make no promises to Cassandra, who had taken to pacing constantly in the Chantry, reciting verses and the Chant of Light with eyes closed. Leliana had sent urgent messages to all the healers she had in contact for any advise or to request they come as quickly as possible to Haven. The closest was at least a week away by horse or caravan, however, and she was no fool in thinking anyone could be unconscious that long and survive.

Cassandra finished her afternoon prayers and moved swiftly from the Chantry to the cabin they’d cleared and fitted for Leena. It was the villagers, who’d seen what they wholly believed was a miracle and proof of faith, that some started calling her the Herald of Andraste. The people of Haven were divided, however, some put off by the fact she was a Dalish elf made rude comments and weightless threats.  What was the Maker planning for them? Was she truly sent by Andraste and was she the woman behind her when she emerged form the Fade? Surely the Maker would not let his gift fall victim to exhaustion or sickness and die before His work is carried out. Cassandra had faith, and her faith gave energy to those around her and renewed vigor.

“Ah, Cassandra.” Solas greeted her. Leena was stripped down to her small clothes already, her delicate and feminine frame laid out atop the sheets and marked hand placed gingerly atop a pillow.  A maidservant was unwrapping a bundle of clean clothes next to a basin of steaming soapy water, “If you would assist Rasha, I think we could use your strength.” He cleared his throat and smiled softly at Cassandra. Solas looked spent. His face was pale and eyes heavy with worry. “I will be outside so as to… preserve her dignity. If you would like to speak I can address you there. Adan will be by soon with a drought.”

“Certainly,” and she nodded at Solas and helped lift Leena’s frame against her own, helping Rasha unwind the chest bindings and slip off her underwear. She was not surprised to find Solas still waiting for her outside nearly half an hour later, deep in thought. The man had rarely left the cabin and even had fallen asleep slumped against the bed with her anchored hand in his. Whatever doubt Cassandra had about the apostate before this was gone; he had proven with his actions that his dedication to their goal was unwavering. His support was invaluable to her and she appreciated his unique knowledge and input. Despite his unverifiable background, his small actions showed an unwavering propriety and comforted her a great deal since she was giving him unfettered access to the only means they had in closing the Breech.  Cassandra now felt guilt for how she’d behaved towards him early on— making threats against him to gain his cooperation. She realized now that the threats were unnecessary, and he would have helped regardless. Solas was a gentleman in peasants clothes and acted with pride and dignity she’d learned was rare even among the nobility she had come to despise. When they had finished their task, Cassandra slipped outside to find Adan and Solas standing in awkward silence. Obviously the two were having some disagreement due to the sour look on both faces. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Adan was supposed to bring a healing drought and instead he brought something vile and potentially harmful. I could smell it from yards away.” Solas’ eyes flickered dangerously.

“Oh?” Cassandra looked taken aback.

“I did no such thing! It is quite possible she has… become possessed.. and we must take drastic matters! I was reading some notes on…”

“Yes oh, you were reading something you didn’t obviously understand! And what do you base these egregious claims on? What knowledge of possession and spirits should we expect from an apothecary?” he spat at him, moving his body between the cabin door and the two of them like a guard. He would grab her and run if he needed; magebane would surely kill her. It was what mana she’d restored and her grasp of the Fade that kept her still breathing.

“Wait, what? Adan, do you know what you’re suggesting? Why not come to us if you feared possession. Solas is right, this is foolish. To administer such a thing without verifying the intent would surely poison her.” Cassandra sighed. “I am sure you mean well but, what has got into you? Please leave us if you do not feel you can assist.”

Adan looked throughly annoyed and threw the potion to the ground, the stink flooding their nostrils. “Fine by me, but if we try nothing she will die.” he about-faced back towards his cabin, looking miffed.

Solas stepped away from the shattered mess and entered back into the cabin, taking again his thoughtful look at Leena’s bedside. “He is only right on that account, Seeker. If we cannot rouse her she will die. She is deeply asleep. I cannot find her even in the Fade. I will try again later to sense her.”

“I see.” she sighed, “Well, do what you think is best. I will go speak with Adan. We still need his skill but this… was….”

“Desperate? Foolish? Possibly a deadly mistake? Yes.” he took again Leena’s hand in his. “We cannot afford anything quite so baseless and arbitrary, based solely on a overwhelming fear of magic. It is not magic that kills her right now— its her spirit’s struggle to process the shock.”

“Shock?” Cassandra pulled the desk chair to the face him and sat.

“Most people are only slightly aware of their connection to the Fade and magic— even mages. Even a mage, experienced, and comfortable in the Fade might find having such an overwhelming force rip at them shocking. This magic is not normal magic. It is a power no mortal should wield— and it will most likely kill her yes… eventually. That she survived the joining at all is a testament to the purity and brilliance of her soul. In fact, the power must have been drawn to her or called to her in some way. Any common man would have died. She is… special, yes, but still vulnerable.”

Cassandra smiled, “I do not think it is a coincidence it was her. I believe the Maker must have blessed her with such a vibrant spirt, and then lead her to us in our time of need. The people of this village are calling her the Herald of Andraste, and while I am unsure of this, I know for sure she is here by divine providence. She will not die.”

“Your confidence and faith is admirable, Seeker.” Solas’ worried face softened, “And comforting.”

“Thank you, Solas. I find your presence here comforting as well. Perhaps the Maker lead you to us as well.”

“Ah, well… perhaps.” the corner of his mouth turned and he switched the topic, “But a Dalish elf? The Herald of Andraste? I bet the Chantry will love that…”

Cassandra barked out a laugh, “Yes, well, we are already heretics to them so I do not care what they think. This is no time for bureaucratic survey— it is time for action.”  Cassandra paused, “Solas, you should rest. I can sit with her and keep watch.”

He smiled and rose to his feet, gently folding her arm to rest atop a pillow. Leena’s face furrowed  in her sleep and her hand grasped the pillow in his hand’s absence.  “She might like if you hold her hand. I’ve noticed she’s calmer like that. Wake me if there are issues. Adan’s also been keeping notes if you’d like to take a look….you’ll find them by her bed.” Solas left the cabin with a nod to the Seeker.

Though Solas intended to sleep, he did not intend to shriek the mantle of duty. She was deep in the Fade, and he must find her. Much of his energy had been spent that day ensuring the mark on her hand, his magic, did not eat her alive, thus he had not been able to properly search her in the Fade. He was able to strengthen the barrier her attempt to close the Breech had created and teach the mark specific behaviors to be self-limiting. It would be just as horrible if she were to completely control the mark, and wield the true strength of its potential. He doubted such a young and inexperienced mage could grasp the theory without guidance, but he did not want to leave it as an option. Only he could know how to wield it, and he must protect her from that knowledge and burden. Whether or not she was aware of being in the Fade might be keeping her from waking, and depending on her level of experience with traversing the Fade she would need help realizing it. If she was Dalish, she would have been fed distasteful opinions on Dreaming and thus probably had little to know grasp on escaping a recursive dream. Finding a recursive dream was difficult and he must be careful because they quickly turned to nightmares when entered.

He focused intensely around the blackness surrounding where she would be, or should be, in the Fade. Leena could be anywhere but he doubted it was far from Haven. No, it was deep but not far. He called out to his magic. A spark answered. His body shifted and changed and he ran, weaving through the ghostly recreation of a forest, and down into a vast ravine of increasingly corporeal shapes and common plants until it was as convincing as the actual woods of Haven. The level of detail was astounding and beautiful— quite a feat. Being stuck in a recursive dream was not easy. In fact, it meant she possessed a great deal of potential in the Fade that could be trained, given the right teacher. Her subconscious had created such a convincing and beautiful reality for her she did not question it and probably justified any inconsistencies.  To break her out of it, he must keep track of these inconsistencies and force their realization. The wolf approached the edge of the dream forest and fell back into the shadows. Before him the snow was gone and another season reared its head— warm and beautiful spring.

The lake, warmed by the sun, was melting, and in the corner steamed. Leena stood waist-deep in all her natural glory, long wet hair clinging to her back and breast. What cruel fate that such a beautiy be put in such a position. Perhaps it was divine punishment, that he watch his power tear apart gentle femininity instead of some brutish pennancle of strength. If there was a hand of god, he was playing Solas’ tricks right back against him. His heart ached. In another time and place he’d have not felt any reservation of making letting her know his appreciation; his youth was spent appreciating the wealth of Arlathvhen’s beautiful women. He made game of wooing and lavishing them with praise, but kept his desires for intimacy mostly to himself. He rarely laid or indulged fully with anyone; Solas was no player but an aficionado of certain tastes. He sought not his own pleasures but the gift of pleasures. Yes, he’d have whispered her poetry as they bathed, then adorned her with fresh flowers and soft gestures of his lips. If she desired more (and only if) he would sooth her with his mouth but take none for himself; the talent of his wicked mouth was no secret. Mythal laughed at his dalliances and teased him mercilessly for the whispers that followed him. Women would blush in his presence and flirt shamelessly in attempts to verify their curiosities. Leena submerged herself completely once more before she raised fully from the waters. Warm streams rushed off her budded nipples and flowed down the underside of her pert and dainty chest down her flat, soft stomach and past the perfect cut of her womanhood into the lake. She turned and pulled a towel hanging over a branch from a tree by the river as more water trailed down from her soaked hair to the crack of her soft backside. Leena had surprisingly full hips despite her thinness and a rather satisfying curve from her waist down. Solas’ appreciation grew. Despite his attempts to avoid indiscretion earlier in the cabin, he was shamelessly indulging in the Fade.

She dried her hair before walking to a large boulder illuminated with sunshine, laying the towel down and then stretching herself in the sun. Birds flitted about catching insects as she arched her back and stretched, testing the yield of her back and limbs. As she ran through a litany of movements, legs spreading and shifting giving him new and creative views, his huger pained and ached at him in an illogical plea to join her on that rock. He longed for the closeness and intimacy he knew he could only find with a woman. Being alone was distasteful; the wolf much preferred the company of many. Solas sighed and forced himself to ignore his own loud need— he needed to work quickly. Time in the Fade did not operate the same as outside it, and lingering however long was not part of his plan, despite the enjoyability of the dream.  To start, he would need to remind her the lake was frozen and that it was the start of winter and the trees were deep in slumber and no toads or lizards would be skirting about, as they were now on nearby rocks, and sunning themselves.  With a breath Solas changed the   lake back to its current, real life state of frozen. The frogs and lizards disappeared and clouds covered the horizon, shielding the sun. Leena bolted up right in confusion, suddenly shivering, and ran back to her clothes strewn across the tree. What she found confused her even greatly. Instead of the Dalish garb she left there, she found an elegant gown adorned with jewels and lace. She slipped it on and Solas sighed; he selfishly dressed her as he would like to see her, royal satin blues and delicate pale laces in the fashion of his memories.

Leena spun and mused at the garb, a seed of confusion steadily growing in her, soon to blossom into doubt. The low neckline, jutting all the way to her naval and exposing most of her breast, was not like anything she’d seen. Though it was not simply empty space and made use of a lace screen, she still felt completely exposed, her femininity presented like some sort of frilly and decorated cake sitting on a doily. It was not distasteful, however, and the dress was modest in other aspect. Her arms, back, and neck were mostly covered. Flowing fabric excessively pooled at her feet: how did she expect to walk in this? She’d have to float or enchant such impracticality. No, a woman wearing this wasn’t really expected to walk anywhere. She supposed any woman affording such luxurious and adventurous fashion choice would have the means to make it work in one way or another. Perhaps it wasn’t a choice at all? Maybe the owner of this dress was of a particular purpose. Leena frowned. She much preferred her earlier musing, if she had to chose. Sitting again on the rock, she was quite thankful the garb was surprisingly warm. It’d grown cold again for some reason. Wasn’t it spring?

She connected. No, it wasn’t. And this was not her dress. In the corner of her eye she caught sight of glowing eyes, too many eyes. A bubble rose in her chest, threatening to burst. No, no, no. Where was this, if not Haven? Where was she? Isene and Souren were here earlier, and Isene and Souren were Haven for her! A shadow flit across the edge of the forest in a dark outline. A bear? No, a wolf. Wolves? Where was everyone, if not here. Haven was never empty and right now not a soul in sight. She shifted uncomfortable at the thought. Isene and Souren disappeared and where had they gone? A small internal voice answered her quietly, they are dead. The dream fell apart, and Leena felt herself falling into the blackness of dreamless sleep.

Hours later, she woke with a start, startling poor Rasha into dropping her wares. "I didn't know you were awake... I swear!"

Chapter Text

“I’m not going to hurt you, and please stop bowing like that?” Leena sighed and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then pressed her thumbs into the bridge of her nose attempting to rub away the groggy feeling of sleep.

“I beg… your forgiveness, and your blessing,” the maidservant finally raised her eyes, “I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven, m’lady. You saved us! The Breech stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It is all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

“Three days? I was out three days?” Leena was astonished. It explained why she felt so weak with hunger. Her throat cracked, “Is the danger over?”

“The Breech is still in the sky, but that’s what they say… I am certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you have awoken. She said ‘at once’… ’” the girl raised timidly to her feet and backed towards the door.

“And where is she?” Leena grimaced at her body’s stiffness, clutching her side as she got to her feet. Her clear eyes darted around the dark cabin flickering with firelight. Bottles of potions set at her bedside table, along with a large decanter of water.

“In the Chantry, with the Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said.” the elf girl turned and ran.

“Well. Alright, you should… do that then.” Leena sighed and watched the door slam shut behind the maid. Her stomach lurched at her and she looked around the room slightly expectant to find something, anything edible. No? Right, too practical. Box filled with armor? Check. Staff? Check. Stockpile of various potions and herbs? Check. Food? No, not violent enough. Instead, Leena downed a long drink of water and slipped on a thick coat over the too-big and too-beige ensemble she’d apparently been dressed in during her long, slow sleep. She muttered to herself, unable to find her foot bindings or the precious few belongings she had left and instead slipped on the too-human-sized boots by the door, “Horrible look and fit, but whatever.”

Ah. It seemed the people of Haven were now aware she was awake. And as painfully awkward as she’d thought it would be trudging into the Chantry in her mismatched, too-big clothes after sleeping for 3 days and awakening to being called some kind of prophet by her very own elf maid, her expectation was a vast underestimate of her current reality.  It was horribly, nightmarishly uncomfortable and also confusion. Hadn’t she been a prisoner a few days earlier? Suspected of horrible, unbelievable crimes? Outside her door there were solders lining the path to the Chantry, saluting her, as the hushed crowed of villagers gathered to catch a look at her. Whispers filled the air— some questioning, some devout, and some just racist.

“Did you get a good look at her? It’s really an elf!”  Oh, she was an it? Yes, well you try looking like the pinnacle of elvhen womanhood after nearly having your soul sucked out your arm then sleeping, practically near-death, for 3 days. And the beige outfit really was not doing much for her besides hurting her female pride.

“Wonder what kinda enchantment she used that could fool all the Templars and the Seeker? She must be a witch… get back, Jocham, and don’t look her in the eyes.”  Nice thought, but if she could do mind control Leena would have found something better to do with it than get herself stuck in a dank cell with a glowing time bomb on her hand.

“The Maker finally has revealed his plan for us! I wonder if she’d be willing to give me a lock of her hair.”  Nope, she was going to forget she heard that but it was a good reminder to invest in finding a nice hat.

The solders she had aided in the mountain pass were on their knees in full salute. Herald of Andraste? She barely understood who Andraste was and never had claimed she believed in such a tale. A human woman, a former slave, who married their God? But she was already married, and something about a war and elves factored in there somewhere, at least. And betrayal with a side of something about a mercy sword. She walked quickly to the Chantry, eyes on her feet the entire time. As she approached the door she heard the too-familiar voice of Chancellor Roderick arguing against her with Seeker Cassandra. Didn’t he have something better to do? She threw the door open, and greeted them with a rather deadpanned “Hello.” Short and too the point.

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capitol for trial!”

“Disregard that. And leave us.” the solders left on Cassandra’s command.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breech is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“Chancellor, why are you here? What did you expect to happen? I did everything I could to close the Breech, and it nearly killed me. Obviously this mark on my hand is more useful than your incessant grabs for attention. If you’re not going to come up with a solution or better idea, are you not just complaining? This is our— my— reality now. I understand, I know you’re afraid at uncertanty, but lashing out unnecessarily at people trying to do better is your systemic reaction against the pure emotion of fear, not to be confused as a reasonable and logical course of action.”

Chancellor Roderick was taken aback, “And what, have you no fear? Is that not suspicious? You already have evaded death twice. How convenient!”

Leena laughed and rolled her eyes. Cassandra glared at Roderick, “The Breech is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana emerged from the shadows as quiet as a ghost, “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone that Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others or,” she shifted her eyes and locked them fiercely onto the Chancellor’s, “they have allies that yet live.”

“I…am a suspect?!” Roderick indignantly huffed.

Leliana sneered, “You. And many others.”

“But not the prisoner?” Roderick huffed indignantly.

“I heard the voices in the Temple! The Divine called to her for help.” Cassandra spoke confidently.

“So her survival— the thing on her hand— all a coincidence?” Chancellor Roderick seemed firmly rooted in skepticism, but a disquieted note was growing visibly in his words.

“Providence. The Maker sent us to her in our darkest hour.” Faith shone constantly from the Seeker. The more she spoke, the less worry Leena allowed to slip through her carefully guarded state. She was choosing to focus on here, and now, not the absurdity of circumstance.

“You really think your Maker would send someone like me in your darkest hour?” Leena knew whatever Cassandra’s response, it would not waver. She knew her belief, but, for selfish reasons needed to hear her vocalize it. Perhaps this is why people listened and trusted the clergy: that faith alone took you by the hand and guided you like a child. In the face of uncertainty, were they not all children bickering? Faith guided Cassandra and filled her with an unwavering maturity; faith was Cassandra’s constant hand, moving in tandem with her will.

“The Maker does as he will. It is not for me to say.” Ah, yes. She shines yet.

“Even if that means a Dalish elf is his Chosen?” Leena’s eyes met hers, begging the answer be yes, this was truth. She needed truth in something. She had not who she was or why she was here; Leena grasped at any light in her utter darkness.

“Humans are not the only people with an interest in the fate of the world.” Cassandra turned and retreated in the room.

“The Breech remains. And your Mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for you to decide!”

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” she slammed a thick tome upon the wooden table, impact reverberating and shaking off the stone walls, “It is a writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breech, we will restore order, and we will find those responsible with or without your permission!”

Yes, they would rebuild the Inquisition. She would need to help them. She could go, but where would she? And how could she live with herself if she left them? Yes, she’d agreed and shook on it. As she left the dark of the Chantry and fell into the dim afternoon light, all the thoughts she’d held back since waking poured into her. She nearly staggered into a Chantry sister. So many questions, much more than answers, and no outlook or leads to solving them. She sat in the Singing Maiden with her eyes glazed over, deep in thought, and showing far too little interest in her stew for someone so hungry. From there, her feet took her in circles around the town, completely unaware of its people or incessant chatter. Leena decided she had three major issues; the rest were less pressing. Problem One (the Original): who was she before she woke up in the woods? Problem Two: what lead to her survival and current role in events? Problem Three: how should she present herself, when she barely knows herself? Her feet carried her up stairs, then down. Then up again, then down and around and suddenly she found herself quite close to the warmth of a fire.

“You’re going to wear the soles from your boots if you keep pacing like that, Sleeping Beauty. Also, pretty sure role of Brooding Elf has been filled by Solas over there who you nearly ran into earlier.” Varric playfully brought her from her introspective head dive. “He was— well, is—  pretty worried about you, you should probably go talk to him. He saved your life out there, ya know, and kept Adan from accidentally killing you while he played healer.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize it was him I ran into. Or that he was talking. Or anything outside of myself, really. How rude of me— I am so sorry Varric. I’m distracted a bit, just had a meeting in the Chantry. ”

“Understandable, considering you just had a three day siesta from the waking world and Cassandra is nothing if not alarming and at least slightly distracting, but I’d direct your thanks and sorries to Chuckles over there. I think he’s been waiting for you to stop pacing to try and approach you again.”

“Wow, still, three days. And someone almost killed me?” wasn’t expecting that.

“Multiple people, actually, but they were trying to achieve that particular result and I don’t think Adan was. Anyway,” he firmly put his hands on her arms and turned her towards the path leading up the hill, “Chuckles. Talk. Please. He’s staring and it’s going to give even me nightmares, and dwarves don’t dream. I mean shit, it’s like he’s trying to turn me to stone.”

“Alright, alright. Thanks Varric.”

“Come talk to me later if you escape.” he smiled and turned back to a pile of letters on the bench beside him.

Why yes, Solas was making an unsettling amount of eye contact and was in no way shy about it. As soon as she shifted her eyes from Varric to him, Solas’ eyes had locked onto hers, unwavering but surprisingly soft. She approached him silently, and his disarming voice rose from nothing, “How are you feeling?”

Not a loaded question at all. How did she respond to that? Like a perfectly normal, perfectly healthy sane person? Oh yes, I’m fine, just magnificent— well rested even!  After an excessive pause, Solas raised his hand and squeezed her shoulder to bring her again from herself. “Oh! Sorry, I was actually considering that question. The answer is a lot more complicated than normal pleasantries. You see, I haven’t had much chance to think that over with this…Inquisition business eating up the headspace.”

“Well, I am certainly not looking for mere pleasantries, but your honest answer,” a cocky grin crossed his face, “What is it they call you now? Ah, The Chosen of Andraste: the blessed hero to save us all.”

“Yeah,” she let out an exasterbated sigh, “Real dashing, isn’t it? Like I should be singing Chantry hymns from atop a shining steed.”

“Ah, I would suggest a Griffon, but sadly they’re extinct.” he mused, “But joke as you will, posturing is necessary.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Well, that’s not overwhelming at all. I’ll do my best to heal this. Hard to have foresight when I feel I barely have any hindsight but I get the feeling I am not alone in this. It’s never just one person, is it?” Leena stepped closer to Solas, peering with an unwavering grip. “You will stay, ha’hren, will you not?”

“Ah,” he met her unflinching gaze, “I had planned to stay at least until the Breech was closed, da’len.”

“Well, was that ever in doubt? I had assumed as much but I’d imagine that won’t be the end of it.”

“Ah, you probably imagine correctly but you see that I am an apostate mage in the middle of Chantry forces? Unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating but you understand my caution.” Solas’ eyes lit with trepidation.

Leena spoke with conviction, “You came here to help, Solas, I won’t let them use that against you. I’d have died if you hadn’t been there.”

“Oh? And how would you stop them.” he was slightly taken aback by her sudden change in tone— all frivolity and light-heartedness cast aside.

“However I had to.” There was the hint of a threat in her voice, but not directed at Solas. Instead the invisible third that stood beside them now had a knife to its back.

“Thank you.” he spoke softly, a hint of appreciation in his voice, “But let us hope now the mages or the Templars have enough power to close the Breech.” 

“Yes, I am glad we have another chance. I have not had an opportunity to thank you for your care. Again, you’ve done much for me….Serannasan ma.”  Leena looked away, face slightly flushed, voice a thoughtful but intimate note hanging in the air, “Ma melava halani.”

Before Solas could elaborate on his soft and slightly mesmerized ‘you’re welcome’, Leena cleared her throat slightly, shifting back on topic, “So, battlefields? Ancient ruins? Wouldn’t diving into the Fade in such places be dangerous? I mean, I’ve heard it’s dangerous. I’ve never heard of anyone using it as a place of study.”

A sly smile flashed on his face, melting into a more scholarly air, “Yes, it is not a common area of study. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. But the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything. If you take the proper precautions and set wards, there’s no reason it cannot be safe.”

“What about demons?” Solas noted there was no fear in her voice. It was an honest inquiry. Her mind was surprisingly open and he paused thoughtfully to carefully consider his words. Words were important— they held power over people’s perception and thus would affect her non-waking life as well. Many fear the Fade not because of personal experience, but the expectations laid for them while awake. 

“Despite what the Circle or Dalish might tell you about demons, it is not so black and white. Demons and spirits have potential to be one and the same, and since the Fade mirrors our emotions, fears, and expectations, if you expect to meet a demon you might. If you expect to meet and converse with spirits, and put in the time and patience you must require to understand them, you will.”

Heavy, wet snowflakes began to fall. “Sathan garas, da’len. ” Solas motioned for her to enter his cabin, which was surprisingly homey and thoughtfully decorated. A clean, rich cedar musk mixed with the smell of the sooty fire. The golden light illuminated an old ladder leaning against the adjacent wall that was covered in bundles of drying elfroot and blood lotus. The drying herbs’ sent layered over the earthy blend. More than anything, there were carefully stacked tomes about the cabin. Other notable curiosities included an old board covered in paint swatches and what appeared to be a large femur bone of an animal. Ever the gentleman, Solas pulled a chair for her close to the fire where he then sat. “I am curious, da’len.” He poured two glasses of what she soon discovered was a sweet, non-alcoholic elderberry juice. “Very curious.”

“About?” she nibbled at the anise cookies he’d procured from an artfully decorated tin.

“Well, you.” He considered his cookie carefully, “Now that we’re out of earshot of people who were until just recently convinced of your guilt, I have a few questions if you’d care to indulge me.” He flashed her a disarming smile. There was no threat in his voice; he had only a genuine, reassuring warmth about him. He did not trust whatever Leliana and Cassandra had to say about the woman; they had put words in her mouth he would carefully remove.

Leena felt her heart beating in her throat. Why was she nervous? Had Solas not shown her anything but his brand of kindness? He was in no way threatening her. Perhaps it was a different kind of nerve he struck, which caused her to shake so slightly. Leena pushed her thoughts past it and smiled shyly, acquiescing to his request “Sure.”

Though he’d tried to make her comfortable, he noted her raw nerves and sought to make but small ripples. It was clear to him from her earlier thanks she felt a closeness to him he did not want to sever with an undue harshness. “You said you were traveling with the Lavellan clan.”

“Yes.” Thinking back to her fast friends, she felt a weighty sadness. They were first, they were everything. The only warm faces she had to fill her lonely heart. “Isene and Souren. She was a mage and he was her hunter. They had 5 kids back home.” She kept her words short and as even as possible; he was being kind to her and she did not want to impose the weight she felt when thinking of them. Nor did she wish to impose the panic she felt when she looked behind and saw nothing.

“Ah, ir abelas, If you feel uncomfortable…”

“No, no it’s fine. I mean… it’s fine to talk about it. It’s not fine that it happened. It should not have— they were kind to me when others were not.”

“Ah,” she’d said what she needed to verify one truth to him, but he pressed further “so you did not arrive with them?”

“No, I did not.” She bore her eyes into the fire, “They helped me though and treat me as well as their own. I came to the Conclave alone, lost in the woods. I came by accident.”

“Lost? Are you not Dalish? I’ve never heard of a Dalish getting lost in the woods.” he let out a sharp laugh and quirked his head, setting his glass down on a small side table.

“Oh, I could be.” she mused, tucking into another cookie. She had a lot of eating to make up for, and that bowl of stew felt like a drop in the bucket.

“Could be?” What an odd thing to say. “You are… unsure of yourself? What happened in the woods, da’len,” a small voice in him warned the answer, and a flicker of an old passion crossed the glaze of his eyes , “If you’re alright talking about it, of course.

“Well, that’s one way to put it.” she felt frustrated, but not with him. It was a general, overall frustration. She relayed what she had told the Lavellans, as well as Souren’s interpretation. Solas was quiet but his face appeared pained, angry.

He placed a reassuring hand on the back of shoulder, “Yes, it is very well possible but there are other explanations as well, or variations on the theme perhaps. It is important not to accept one interoperation as truth when you are still searching. His explanation, for example, does not really solve your language. Dalish speak a very specific dialect of Elvhen or, rather, range of dialects since they are so spread out. Yours is… more than academic.”

More than? What was that supposed to mean. Leena looked at him, thoughtfully. “Well, what do you think?”

“No, I will put no story in your head. You need to think for yourself carefully about what you do know of yourself and feel what is right. Personal truth is rarely uncomplicated; you will not be able to sooth yourself with simple suggestion. You must get to know yourself, Leena. Is that the right name? Or did they give you that as well?” a hint of annoyance flirted in his voice. Why not let her name herself? Yes, he would have approached this entire scenario differently. Having someone claim their own identity is a much more soothing method of navigating such a trauma. Wiping someone’s mind was dangerous in that it was so very easy to convince them of the truth; it was why slavers had started using it to begin with ages ago. Even in his people’s time, it was a practice. Slaves brought from one Arlathvhen house to the next were commonly made clean. Tell a woman she’s known nothing but misery before, and that this turn is a blessing, and she will go quietly and willingly to her new fate. Intercepting someone built of clay was a delicate and careful task; a purity easily corrupted and not easily cleansed. Thankfully, the Lavellans seemed like well enough people she’d been spared much, much worse. Solas clenched his jaw thinking of that much worse.

“Oh, they suggested it. I thought it sounded pretty and kept it.” she smiled sheepishly.

The whole room felt brighter. He smiled warmly at her, and it was as if she’d seen him smile for the first time. “Yes, it suits you quite well.” There was more he wanted to ask, but too much at once was never healthy. His eyes fell to her hand, “May I take a look at your hand?”

Leena quietly drew her hand from her lap, allowing him to gently articulate the joints of her hand, checking for changes. “Does it hurt?”

“Not since I awoke. It’s very stiff, though.”

“Yes, I see that.” he firmly pressed his thumb into the palm and she felt him steadily drum his magic at her heartbeat’s pace, closing his eyes and falling to silence. “It’s stable, yes but…”

“But?”

“It’s well beyond this hand now. There is not a single thread of your mana with which the mark has not woven. ” Though this was an alarming prospect when she sat and gave it a good think, the heavy honey of his voice warmed away any worry.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means, most likely, your mana will be subject to its pull, visa versa, and thus you need to act with discretion. It’d suspected as much. You may find your magic increasingly unpredictable and will need to practice new methods of controlling yourself and limiting your output so you do not drain yourself.  When you cast it will at first be difficult for you to not overpower; it will be like using a greatsword to whittle a toy top.”

“Oh that’s…. not convenient at all. Not in the slightest.” Leena frowned and thought on what little magic she remembered. Well, at least she had a relatively clean slate.

“I can help you. I’ve learned of may methods during my travels in the Fade. I am sure some will be of use to you.” he was no longer looking at her hand but again into her eyes, his hand was gently massaging her sore palm, a bit raw from the push and pull from his mana.

“That would be…I mean you’ve helped me so much already…I…there must be some way I can repay your kindness.”

“No, think nothing of it.” If she hadn’t been completely distracted by his piercing blue eyes Leena would have noticed he was now simply holding her hand in ernest. “You may repay me with the gift of your friendship.”

Now she noticed his hands around hers, the fire that consumed her cheeks telling, “Yes, of course.”

Chapter Text

The two weeks Cassandra had given her did not seem like a lot of time for the amount of information Leena sought to cram into her head before their exploratory trip into the Hinterlands to, among other things, speak with one Mother Giselle about approaching the Chantry in a more diplomatic manner. She’d reached out to the Inquisition with an open mind, and the War Council had insisted they send the Blessed Herald herself. She’d formally been introduced to Cullen and Josephine this morning, both of whom seemed miles apart in terms of experience and outlook. Cassandra and Leliana had specifically sought out unique perspectives rather than mirror their own, which spoke miles of them as well. Cullen’s physical presence outweighed anything his personality had to speak about him yet, and meeting his eyes at any length was blustering for Leena. Yet, he was quite pretty for such a large and serious man and easily flustered by the obvious 4-to-1 female-to-male ratio. With that many ladies, it made perfect sense to Leena that Cassandra would reach out to such a blunt instrument. If Cullen was a hardy, no-nonsense slab of brisket with a side of russet potatoes, Josephine was a delicate, truffle-glazed filet mignon with a side of carrots artfully carved into small woodland creatures. They saw eye-to-eye on nearly nothing, but the level of tactful verbal gymnastics Josephine preformed dissuaded Cullen from over-playing or forcing his hand. In short, Josephine and Leliana played the long game and Cassandra and Cullen played the “get the fuck on with it” game. Leena was the incidental tie-breaker; she didn’t run the ship, simply pointed which way she thought the wind should blow next. 

Since her conversation with Solas a few days earlier, she’d received at least four other to-do’s— mostly from Josephine, but one directive from Cassandra. All involved presenting her as well rounded and as un-offensive to humans as possible. This included lessons on the Chantry. Cassandra was simultaneously appalled and delighted to hear of her sparse and insufficient understanding of Andrastian faith, and the evangelical gleam in her eyes suggested she was soon to see a side of Cassandra no one else in a Chantry-centered town was quite so blessed to see If she’d actually felt any more than a waning attachment to her somewhat ill-defined concept of the Dalish, she might have felt offended at the desire to so heavily downplay that aspect of her perceived personhood. Never mind she had simply failed to mention anything she had told Solas to any others. It wasn’t a secret to her, just not yet any of their business. Keeping them at a distance gave her space to consider her words carefully on the matter; she did not want to appear an idiot with an addled brain, or have Leliana and Josephine take the opportunity to spin some elaborate story. She couldn’t keep it from them for long— Leliana was already badgering her for a private meeting by the end of the afternoon of her second day awake, and during that very morning’s meeting had mentioned writing to Clan Lavellan to “smooth over” any possible turbulence. 

“You know, you gotta work out your brooding schedule with Chuckles. I’m thinking alternating days. I see they’ve eaten up your entire morning,” Varric gestured to the Chantry, “Care for some lunch, Ice Queen?”

“Good afternoon, Varric. Ice Queen? Do you ever stop?”

“See? It’s that icy glare. All of a sudden, I feel cold.” He grinned and stood from his fireside bench. “Besides, I won’t lie to you, you still seem understandably frazzled. Hell, we all are. Come on, let’s thaw you out with a tall glass of something.”

Leena wasn’t much of a drinker before, but with things as they were and the threat of doom looming, she could see why nearly everyone in Haven drank like fishes. Chantry ladies abstained for obvious reasons, and Solas insisted it addled with his access to the Fade. Even this early in the afternoon, the Singing Maiden was packed, “Varric, what is this? It tastes like spicy… cinnamon apple juice?”

“Dragon’s Breath Cider! Barkeep only gives it to you if you flirt and ask nicely. I’ve been buttering her up all week for a crack at this particular vintage.”

“This, this is good.” An unfamiliar warmth blanketed her, soon leaving Leena feeling a little looser than before. “I thought there’d be food, though. At this rate…”

“Oh shit, yeah, shoulda called for that first. Now it just looks like I’m trying to get you plastered and I’m not a finely mulled wine kinda guy ya know? You’re a pretty lady but I like it straight up and spicy.”

“Trying to pry my secrets from me? There’s more honest ways. Also, comparing women to alcoholic beverages is not a good way to impress them. This will just get you my most nonsensical stories about magical nug babies falling from the gaping skyhole. Also, after this I’m expected in the practice field and I’m going to do magic Varric, which is best sober.”

“That is up for debate! I have a fond memory of a Pre-Fenris Hawke, four mugs deep, flirting with a mage until he quite literally caught on fire. I believe she was trying to impress him with her subtle magical prowress and rewarm his hot cider, but it ended in him running naked from the bar using a the very mug as a cover for his…well you get it. Really she was saving herself from a bed full of body hair— the man had more hair on his ass than all the dwarves in Orzzamar combined. Did not expect that. Also amazing, it’s the only thing her fire didn’t burn off the poor man. No eyebrows and as bald as Chuckles!”

“Fascinating.” Leena popped meaty dumplings into her mouth. “Who’s Hawke? Is that someone around here? She sounds…charming.”

Varric choked, “Andraste’s ass, you shitting me? Have you been living under a rock for years?”

“Apparently, yes. Is it a person who inspired a character in one of your books? Are they really so popular you can’t imagine I’d not have read them?”

“No, no, you’re serious! Not a joke, you have no fucking idea? Shit. I mean, it’s not that it’s just that it’s history, Lamb. Your people that deep in the woods? No, Lavellan’s roam the Free Marches, shit, they gotta know. I mean if they sent you here they had to know what happened in Kirkwall. It’s why we even had a Conclave. You,” he downed the rest of his mug, “Are holding a real good story from me. I just know it.” He thrust his wagging finger into her collar.

“Oh. I guess I am.” Well, she fucked up. Accepting the cat was soon to be out of the bag, Leena threw back her second vat of liquid courage and smacked Varric heartily on the back, “There’s a lot I should know. Maybe you’d like to take a walk and we can suss it out.” Could she even walk? One, maybe two attempts later she was confidently on her feet. “Yeah, I can walk.”

A solid twenty minutes passed before she stopped speaking, Varric doing little but nod and grimace, “You know, part of me was expecting that. Mostly because your luck is the worst, and also because there had to be a plot twist in there somewhere that explained the otherwise uncharacteristic broody-ness. Of course it’s amnesia, broody is a chief symptom of amnesia, you see I have experience in this…”  Varric cross his arms, leaning against a tree.

“Experience in what? You mean you can help me remember?” Her ears perked, glowing with a red drunken hue.

“No, you’re up shit creek there, Lucky. I do have someone you can possibly gain insight from. That is, if you’re interested. He’s gone through something similar and might have some tips? Not sure it’s tips you’re looking for, but his story might at least be reassuring that shit does get better. Just don’t tell Cassandra you’re writing to him, or that I mentioned I can contact him. Anyway, I’ll leave you details in your cabin along with some very important reading material. If anyone else had heard you, they’d thought you loony, so I’d read them quickly.” 

The chances of her being able to rouse a response from Fenris depended completely on the mood he was in when he received her letter. Varric knew Fenris was getting his mail, just choosing to abstain from response as of late, possibly because any measured distance between him and Hawke turned him apathetic to most people’s concerns or business outside of his own. If he was lucky, the sorry story of the Herald’s escape from near-slavery and being thrust into the arms of the Inquisition would rouse what sympathy he’d grown since their days of Kirkwall. Sympathy Hawke’d tended ever so carefully over the years. Varric needed him to respond, he needed Fenris to confirm she’d made it where she’d said she was going. The lack of communication from his best friend since even before the Breech was wearing him thin; she had no plans to be at the Conclave, and little hope for it truly freeing the mages, but the woman did as the wind willed her and he wouldn’t put anything past her.

“Sure, mums the word as long as you don’t go blabbing to Cassandra about me. It’s not a secret but I don’t want her to accuse me of something. I don’t know of what, but I suspect she’ll be angry for whatever reason.”

“Hah! No, I get it. Oh, I most certainly get it with that one. Don’t you gotta be somewhere? Not sure how affective you’re going to be in practice. This is my fault. If I’d known you’re such a lightweight I’d have ordered you watered down mead.” Varric grinned, looking down to his pocket watch.

“Oh, shit, yes! Thanks, Varric! Late and inebriated. Hopefully Solas will forgive my transgressions.” She tripped on a tree branch in the wooded path and fell unceremoniously into a brambly shrub, nettles and burrs sticking to the ass of her new suede leather pants. 

“Graceful Good luck with Mr. Serious Business.” Yanking her back to her feet, Varric gave her a wave as she sped off towards a clearing well past the training ground. Solas was leaning against a large boulder, arms crossed, two staves in hand since he discovered she’d left hers in her cabin despite not being in the cabin herself.

“Hey..there…you…you there. Solas.” Leena, red eared and head spinning, stopped to catch her breath, noting the look of partial amusement on Solas’ otherwise expressionless face. She was only five minutes late and just two large drinks away from sober.

“Da’len. You are drunk.” It was a statement not a question. “Not a state in which you really should be handling offensive magic or manipulating the Fade. May I ask what brought this on, and why you’re covered in nettles?”

“Lunch. Varric. I didn’t realize how quickly alcohol did that thing? That alcohol does. It’ll go away soon. It tasted like fire apple candy. Oh, wow.” Exactly what was in that drink? The ground was swaying. “Yeah, in the woods we took a walk and explained why I don’t know who Hawke is. Nettles grown in the woods and I’m…”

“You should sit down.” She felt a firm hand on each shoulder, guiding her to the same boulder he had been leaning against. He’d laid the staves down on the ground.

“Ah, Solas, ir abelas— are you mad? I feel bad wasting your time.”

He smiled and waved away her apology, sitting next to her on the bolder, “No, I assure you I am not mad. It is very clear to me you are still relearning your physical limits so no worries. Though you should consider your health before consuming alcohol. You’ve only recently recovered your strength and you’re also a young elvhen lady. Both those points should inspire you to veer clear from bar life.”

“Aye, ha’hren. I’ll do better.” Hiccup, sway, hiccup, sway. “Waddya mean about elvhen ladies not drinking, eh?” She took her water flask from her hip and drained it. “We drink. I’ll have you know I drank two giant tankards and din’t feel nearly as drunk as I do now for a full half an hour. That’s stamina.”

“No, that’s your youthful metabolism. It simply caught up with you. Still quite a quick drunk, mind you. Stamina,” Solas uncrossed his arms and clasped his hands, meeting her eyes with challenge, “Is a physical skill you acquire with age and practice. Practice we will need to try again later. I’ll gladly help you develop such a skill.”

Was he flirting? She couldn’t tell through the haze. Perhaps she was just reading him as flirting because, oh, day drunk. She giggled and dramatically professed in Elvhen,“Oh. Aye, ha’hren, teach me stamina.”  Well, someone had to start the flirting, now that she’d got the inkling.

He barked a laugh, then pulled her back on point, “I simply wished to impart you are a young, pretty, Elvhen woman and any state that might leave you vulnerable will be exploitable to ill-intentioned men. Add to that your position here and the general aggressive and exploitive nature of humans towards our kind…do you understand? If you had wandered into those woods with anyone but Varric from that bar this day might have turned into a very different one. Many of the men here do not look at you with pure or kind intent. They look at you with entitlement.” he paused and his voice softened, “I regret I have to warn you about this; this is not how the world should be for you. You should be as free with yourself as you wish without fear, truly. Unfortunately that is not our current reality.”

Wait, she was pretty? Solas called her pretty. Forget the serious warning about men’s ill-intent, for today she was pretty. Totally flirting, not just the booze.  “Oh, I’m pretty?”

Solas spoke without missing a beat. His eyes bore into hers, “Beautiful. But do you understand my message?”

Oh, loud and clear. “Yes. Men want to violate my bless’ed chastity and I should take an escort with me anytime I publicly consume liquor? Are you volunteering?”

He inhaled dramatically, “Well, If it’s for the sake of keeping your bless’ed chastity from the loins of these heathens, I must.”

“Not as enthusiastic as I hoped. Here I am, throwing out there that I’m willing to entertain you with my feminine wiles and drunken savagery and all I get is a ‘if I must.’” Leena leaned her shoulder to his. Hiccup, sway, hiccup. Would she regret the shameless flirting later? Possibly— but he started with the pretty talk and something or other about stamina. The smooth motherfucker just snuck that one in there while remaining delightfully in control of the entire conversation.

“Oh? Well let me assure you that I am quite enthusiastic when required.” Solas laughed, gifting a small but affectionate smile to her before snatching a remaining nettle from her hair, back of his hand brushing an errant strand of hair from her face. He rose to his feet. The wolf was well aware of what he was doing but could not resist the momentary indulgence. His hand outstretched to help her raise to her own, “I believe it might be best if you rest for the remainder of the hour, lest you have something later that requires your concentration and right mind.” 

Leena gripped his hand and swayed forward, falling slightly forward into his space. He gracefully steadied her, his hands falling not logically to her arms but to amore intimate grip of her her waist.  Her hips swayed and met his. After what felt like a much longer moment than necessary, Solas released her from his grip. He had not looked away as she had; Solas’ eyes traveled her body with a shameless rush of thirst. Such a gesture nearly lost Leena her remaining composure and sent renewed fire to her cheeks. In her inexperience she could not explain exactly why, but in that moment she felt very small and under and he felt very big and over. How unnerving that this man could reduce her so, make her feel such a desire to submit to him with just words and small gestures. Solas did not need to overtly announce his dominance or sexual power because he controlled and wielded it so deftly she was no match to what age and wisdom had taught him about leading the lamb to slaughter. As they walked back towards Haven, Solas basked in her moment of vulnerability in silence. A sly, wolfish grin flashed on his face that she did not see. Instead felt his aura snap her out of the thick mental fog and she became very aware of her pooling arousal.

They did not speak till they said their goodbyes, but Leena had not noticed the silence nor her reason for it as he had noticed. Leena locked the door. She stewed in her own headspace and slid out of her boots, slumping onto her bed sideways. Her heart beat through her throat and twisted, “Fuck.” Why did it feel like he could eat her alive, if he so chose? Was this really the same near penniless, humble apostate mage as before? Perhaps she misunderstood him and his intent though it felt quite obvious. How it felt was she should have drug him into her cabin and stripped him of his modesty. Her sideways mind was too busy thinking he was handsome and fiddling with the belt on her breeches. Once it was loose, she slid her hand in and slipped her shaking hand into her smallclothes, moaning slightly as her fingers began what they apparently already knew to do with her engorged sex. She didn’t need to think; this was a natural act. She fell into her hand, face buried in soft cotton betting, hips slowly drawing out her arousal in long, pulsing waves. She fell spent into a dreamless sleep, not waking until the rasp on her pulled her from black. Leena snapped her hand from her own warmth and called out as she moved to refasten her belt, “One moment. Who is it?”

“You really should work on sensing magical auras, then you wouldn’t need to ask and could even know I was approaching. May I come in? I have your staff from earlier.” Of course it was Solas. Why wouldn’t the man she’d just privately fantasized about fucking be knocking on her door. One last long breath and she unlocked the door, swinging it open.

“Yes, right.” Leena blew a strand of hair from her face and stepped aside to let him enter. “I’ll add it to my list.” She did not mean for that to sound quite so grumpy. Taking the staff from him, she returned it to the equipment rack in the corner of her cabin.

Solas’ nostrils flared and his face drew a dark look of amusement, “Did I disturb you?” His eyes  lingered on the creeping blush of her face, unable to ignore the telling musk of the cabin.

“Disturb? Oh, no. Just a drunken stupor. Quite the headache now. Actually, it’s quite lucky you woke me when you did, or else I’d miss my second responsibility for the day. I’m not very good at… this.” She motioned her hands at herself.

“Hmm,” He stepped further into the cabin, examining its furnishings, “They really spared no luxury, Herald. A full bath?”

“Unnecessary, isn’t it? I can just go do the Dalish thing and jump in a lake instead of stewing in my own….filth.”

“Yes, stew in the fishes’ filth then.” he cracked a wry smile.

“What? Well my real problem with it is they assume I can’t take care of my own needs and send these poor maids to… clean up and such. It’s constant.” Leena furrowed her brow and stepped away from the side of the wooden tub towards the center of the cabin.

“And can you take care of your own needs?” He stepped closer to her her, his stature towering over her, carefully examining her reaction.

“Uh, well… yeah…I’m an adult. I don’t need someone cleaning up after me or handling my day-to-day.” Leena turned her face from his, feigning momentary fascination with the ornately carved wooden back of her desk chair, cheeks aglow.

“Quite. And I’m sure you’re proficient at it.” he smirked, “It’s just that you’re going to be in high demand, Herald, so allowing yourself to make use of simple luxuries is for everyones’ benefit. Your attentions must be concentrated elsewhere, so why not allow yourself to be cared for? You might be surprised in learning someone can do better for you than you can do for yourself. Freeing yourself up from banality can also afford you other pleasures.” His aura filled her sense, overwhelming her like the heat of a fire would overwhelm a smith on a summer’s noon. He stepped back towards the door, “Well, I’ll leave you to your work, da’len. See you tomorrow…. Sober.”

Leena collapsed again on her bed. She still had a healthy 10 minutes before she was to meet with Cassandra and Leliana. Perhaps he was right; it would be nice to have someone take care of her, and it seemed any favor she asked of the people of Haven was immediately indulged. They all wanted to be useful to the Inquisition efforts as best they could, and for many that meant utilizing the only tools they knew how to wield: their dishrags, cooking implements, and dustpans. Serving could also be a self-indulgent act; it was not hard to imagine herself, even, gaining some modicum of satisfaction and purpose out of such frivolities if their roles were reversed. Leena sighed and covered here eyes with her hands, imagining momentarily how lovely it would feel to have a way to show her appreciations. She thought again of Solas, the man who’d shown her much care without asking a single favor. He did not ask any service, but she very much wanted to give him her all. It was he who saved her life; she owed him an unspeakable penance though he did not seem a man to hold debts or favors for his work. He did everything of his own want and out of pride. That just lit a fever in Leena more, and she schemed how to please the tight-lipped man. He did not say much of himself or his interests beyond the Fade and Dreaming.

Right, well, it was time to get this meeting underway. She was sure it was to be uncomfortable, no matter how she spun her story. Leena would divulge herself it its entirety to them, and hoped by the end of it she was not seen as some madwoman. Momentarily, she wished again for the hot cider from the Singing Maiden and tugged back on her boots.

Chapter Text

Haven was growing busier by the day; new recruits and curious parties poured in constantly. Some were simply passing through, or looking to make a quick buck peddling wares and items obviously scavenged off Gods know who or what. Always curious who the new day would bring, Leena had made a habit of taking her breakfast sitting high on the hill overlooking the more obvious roads approaching Haven. On Thursday there was a book peddler, on Friday a leatherworker made his way through the rows of recruit encampments attempting to interest the fiery youths in boots “stronger than a dragon’s teeth.” Right. By the end of the week, she’d seen so many faces come and go that by Saturday, when a particularly frazzled looking old Orleanian man rode in on on an equally tired looking horse, she thought little of it, save for feeling sorry for the horse that was currently loaded with bags obviously carrying an excess of tomes. He cantered into a group of solders and started dismounting, simultaneously engaging in conversation. The solders pointed towards the Chantry and he nodded, leading his horse by its reins up the dirt path. As he drew closer, she noted the grey, carefully manicured mustache on his still handsome face reminded her of someone, though she was not sure whom. The man passed her without noticing, and she thought little more of it.

Earlier that week she’d lifted the burden of ‘not knowing’ off her chest a little further during a rather lengthy but overall positive conversation with Leliana and Cassandra. Cullen had been inspecting trebuchets, and Josephine was in a very involved meeting with an Orlesian noble considering , but later both had been brought up to speed on what she had shared. Cassandra seemed relieved, almost, that she had amnesia and wasn’t actually as “out of touch” as she had initially thought. Other than that, she could give two shits about what happened before Leena became relevant to their cause. She just didn’t see how it mattered as much as Leliana seemed to believe. Leliana was overwhelming her since the meeting, in both her attempts at emotional support and the constant questions of what she could recall, and how much knowledge of particular topics she seemed to have like Leena was some fun puzzle she’d been gifted. Leliana had encouraged her to follow Solas’ advice, but said she would personally see to investigating every possible angle. When she had entered the war room, somber look plastered uncontrollably on her face, and said “I have something I need to share,” both Leliana and Cassandra had later admitted they were expecting something much more devastating like “I used to use babies for blood magic” or “I’m pregnant with a darkspawn.” Amnesia? Nothing we can’t handle here at the Inquisition! They were expecting something along the lines, according to Leliana, or else it would have just been “too easy.” No, she was humming with excitement from her admission. At least someone was getting a kick out of this.

Leena pushed to her feet and swung back into her cabin, depositing her used dishes on the tray they arrived on that morning. The stream of maids into her cabin at what felt like all hours had gotten annoying, and though she’d decided to let them help her, she set greater limits on their access to her privacy, especially after Rasha had walked in during a more private part of her morning routine and acted like it was nothing. “We all relieve ourselves, Lady Herald, no need to feel ashamed,” and striped the bed linens before waiting on her to finish so she could empty the chamber pot.  That combined with the loudmouthed Shivana’s exuberant discussion with Rasha of techniques to get out the “impressive” amount of blood in Leena’s panties and on her sheets after she’d been surprised with her period, she was done. So. Done. Leena was quite sure more than a few agents on watch outside her cabin had heard this discussion, which made leaving that morning mortifying, and knowing that when the Herald gets her period was now on some kind of creepy data list she was sure Leliana kept. It took all her grace to not yell at the maids to leave and never come back. Neither of them seemed to understand her embarrassment or private nature, but yielded to her wishes when she requested their keys. If they wanted in her cabin they’d need to be let inside.

In three day’s time she’d be making the trek to the Hinterlands. The last two weeks had gone by quickly and left her feeling rather unsatisfied with her own progress. Solas was a skilled mage and results-driven teacher, which was good for her actual training but hard on her personal pride. He had surprisingly much in common with Cassandra, who’d taken to showing her basic combat skill and taught her how to read battle scenarios using actual trainees as props (much to their fright). Solas was ruthless in his critique of her fighting skills but also reassured her she was progressing rapidly and that she would be fine in the Hinterlands. Since the sexual tension of the drunken incident by the lake, he’d been very careful in his words and mannerisms, if not slightly distant. He still responded favorably with a reassuring playfulness to her attempts at flirtation, but the serious, dutiful expression on his face grew fiercer the closer they grew to departure.

She was a priority for him, every day, but in the utilitarian sense that armor and weapons are priorities to solders. Her feelings were his second string, and when duty was not calling he sought her company. Solas constantly reminded himself that too much or too little encouragement would hurt the both of them once this battle had run its course; she could not go where he needed to go but he could also not destroy the trust and intimacy they shared even as friends. If she needed company, he was glad to give it. In a younger world he would’ve been bold and dove headfirst into lust— figured the rest out later while they explored that instinctual spark constantly firing between them. Leena was engaging and curious, and surprisingly wise despite the trauma she had experienced. Her instinct in her decision making was astounding, as was her ability to focus and manage herself and those around her: a natural leader. Her natural dominance is her sexiest trait, he thought, as was the idea of bringing her to submission. And he could. She spoke her opinions without fear and If every Dalish were as industrious and lovely as she, he would see no problem associating her so freely with the word. No one questioned her heritage and only he and a handful of party members knew the truth of her arrival at the Conclave. Then this matter of her beauty—a distraction to rival all her cleverness. He felt such a fool, taking every stolen glance he could and remembering fondly the dream of her pure, naked form and the heavy smell of her cabin and the blush of her cheeks. 

It was just like him. In all the eons of his life, what could possibly distract him but a woman? He lived the most of his life in duty for one woman alone. Mythal. Her fair and divine justice guided him to her path, and her chaste love kept him there. Mythal was no lover of his, and delighted in his curious distractions. She never was jealous for his attention. Solas, her Pride, was as much his own man as he wanted. When he was heartbroken, she was there. When he was deep in the throes of lust, she was there. When he tore her mark from skin, enraged at the Evanuris’ shortcomings, she stood by his side and respected his decision. He served her as a friend, not as property; Mythal never owned Solas, she never owned anyone. There was no beauty and no justice in that.  Over the years he grew somewhere between his pride and his wisdom, and a distinct and wonderful man came to stand in Myth’s service, outshining every other.  His faithful friend and soulmate outlasted every dalliance and youthful, common feeling of love. Perhaps he would find the one true love that would burn him, change him, tear him from her side? Only part of her wished it— the part that overwhelmingly loved him. The other dreaded it as much as he dreaded himself. Solas was more her son than her true, unruly children of her flesh. He was her dream she pulled to life, crafted into flesh with sharp and careful precision. He’d been skeptical at first, not wanting to leave the Fade, but he had come. There was no pushing, no begging: he decided for himself he wished to be Solas, and not just pride. Though he was made, not born, in truth Mythal knew it was he that had believed himself— willed himself— into existence. Such raw power come to life. He would outlive all of them. She was sure of it. Only he could blur the line between man and God to a point the two words lost all meaning.

She wished, even in her final breaths as her fully realized self— her last breaths free from Vengeance— she wanted him to feel completely enthralled. A man cannot live without experiencing a love that tears him apart, pulls him to shreds, and weaves him carefully back into a mangled and different form. Before that he is the idea of a man, the idea of a soul. In her youth the conviction and passion Elgar'nan had shown her made her. It shaped her, toyed with her, and eventually broke her. It was her final undoing. Her pride, her Solas, he had lived nearly as long as she yet he remained so stubbornly himself. Was there no force, no hand that could change him? As much as she depended on his steadfast allegiance and unwavering pride, if he were to change his mind that too would be fine. She was fine without her Vengeance as well. Elgar'nan could not have all of her yet— she would not become him completely even in the face of betrayal. The fuel that lit her Vengeance was not the blind, basic rage weaving itself to a larger form: it was denial of her truth. Justice was her truth, and Vengeance the back of that coin. Elgar'nan’s truth was Vengeance, but his back was not her. It was more of the same.

Chapter Text

“You can parry with a staff, you know. Physically as well as magically. Try again.”  Solas sighed and crossed his arms, walking back to the starting mark on the ground. He was in full brood, eyes working her defensive stance up and down with a sharp tut of his tongue escaping into the air.

“Sorry!” She sighed and returned to her mark as well, missing the sexy-funny-curious Solas she’d swear she saw not two hours prior to this excruciating training session. He’d given her little reprise today in an obvious push to bring her to a break of exhaustion; little the man did was ever unintentional, she noticed. If she felt he was trying to break her, she was sure he was. 

“Don’t be sorry just be better.” Ouch. They didn’t hurt by themselves, but his snipping at her did build up considerably the longer they practiced. Yes, that also must be intentional.

He lunged with nearly inhuman speed, seeking to disarm her. Touch. Her staff blade slammed a little harder than she intended into his instep then up into his knee. He grinned, “Not quite what we were practicing, but good. I’ll take it since it does the job of stopping an attack… though it is offensive. You need to work on defensive staff work and magic work. Being too heavy in one area is a liability for the team.”

Finally! Some level of praise. A bit? Maybe. They hadn’t had quite the break through in technique he seemed to be looking for, but Solas never uttered an insincere word of praise. She sighed. “Shall we try again then? I don’t want to be the one to give up.”

“Take a break.” his voice was firm.

“I don’t need a break.” She fought back a pout, unsuccessfully.

“Don’t you?” he grinned slyly, catching her attempt to placate herself, “We haven’t relented our pace in about an hour. I think that will do for now. As I said before, your stamina will come with time. You’re doing well at building it so don’t fret.” Solas gracefully slipped her staff from her with one hand and lead her to a nearby bench with the other. They both sat momentarily in silence drinking deeply from their canteens, their sides flush against each other unabashed. He squeezed her knee, sensing tension, “Are you nervous?”

“What? Oh, no…I…” She remembered then he was speaking in a broader sense, since they were leaving for the Hinterlands the next day, “Maybe.”

“Can you describe the cause? The nature of your anxiety. It might help you to deal with it.”

Solas often gave her counsel. Dealing with the delicate feelings and undefined expectations thrust on her was the one overwhelming burden Leena often doubted she could handle. Solas helped. He did not doubt her, and reminded her constantly she was not alone in unwinding even something so private as her feelings. Leena couldn’t help herself from opening to him. He undid her, unfolded her and looked at her naked fears and feelings and helped her make sense of them before carefully tying her back together with a clean and professional hand. Leena couldn’t help herself from opening to him and it was dreadfully, painfully embarrassing. She screamed internally every time she did it. The worst? He knew how mortifying and embarrassing it was for her. He had learned her emotional tells well yet still he pressed her to release. There was also no way he was unaware of her girlish feelings, her affection, her arousal even; Solas could see it all in her and yet he still was ever the gentleman. Would it kill him to be less so?

“Solas, there are people there killing each other, not just demons.” she sighed, “A real war.”

He frowned, understanding now the growing sadness lurking behind her eyes, “Da’len, the people you will face are not necessarily more real than the demons. They both are beings twisted beyond their original intent, struggling to hang onto their sense of justice and failing. The Templars and the Apostates war for reasons they now have put behind them; all that is left is bloodshed and rage for the sake of itself. Is that any different than demons you face? Demons are merely spirits that have been twisted beyond their purpose as well.”

“Not when you put it like that. But can they not change? People and demons alike.”

“It is possible,” he looked thoughtful, “But difficult because you must reason with them, and most do not afford you such time before taking offense. Also, when a demon dies its soul is released back unto the void. Perhaps there it may remember its true purpose and intent and grow anew.”

“So spirits… demons… they don’t truly ever die?” Leena visibly brightened.

Solas smiled affectionately, “No, not truly. Though who they were and their memory does vanish, the essence of the spirit remains.”

“Not unlike myself.” Leena laughed as she found it amusing to think of herself this way. She could relate to these creatures.

Solas did not find humor, but considered her seriously. “I, too, have thought that. Though not jokingly as you suggest. Leena, it is also a possible explanation. Spirits wish to come to this world and have what we have, be what we are. They want to feel and breath the air and be as People and transform themselves into their own ideal. Perhaps you a product of such a wish, though I would think it near impossible now, in this world. It requires a great deal of magic and the Veil generally prohibits any travel to and from the Fade.” He paused abruptly, and faced her, “How does that make you feel to think about?” His eyes locked on hers, searching, scanning her for honest reaction.

Confusion, ernest curiosity, fear, and most of all wonder. “I… don’t know how I feel about it. Odd? It feels odd to think about. You mean I could be not real?”

“No, you’re very real.” She had not noticed until that moment he was trying to comfort her by holding her hand. Her heart beat sped. “If you did appear in such a manner, the magic that pulled you through did a very lovely and complete job. Usually spirits are still very much behaving as such after they are born into corporeal forms; if you meet one newly born you generally know quickly its nature. Over time they can become more or less like their former selves, but never truly does a spirit abandon its nature. Justice will always be Justice. Curiosity will always be Curiosity, and so forth.”

“But you said they’re trying to transform themselves as well?”

“Who isn’t? Do you not have a better person you wish to be? Do you not admonish yourself when you misstep or dream of your own growth?” The heavy air of the conversation lifted.

“Oh, you’re right.” Per usual.

“I am thankful you’re willing to consider these thoughts seriously; I am genuinely interested in helping you. Let’s keep this particular idea to just us, though, for I do not think any of the Chantry are quite so open minded about spirits. Life has taught them many prejudices that, fortunately in this case, your innocence avoids.” 

Leena could see how this version of events would be a problem for people who could barely accept an elf. She was not immune to their heckling and it often hurt her to hear the unkind words slipped behind her back. Men were cruel, and human men were the worst of them. She kept their comments to herself, no matter how debase or aggravating, she could handle it. She could see where Solas’ warning about hanging around the bar came from after one drunkenly trailed her nearly back to her cottage speaking candidly of what he wanted to do to her backside. “All you filthy little rabbits love a stiff one up there, girly. I’ll tear you up and make you sing to your heathen Gods.” Since then she had not gone back, even with Varric. She found herself longing for the comradery of other elves and subconsciously shied away from the large swaths of human solders constantly visiting the village from the encampment. She trusted her small team, and especially Solas. No one else. 

“Leena? What are you thinking?” His shining crystal eyes snapped her back from her thoughts. She appeared a little upset, stewing in herself. Had he said something? Perhaps it was too soon for him to breech this topic, perhaps she was still too fragile.

“That I will like being away from Haven for a bit, at least.” Her face went sour.

“Ah, yes, the ignorance is astounding when you are surrounded by the close-minded groupthink. Is there something in particular you’re wanting to avoid? I am afraid there is no guarantee you will not face the same outside these hills.” Leena threaded her fingers through his absentmindedly, gazing back at the town’s gates. When she did not speak, he pressed further, air of worry touching his voice, “Is someone in particular bothering you or said something?”

How was he so good at reading her? Really. “It’s nothing.”

“Obviously it is something.” He searched her eyes.

“It’s just they are not kind to me, all those solders. They parade through town with huge egos and say whatever they want. I don’t go anywhere without my staff anymore since the last batch arrived from near Highever.” She considered mentioning the drunken man to Solas, but she just thought it would make him unnecessarily angry.

He saw through her attempt to use broadness as a mask and surmised there was a much more specific reason for her comments. In his calmest voice, he prodded, withholding any anger he felt, “What did the solders say and do, da’len?”

Leena stiffened, “It’s obscene! I don’t want to repeat it. Obscene things. And name calling. One followed me…but I just went in my cabin and locked my door. He went away eventually when he figured he wouldn’t get what he wanted.”

Solas could not stop a husky growl from escaping, “Commander Cullen should know how his recruits are behaving. That is completely unacceptable. Do you remember a face specifically? The Highever recruits, you say.” He rose to his feet, gently pulling her with him. There was no way he would keep this private, even if she asked. When Solas made a decision it was near impossible to dissuade him from acting.

Commander Cullen was an understanding and surprisingly soft man once you took the time to listen to his opinions and concenrs, but he intimidated Leena. He was massive, quite handsome, and never put down his mantle of command. As far as she could see, there was no “off-duty” Cullen or Cullen having a beer or Cullen taking a stroll by the lake. Just Commander Cullen. It would be nice to see the man relax, if he was capable. Often she saw smiles slip her way in the War Room, and he made kind efforts to offer support in her training. Once before a meeting he’d shyly admitted he’d been praying for her, and asked if she would consider praying. Cullen was very faithful to his belief— she could see why a woman such as Cassandra had recruited him. Between the two of them, the battle for saving her soul and leading to her to fire of the Maker was a constant effort.

Solas spoke first, “Commander Cullen. A word in private?” He glance to Solas’ protective hand on her back, and Leena’s down cast eyes. The two of them spent much time together and were obviously friends; Cassandra and Josephine often exchanged girlish, knowing smiles when he occasionally escorted her to the War Room but they never pushed her on it. The humble apostate was at least fifteen years her senior but perhaps that did not matter to elves since they lived longer? Leena was a smart and beautiful woman, so he could understand Solas’ attentions from a man’s perspective. He often found himself carrying on a bit longer than he normally would when they spoke after meetings, enjoying her playful banter and rather overt femininity. She was certainly a refreshing change from the rough solders he faced day after day, with her soft features and carefully plaited hair often woven with silk Orlesian ribbons gifted from Leliana. Charmingly feminine themselves, Leliana and Josephine fawned over the young woman as a little sister and Leliana in particular seemed to best enjoy fitting her into baubbly shoes and designing ornate hairstyles out of Leena’s impractically long hair. Cullen did not know what to make of Solas’ very comfortable manners with her and decided he had better ways to spend his mental energies besides worrying about their personal affairs. Still, he felt a pang of jealousy when he saw them day after day travel down to the edge of the lake to spar. Often they would linger after practice and sit side-by-side on a bench or under a tree or on a rock, shoulders and hands touching, speaking quietly and faces drawing on the entire range of emotion.

Cullen nodded and motioned for them to enter the tent he had set up as his office and private shrine and sat on one of four well-worn chairs. “How can I be of service?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his leg over his knee.

“It is about your recent recruits’ behaviors in Haven, specifically their behaviors towards the Herald.” Solas met his eyes with fierceness and Cullen instantly understood both Solas’ quiet anger and Leena’s reluctance.

“Do you remember who? If it’s what I think you’re inferring we’ll have none of that here. Completely unacceptable.”

Leena sighed before repeating what she said to Solas, coming to terms that her discomfort did not matter and it was better to pull the arrow quickly.  ”A group of Highever recruits were heckling me and followed me back to my cabin. One of them was particularly insistent on what he wished to do to my backside and stood outside hollering for half an hour before calling me a ‘too-good knife ear bitch’ and  kicking the door hard enough to leave a dent. Then he left. That is all.”

Cullen’s broad face was a unique shade of purple while Solas was a much more ruddy hue, nose to ear tip (brought out his freckles quite nicely). “I….will…deal with this.” Cullen breathed through his anger. “Or kill them. Perhaps it is the same thing. Excuse me.” He rose to his feet and swiftly left the tent. Recruits ducked out of the oncoming storm’s way as he motioned for Cassandra to follow him down to the recruit camp.

“Well, then.” She sighed and stood. “Not awkward at all. Now that we’re done discussing what racist, drunk indigents want to do to my ass and managed to turn the Commander a particular shade of purple I’ve only previously seen bottled, we need to get out of this smelly field of blustery men before the stench sticks to us.”

Solas’ eyes were shut and he was rubbing the bridge of his nose,  “To the void with them all. I’ll send them there myself. I will walk you back. Have you finished with your packing?”

“Nope. Not even started.” She holstered her staff.

“Good, that makes two of us.”

“Three. Varric probably won’t until about 15 minutes before we leave, and only by threat of the Seeker.”  Leena ducked out of the tent.

Solas chuckled, “He is predictable, yes.” 

They soon passed by the aforementioned dwarf, who was speaking animatedly with Therin about an old bookseller camped outside the town. “…I understand wanting to make a profit, but 100 coins is quite a markup. Let me talk to him again and I’ll see if I can get him down…My elven friends! What brings you to my humble tent.”

“The sun is setting, my stomach is empty, neither of us have packed for the Hinterlands.” Leena smiled down at the stout man.

“Great! Not just me then, though all I really need is my journal and Bianca.” he grinned, nodding at Therin as he left back to his own tent.

“Surely you’ll need something to protect your precious chest hairs? Blacksmith’s assistant had something for you, by the way, looked like some fancy Bianca jewelry. Maybe he also has some spare armors.”

“Really? She deserves a shiny new piece.” Varric clasped his hands on a book. “Hey, Princess, met an interesting man earlier, a professor from Orlais. Weaseled a few books off him and I got this for you.” He handed Leena a rather heavy tome. “Some light reading! The abridged history of modern Thedas in near mint condition— real find. Great stuff on almost all the Blights.”

“Oh… good. Thanks, Varric. Really needed some blight reading.” Varric laughed at the poor pun. Truthfully she hadn’t had time to finish all he’d already given her. She tore through the Tale of the Champion because it was just as good as everyone raved, but the rather dry books on the regional affairs and the History of Redcliffe sat unhinged on her desk.

“Don’t get too excited!” Varric winked at her and she cracked open the book cover, peeking at the portrait of the same handsome, greyed man who she’d seen ride in on the old horse a few days earlier.  Huh, he still felt familiar. Her eyes lingered before snapping the book shut and returning her attention to her teammates.

“That is dry looking, even by my standards.” Solas took the book from her hand and thumbed through it, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “Ah, I know this man. He’s done a lot of research on the Tevinter appropriation of magical sciences from the Elvhen, and has put out a few journal articles on his observations. Not entirely accurate in his theories, but he does do a good job considering he obviously has not spent any time in the Fade. Do you know if he’s still around? Might be interesting to hear what he has to say.”

“Yeah, he’s where the rest of the merchants are camping. He said he came to speak with Josephine about some request she’s made to the University of Orlais that he wanted to see to in person.” 

Solas smiled and handed Leena her book before nodding and taking his leave.

“Well then, Princess,” Varric waited till Solas had disappeared around the bend. “What’s going on with that?”

“With what?” She knew his meaning but feigned innocence. 

“Oh come on, it’s something right?” Varric nudged her and wagged his finger, “Can’t fool me! You two go down by that lake nearly every day…”

“…to practice magic, Varric.”

“And to cuddle up under trees holding hands.”

“We don’t cuddle!” She snapped, cheeks glowing.

“Ah-hah! You do like him. It’s all over your fa—“ He was more than a little loud.

Leena clasped her hand on his mouth, “I swear, Varric, if you make this awkward for me…”

“Alright, alright…just teasing, sheesh. Nothing wrong with wanting some company, Princess. Chuckles seems all too willing to give it to you.”

“He’s very kind but I don’t think he wants any kind of… well, he’s very… oh, you wouldn’t understand! He calls me child, Varric.” she sputtered exhaustedly..

“You sure about his intentions, Princess? He might just be putting distance because he’s being polite, or trying not to impose, or trying not to get hurt… you know, men stuff. We don’t traditionally do rejection well. I’m a man, and I see the way he looks at you.”

“And how is that?” Couldn’t hurt to ask.

“He’s an ass-man for sure….and every time you bend over….every time, mind you…”

Leena groaned, “Varric!”

“Calling it like I see it. Highly doubt anything he wants is paternal. Shit, It’s his eyes, not mine. And If you like scholarly hobo elven apostates, he’s a rare find. Pretty sure you’re going to have to make the first move though.”  Varric grinned.

Maybe Varric was right. She was going to have to make the first move— let him in so to speak. Her heart beat in her chest. Did she want that? What did she want from him, besides support. Was it love or was she just responding to his sexuality? At night she ached. It was her nature, it was her age, it was him. She’d tried on all the reasons and decided nothing from simply thinking. She had to try something. Perhaps they could try? Try what, her inner voice begged. She didn’t want to hurt or hurt him either; she did have those girlish feelings for him but Leena was unsure how deep they went and if she could possibly try without damaging their relationship. She wanted sex, for sure, but she was not sure if she needed more than that in her life from him or anyone. The sexual tension between them was a constant, palpable air they both personally admitted but never discussed. And Solas was waiting for her to speak about it. He was a gentleman first and knew how discomforted she was speaking about her sexuality— an insecurity that was part of youth. If she wished to acknowledge it and act on it, he would consider, even if she did not want or need more than a sexual outlet, but it had to be her to bring it up. He would not seduce a child unable to speak about her desires; that was a boundary between girlhood and womanhood he would not cross.

Chapter Text

“Not sure which is more impressive, Chuckles: that you can sleep while still staying upright in your saddle, or that you can gallop while reading two incredibly dry looking books.” Varric pulled the old cream-colored mare aside Solas.

“If you’re aware of the mount, you do not need to hold the reigns to remain secure. Nor do you truly need a saddle.” Solas’ eyes remained fixed on the book in his right hand, then darted back to the one in his left.

“How much riding does a hobo apostate do, exactly?” Varric was scribbling in his own journal. His unveiled attempts to draw more background information out of his travel companions was drawing glares from Cassandra.

“Quite a bit if he wants to keep to himself and out-pace Templars.” Solas flipped the pages of his books with a graceful glance, magic turning them with ease.

“Varric, what are you writing? You’re not planning on writing a story about all this are you? The Inquisition?” She bore her eyes into the back of his skull.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seeker. It’s not that interesting… yet.” He grinned and snapped his journal shut,  urging the old farm horse to fall in line with Cassandra.

“Do not think because you’re coming with us that I have stopped watching you, Varric. The Herald asked for you to be included, so I agreed. I will not deny your… usefulness… with the Breech in the valley.”

“Such a warm and forgiving heart you have, Seeker. Do you ever let your guard down?”

“No.” She glared at him before returning her eyes to the road. They were three days into a five day journey on the world’s slowest mares; Cassandra was prepared to beg the Horsemaster for his mounts at this point. 

Leena was very reserved on the trip; she did not take well to the saddle at first and a pained expression lived on her face nearly the entire 5 day trip. Her normally talkative self was channeling all her energy into staying mounted and level on the horse. She’d knocked her packs off twice already, much to her own embarrassment. How had Cassandra not thought to check her riding skills during her preparations? The Seeker mentally berated herself for the oversight. This woman was no solder and not a natural rider like herself or Solas (who was doing amazingly well for someone who claimed no experience riding in groups). She was obviously not experienced riding a horse with the weight distributed in such a way. It was not until they had adjusted her saddle and had her carry the weight on her back that she was able to stay on for longer. If she had ridden before this, it was self taught and by herself— not in a caravan or a party where group camping supplies were spread amongst all the mounts. Cassandra could tell that the pack on her back was uncomfortable and causing her to strain and felt sympathy for the young woman. “Should we stop to take a break?”

Leena was the first to perk, steering her ride into the clearing before dismounting. “Yes, let’s. There seems to be a stream nearby so we can prepare lunch.”

What she was good at, however, was preparing food. Cassandra had little patience for it and would have just taken her rations as they came if not for the Herald’s insistence they eat like civilized persons. Leena had a delicate sensibility and would spend the extra time making presentable and quite palatable meals of their otherwise boring fare. It was not unappreciated, though Cassandra had to laugh and insist she was wasting time when she started using a hearing knife to shape the root vegetables into shapes for the stew. “What are you doing, Leena, that is a waste!” She could not help but smile and laugh at the girl, though.

“What, Seeker, can’t even let your food be fun? Make mine extra flowery then, Lovely. Heavy on the star shapes.” Varric never seemed to miss an opportunity to tease any of them.

Solas rarely joined in the banter, save to give Leena regular physical and mental welfare checks make jabs back at Varric for his relentless teasing about the habit. (“How is your hand? Let me see.” “Do you need a break from riding?” “Have you thought about our discussion more? Yes? And?” “Varric, your mental and physical injury are self inflicted and require no pity, concern, or inquiry. Mind yourself.”) He kept close to her as they rode, ever the gentleman. Cassandra was aware of the level of comfort the two had developed with each other and couldn’t help her curiosity about even the possibility of a romance. How far had they gone? Had they kissed? Exchanged passionate words and confessions of love? He always spoke to her with gentleness and held her hand so softly, even when his face was twisted into an agitated look during any kind of idealogical debate or general disagreemnet.  Yesterday Cassandra had seen Solas work Leena into a full, head-to-toe blush as they sat removed from camp, talking lightly about who knows what. What passionate request had he made? Cassandra’s own face blushed when she thought too deeply about it— Solas was a man so there were many answers to that question. She looked especially embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. Would she acquiesce to his desires?

Cassandra filled with excitement at the possibility of a budding romance in such a dark time, often unable to contain her excited grin when she saw them alone together. Varric had noted her peeping eyes and had responded by stealthily sliding her a copy of Conscripted By Love, a book she’d just recently been made aware of thanks to The Randy Dowager Quarterly. Not that she subscribed to such a thing— it had fallen into her lap by mistake! Josephine was a horrible influence to her propriety. Maker forbid Varric ever discover how thoroughly she enjoyed his romance serial— or any romance serial for that matter!  Where had he even procured such a scandalous book from? She scoffed and shoved it back at him, too proud to admit she’d been dying to get her hands on a copy. He simply laughed and shrugged, “Well, if you ever lighten up and get curious let me know. You might enjoy reading it.”

They had gotten a good five hours out of riding that morning before their rest break. Leena’s sore ass and loins protested every minute of it. How hadn’t anyone sat down and thought of a more practical way to move from point A to point B? She’d swear her undying devotion and affection to the man or woman who’d give her a satisfactory solution to the problem of horses. Horses were half the reason they were making this miserable journey— a man known for his fine horses was supposedly outside of Redcliffe. Cassandra was certain he could be convinced to aid the Inquisition, and also reassured her there was a vast difference in mounts and she would feel much better about riding a better suited horse. Her magic lessons continued on the road, and she felt quite confident she would react appropriately if pushed into a volatile situation.

The word from the Crossroads promised she would be using these newly strengthened skills, and Leena tried and failed to push the thought she would be killing people to the back of her mind. Instead it was paramount. Solas prevented her from forgetting, and it came up in discussion often as he sought to preempt the grief and emotional toll he knew it would take on her. He saw taking life as a necessary tool of Justice and insisted her examining her own morality and role was the best way to accept this unkind fact. In war she was expected to take life, and he argued she must learn to do so without hesitation and that, depending on how she internally framed it, it would not compromise her spirit. He could not coddle her or lie to her.  Leena could not turn her head and allow others to bloody their hands in lieu of her since it was part of her responsibility and duty. She must endure.  Her confidence built every day and had not gone unnoticed by her teammates; Leena saved her remaining vulnerabilities for privacy taken with Solas.

Their feelings were unresolved but the grueling journey was providing a much needed distraction for her, save for the embarrassing conversation on improving her riding technique in which he insisted on mentioning the wonders of riding underwear in eliminating the groin strain, particularly in ladies who were riding “mounts not aptly suited for their frames” as he had put it. Immediately her mind went into the gutter thinking about Solas’ mount. Leena mentally admonished herself, blood rushing to her skin in all possible hues. Yes, all their mounts were gigantic. Varric looked especially ridiculous riding on such a large breed of horse and had quite the time getting into the saddle.

“The constant saddle strain can cause bruises and injury to your delicate areas. You should add heavier padding before we disembark. I should have mentioned this earlier, but I had assumed Cassandra would go over such basics of riding attire and posture with you. Apparently she did not.” He looked rather off put by what he considered an important detail as he was a man of details and appreciated others’ with similar sensibilities. “If you’re injured…”

“No, I’ll be fine.” She cut off what sounded like a gentle offer to use his healing talents on her privates, covering her face. “I mean, I can manage. Really, Solas, that is not the way I’d want you to…” She blustered, ears a lovely shade of cherry, before cutting herself off completely.

“Hmm? Want me to do what?” He smiled slyly and met her eyes. He said nothing more, waiting for her to finish her thought.

Absolutely frustrating. Why was she dancing around it like a child? Leena fought momentarily with herself then finally out of exhaustion breeched her impasse, inhaled and spoke, “Shit, I’m being ridiculous. Sorry, Solas. I’ve discovered I am a frustrating person. You must be aware by now I’m attracted… to you….so such topics my imagination gets a bit, carried away so to say. I’m sorry. For not handling it maturely. ” She looked away, heart hammering from the adrenaline born of her confession.

His brows raised at the sudden turn of pace, “Ah, well,” he smiled warmly at her, “I am just as guilty at egging you on due to my own…fascination. You are quite endearing as you are, lethallan. Though I am pleased to finally speak openly about this lest it distract us completely. I would not want it to get in the way of our duties and it is best not to leave the tension unresolved either way we go with it.”

He was so composed. How was he so composed? Had he prepared for this, she wondered. “Your own….fascination…?”  Her mental clarity was short lived and drowned in his admission.

Her doe-eyes met his curiously, challenging that very composure. The glisten of moisture on her soft, parted lips and aroused flush in her cheeks tore at it steadily; his mind pictured her face masked in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Solas’ heart raised an octave in his ear, while his voice missed one, lowering to a husky growl, “Yes, attempting to distract you seems a recent hobby of mine. Here you are, barely landed on your feet in this world, and without pause you take off running. Such indomitable focus. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be…fascinating.”

A soft moan sighed across her lips, the indecent sound catching her by surprise. Solas’ eyes gleamed in response, darkening. Her back grew ridged, embarrassment crashing back into her as she felt his mana caress and wisp around her own pleasurably— his reward for the pleasing gift of her voice. It took all her concentration not to close the distance between their lips.

“Don’t pull me apart here, with them watching…” Her eyes warned him, connecting him to the casual glances from Cassandra and Varric, breaking his trance. To the untrained eye, only Leena’s shoulders were touching his.

They were a healthy distance away but the Seeker was close enough to notice any change in their behavior or any deep entwinement of mana, towards which he was hastily building. He winced at her choice of words then withdrew his immense energy from her. “…Ah, I got carried away. We should get back, they are waiting on us. We will speak again on this…”

“Somewhere more private than camp.” She finished his thought, voice floating from his sudden withdrawl.

“Yes, somewhere more private than camp.”

Leena could not sleep; Cassandra was out for nearly an hour in their shared tent by the time she’d given up attempting to force her own sleep. She was jealous. Every night, Cassandra fell asleep with little ceremony and Leena watched the worries from the day release from her brow with ease. IT must be wonderful to feel so sure of yourself and what you need to do, even if for one night. Outside their camp the night reminded her it did not sleep as beasts did— it merely took turns sitting in watch of itself. Thankfully, the wards around their camp were strong and wide which afforded alert of any approaching man or beast that might disturb the sleeping campers. Far off, a wolf howled sadly. He was not hungry, but alone.

Careful not to wake her sleeping tent mate, Leena emerged from the heavy canvas folds with her cloak wrapped around her frame and intricate, pale-blue Orlesian night shift— a gift from Leliana she had insisted Leena have before their trip. The night air smelt vaguely of pine and she watched her breath bloom before her a tiny airy tree, moonlight tricking through and casting vague, overlapping shadows. The trees swayed in a slight breeze and birds called to each other. It must be very early morning. She walked to the edge of the wards, glittering silvery in the filtered light, and gently raised her hand. Somehow she knew, though she couldn’t remember from where, how to create a small crack and slip through them unnoticed. Her sleepless legs carried her towards a clearing where a large oak broke the long expanse of coniferous trees heavy with pinecones. The tree was budding, each nub waiting patiently for its new beginning and the warm burst of spring. Outside of Haven and their stretch of the Frostback mountains, the seasons were more predictable and aligned with the rest of Thedas. It was easy to forget it would soon be spring and that snow would recede back in Haven for a time, even if was just a few short weeks of mud and tepid winds. Leena approached the tree, reached for a low hanging branch, and began climbing as high as she could manage. The high, weaker looking branches managed to bear her weight; she knew she would not fall. Her mana reached out and shielded each delicate limb from her weight until she sat perched high enough to see over the tops of most trees. Stars glowed and twinkled in competition with the waning moon as a strange calm washed over her for the peace she could not find in her tent was in abundance here.  The tree felt sturdy and cradled her awkwardly. It was not comfortable, exactly, but comforting at least. Leena fought a wave of exhaustion and lost, letting herself doze lightly so that her mind wandered.

Somewhere, sometime later, she heard voices and her stomach lurched. In an instant, an urgent jut of mana— his mana— sought her and called to her. He alone had just woken and sensed her absence, sun prickling her eyes and melting the frost on the branches. She pushed back at him sleepily to reassure him she was fine, her stiff joints groaning in complaint for her late-night decision making.  He knew she was close but could still sense his wary apprehension. Soon he would come to her. There was no hiding with her mark constantly calling to him, and her own mana so familiarly weaving through it. How had she managed to get up the tree last night? She sighed feeling much like a kitten, though she was sure she could climb down given enough time. Getting up seemed so much easier. A worried, curious voice questioned her, “Leena? Ahn ane min? Are you stuck?”

“No, I will come down I am just cold and stiff. I had not intended to fall asleep there.” She slowly started her decent, Solas hovering under the tree, hands thumbing with magic, ready to catch her one way or another if she slipped. When she grew close enough he snatched her from the tree by the waist and his strong arms steadied her on the ground. She noticed the unreadable expression on his face. “Ir abelas, Solas.”

He said nothing, but embraced her and let his hands emit a steady steam of warmth to her stiff, chilled body. She sighed and relaxed, leaning exhausted against his chest and inhaling his woody scent. “Could you not sleep? What drew you here, lethallan. You picked my wards even— I am a bit impressed at that— but mostly think you reckless.”

“Ah, too anxious to sleep. I needed to be alone.”

His brow furrowed, arms still holding her by the waist but at enough distance he could see her expression, “Fenedhis! And you thought to do that in a tree without telling anyone you were leaving camp? This area is not safe…”

Leena brought her hands up fearlessly and turned his face to hers, a dam inside her breaking. “Oh, have some accountability.”  She pushed her frame against his, lips crushing together, mana flaring and reaching and clawing at him hungrily. He wrapped his arms again around her, bringing her close and caressing the curves of her back. They slipped under her cloak and the frivolous, too-thin night garment to grip her ass. He ground his hips into hers, tongue commanding her mouth’s compliance. He was hungry too, starving. Leena trembled slightly, heat between her legs flairing with every roll of his hip and grip of his hands, senses overwhelmed by his overtake. Solas could smell her— her body telling him to take control. Her hand impatiently dropped and slipped across his stomach, small fingers kneading eagerly at the swelling knot straining his trousers. 

He placed his hand on hers, stilling it before raising it to his mouth to kiss, “Not here. I will have you, but not here.”  Solas chuckled, twirling her back to press against his still-hard cock and holding his arm firmly across her stomach, “Are you so in need, ‘ma’haurasha? Is it unbearable?” He whispered in her ear, hand sneaking under the heavy folds of her cloak and finding the damp front of her slip. A lazy finger traced the outline of her slit, eliciting a light gasp. His finger emitted a dim charge that was just enough to cause her to writhe and push back against him but not enough to injure. The arm around her waist braced her as her legs failed slightly. He slipped his hand under her dress and danced his electric touch rhythmically, carefully controlling his energy so as to not alarm or hurt her. Leena’s eyes were shut— all that focus he so admired on the swelling, tightening feeling in her hips. He rubbed and tugged gently at her lips and engorged clit, sending sparks and mana traveling deep within her, pushing and swelling like a balloon. He caught that balloon somewhere behind the bone of her pelvis and tugged gently, rolling it repeatedly against all her sensitive bundles of nerves. Her mouth dropped in a silent cry and she came, tight muscles undulating and expelling the gathered energy. The sudden swell and fullness had overwhelmed her completely, the satisfaction unlike any weak semblance of the orgasms she’d ever given herself. He moaned in appreciation, eyes fixing on the flush and pure ecstasy written across her face. Gods, what a sight. She could not stand on her own, the little lamb, weak and vulnerable in her throes. Her pulsating mana and tearful eyes told him she was still feeling it— a slow and long orgasm. Physically he’d barely touched her but she breathed and panted as if he’d thrown her to the ground and seated himself deep within her. No, that would come later, he was sure of it. 

Chapter Text

Leena had slipped back into her tent to lay for the remainder of the pre-dawn hours, body still glowing and loose with his magic. She was still in shock. Not from finally breaking past their unseen barriers, but the ferocious gentleness that she felt possess her when her completion overcame her and the sweetness his sexual energy melted into when she lost herself. She hadn’t touched him, nor tried after he took her hand from him and brought the focus back to her with amazing self control.  There was nothing said on their way back to the tents that night, but he had held her hand and drawn her close to him as they walked with the moon to their back then kissed her softly before disappearing into his own tent. Her heart lurched and turned its gears slowly, demanding her attention. Reluctantly, she would consider what it spoke quietly to her, but for now she had other concerns: the Crossroads.

Their morning ride into camp had been uneventful, save for a single thrashing rift along the pass and one lazy horse dragging behind the rest— poor Varric with his lazy mare constantly stopping to doddle. “She’s lost it, completely. Seeker, we should just let her go prance in the grass and share a horse. We’d get there faster, and I’m a great seat-heater.”

“Absolutely not. I would sooner drag you behind my horse.” Cassandra scoffed loudly at him, “You are just bad at controlling her. ”

Varric sighed, fenging an air of rejection, “Oh well, don’t mind me then. I’ll be back here behind the other slow rider. Hanging in there, Princess?”

Leena snapped back from her distant gaze. She was contemplating how to glide her horse astride Solas’ while appearing completely casual, “Oh, just beginning to think this forward camp is a myth and Leliana is simply perpetuating some unfunny ruse to get us out of Haven so she can fill our cabins with nugs.”

Varric had caught the direction of her gaze, and grinned catching her eyes, “You look exhausted, you know. Midnight frolic in the forests?”

How was this man so perceptive? Leena ignored his raised eyebrows, “More like early morning tree climb.” She yawned despite her best efforts not to. “You know, elf business. Got a tree-climbing quota to fill or I have to turn in my ears.”

Even with thick air of the scouting camp and looming battle waiting for them in the valley below, Scout Harding was a reassuring presence. She’d heard much of Leliana’s head scout as many of the missives shared during council meetings were penned by the woman herself, but not met her as she was nearly always, well, scouting.  “Greetings, your Holiness.”  She saluted Leena and flashed an excited smile.

“Leena, you can call me Leena.” she sighed.

“Ah, well, that’s… if it’s all the same, I’d rather not, Lady Herald. Anyway,” she bowed her head respectfully, “I’m Scout Lace Harding. Finally we meet! The situation out here is….not good, your Grace. The fighting from the Apostates and the Templars has extended to the Crossroads, putting the refugees and townsfolk in great risk. I grew up here, Lady Herald, and I know this land better than anyone else on the team. It’s never been this bad. Before you can approach Redcliffe or the Redcliffe Farms for the horses there will be heavy fighting from both the Templars and the Apostates. Hearing reports of bandits, too. I urge you to take great caution and make the suggested camps along the way. We’ve mapped out possible locations for relay camps so signal and we’ll meet you at these points. There should be magic flares hidden near the marked points that will allow us to know it’s clear to approach. We’ve also marked sightings of rifts in the area, and where Master Dennet’s farm is along with the landmarks in the area. We’ll try and reach you if we have any more things to add and you’ll probably see more than a few of us roaming the hills.”

“Thank you, Scout Harding. This is a great help— much more than I anticipated.” Leena took the map from her hand and unrolled the velum gently.

“Just doing my job, your Holiness. Please be careful out there, I don’t want to be the one to report to Leliana we lost the Herald of Andraste to a bunch of power-hungry thugs. Check with Requisition Officer Kayrn before you leave and then Scout Smalls will suit everyone up with some new supplies. Good luck.” Scout Harding smiled softly, then turned to the rest of the party with a slightly harder expression, muttering a final venomous thought before walking back to a slew of messenger birds waiting for her, “Don’t get her killed. You know what’s at stake here.”

Cassandra spat out a single laugh in response, “Let us not waste time. Herald, please stay close to us at all times. I do not know how well you will do in battle. Lay back with Solas and Varric and cast from as much of a range as possible— there is no need for you to be alone or directly in combat.” She turned to Solas, “You. Keep close to Leena and pull her out if the situation becomes overwhelming. Defending her is your priority if forced to chose. Varric and I will focus our energy on initial engagement and pushing forward into the fight.”

Brushing off the patronizing feeling she was getting, Leena finished reloading her potion belt and got to her feet, “Alright, then…let’s do that.”

Solas scanned her face, his eyes tearing into hers looking for any glint of fatigue, “Do you wish to rest? There won’t be a chance once we’re in the valley for quite a while. At least until the worst of it is over.”

Leena faltered and blushed a bit under his gaze, “I’m OK, we shouldn’t waste anymore time.”

“it is not a waste. Let us take a rest. You can use one of the tents.” Cassandra reached out for her pack with a serious expression, “It will be more of a hindrance if you cannot maintain during a fight. This is most likely above your level as far as fighting experience.”

Twenty minutes later, she was reluctantly laying in her bedroll listening to the soft voices of her teammates through the dark skin of the tent. She was admittedly tired, but the looming danger below kept her on the edge of sleep. A rustle at the tent brought her eyes open. Solas. He approached her on his knees and spoke quietly, “Perhaps I can be of assistance if you’re having difficulty sleeping.”

She felt the blush rise to her scalp, eyes heavy, gears in her mind reading too far into his meaning, “Oh, thank you.”

He smiled and gently stroked his fingers across her brow, cool tingle of magic instantly lulling her eyes shut. All tension left her figure and she relaxed fully against the soft pad. The breath she was holding in exhaled, developing into a soft, slow rhythm. Solas brought his hands to cup her head and fluttered his eyes momentarily, letting a gentle pulse of magic guide her into a safe enclosure in the Fade. The spirits there were friendly and protective and the memories lingering all pleasant. “Sweet dreams, lethallan.”

About an hour and a half later, Leena roused feeling refreshed with the sun directly overhead. Her mind had raced with peaceful images of migrating geese flying overhead the clear, cloudless reflection of a lake that shone with its own innate brightness. A trick of the Fade, a trick of Dreams?A smile spread across her face and a quiet hope that such a place existed in the world still and not in some conjured memory. A lake so bright it could outshine the moon, and she could not clearly remember if it had been day or night. It didn’t matter, at least.

Cassandra shoved a bowl of stew in her hands before starting to refit the parts of her armor she’d shed during that hour. Varric was writing furiously with his brow knit on a bench far from the tents and fire pit. Apparently Solas had also decided on a rest, as he was still asleep.

“Hey Princess,” Varric looked up and met her eyes, then motioned with his hand to join him.

“Yes?” She sat beside him on the well worn bench, hands resting on her knees as she bent forward to look quietly at his furious writing. He was writing on business— something about negotiating prices on a large shipment of unnamed goods.

“Ever finish that letter?” he spoke quietly, smiling and nodding as to take away any suspicion Cassandra might have.

“Oh, yes. I sent it but… I haven’t heard word yet. Sorry, Varric. You’re the first person I’ll tell if I hear anything. I put quite a bit into it so I’ll be glad to have a response as well.”

Varric’s face dropped a bit, “I see. My other friend, she hasn’t heard from him either so…”

“Do you always expect the worst?”

“The man tangles with some heavy shit, Princess. Not hard to figure out if he killed someone when he’s got a goddamn calling card of a kill method. Hawke’ll be a mess if he’s gone, and she get’s reckless. She’s interested in you though. I suppose you’ll meet her… eventually. If this all pans out, that is. There are no guarantees and honestly I’m hoping the whispers she’s been hearing are all just rumors.” He grinned slightly.

“That’s the face of a man planning something.” Leena brightened before slipping her staff holster onto her back. She could hear Solas waking.

They didn’t get very far from camp before they encountered Templars. Their eyes glowed a sickly blue, muscles strained and face a particular shade of rage Leena’d seen once before in the slow and dark corner of her mind. Just as sickly were the Apostates they ran after, or who ran after them. At that point it was unclear. What was clear is what roll they played in all of this, and as she called out to them to calm and stop their aggression took a quick about-face in a scramble to throw their rage at anything outside themselves. Cassandra had no pause, no second thought. Before Leena could catch her wits, one man was down on the ground. The shock of his death was dizzying, and she could not remember the first spell she cast or who she threw it at, mage or Templar. It didn’t matter. They all appeared the same. Her face paled as the sick quiet of death replaced their strangled cries. Solas grimaced not just at what became of these twisted souls, but the shock written across her face. It had happened— the moment she expressed so much anxiety about had come to pass.

His hand found her trembling fingers and grasped, voice empathetic, “Lethallan, we cannot tarry here. Come.”

One battle turned into another, and another. Her face did not lose its shock, or harden. Please, Solas thought to himself, harden yourself quickly lest it destroys you. It was a wish for her survival. But it would take time, and not merely hours of it. Maybe days, weeks: but the change would come. She was strong. And thank whatever Gods there might be, Maker or any force of nature, it might be sheer luck a spirit like hers wielded his mark. His true Hope was in that fate had not chosen blindly the woman, and there was some mystery in the worlds order that had preserved them all to this point. Perhaps it was Providence, but Solas’ misfortune somehow felt mitigated when he watched her. His Herald. But no one could know that she was his. His Fortune, his High Priestess, his small God with the shaking hand. He’d never tried to mark another soul in his long life— funny what contradiction fate placed upon him. He’d marked her, not with the symbol’s of his People’s slavery, but with something equally if not more dreadful. The slave could be freed from its bindings but she could not. She would never be free again. He’d taken her life and twisted it beyond her intent and now she was his and he could already see her beautiful spirit twisting and changing before him.  The horror of it changed him as well, his pride barked madly at him to find a way to save her because duty, his duty of pride.

They pressed on, and soon the Crossroads was clear. Countless bodies needed to be cleared, and the approaching solders rushed to make headway. Blood stained the ground. Refugees turned their eyes away as they busied themselves, dragging carts for corpses along the main road. Still they pressed on, spoke with Corporal Vale, and mucked around looking for his loose list of parties needing help. Their job was beyond warfare, but also building their influence and power in the region. The Inquisition’s reputation was key. Finally, Solas watched Leena approach Mother Giselle, “I hear you were looking to meet me.”

The two exchanged words while Solas, Varric, and Cassandra aided in simple tasks around the Crossroads. Solas’ healing skills were of immediate use, but convincing Templar sympathizers to utilize them took careful wording and a humble attitude— the same attitude he had dawned to gain access to Leena in the Chantry prision that fateful night.  An hour later, Cassandra was pleased to hear Mother Giselle would be making the trip back to Haven as they continued on into the war-torn region. Few wished to venture outside the designated camps and the Crossroads, so until some stability was returned to the region none would be willing to repopulate the region. Leena was pure willpower. No task seemed beneath her, and her humility and pure desire to help only aided people’s belief in her divinity. Surely Andraste was rewarding the pure heart of the woman, despite her being a non-believer? They would make a martyr out of her yet. At least three refugees had been brought to tears by simple gifts of blankets and ram’s meat, begging for her blessing. Leena did not know what to say, and instructed them to direct their praises instead to their Maker. Instead of the refugees being insulted by her soft refusal, they grasped and kissed her hand without permission, speaking passionately of her humbleness. 

Solas was surprised she received no flack for her race— not a single negative comment. Instead they reminisced on the story of Shartan as proof the Maker would purposely favor an elf in Andraste’s service. This made him smile, as there was no proof of a rebellion lead by a man named Shartan. It was another appropriation by humans and what remained of his early legacy in their eyes. The rebellion he had started continued for many years after he slipped into his long sleep, trading hands many times as well as names. Always the symbol of a wolf, the image of a bald elf, and the freeing of the slaves stayed true to the story. Shartan was the telling of last great rebellion and the Chantry’s name, not the leader itself. They intentionally confused the writings of the real Shartan with the movement of Elvhen masses rising to be free. In truth the People rose not in the name of Andraste, but for their own faith and for their own worth. The Chantry was scared, and sought to rewrite the tale in their favor and used their version of events it as an early attempt to convert as many free elves as possible. They had woven traces of the truth alongside their own narrative to show sympathy for elves in hopes to placate them and align them with human culture more conveniently. They never truly tried to give elves a space, they just wanted them to become more human and rid humanity of what they deemed a lesser culture. 

She was not Shartan, no, but it pleased Solas to hear of her thought of with favor no matter the reason. Perhaps the spark of rebellion lived within her, and not just on her hand? He could spark it in her and grow that spark into a fire. A wicked smile flashed across his face. His Herald, his Priestess already looked at him with such adoration, such love, that it would take very little from him to inspire such thoughts. Da ‘Fenlin. If this war was to change her, he would guide her form to a pleasing shape. Pleasing for her. He would posses her, he would protect her purity of spirit. Solas could indulge his greed, but only a little. And how his hips would fit so perfectly against her and oh, she was eager to let him inside— practically wonton under his gaze alone. Last night he could have throughly painted her, soaked her deeply in his favor, but age and wisdom knows restraint. Youth knows little restraint, little pain. Youth knows eagerness and passion. Was he cruel? Perhaps it was an unkindness, at that withholding would be easier on her in the long run. But she was offering him her innocence, both physically and emotionally, and he would cherish and respect that gift. Hopefully he could teach her in turn about how precious her gift is to him, how meaningful, and do his best for her before she was torn to shreds by the very mark that tied their fates. Leena would feel his love. He would take her gift gently, split her blossom wide into maturity, sink deeply into her and fill her fully with the best of him. He would change her gently for the better by showing her his kinder self, but inevitably he must leave. Leena would feel his love then feel his loss. This way was better than if she saw what he was to become: a demon. A monster of a man she must not love.

They reached a new camp and set the flares. Leena was busy gathering herbs, and Cassandra and Varric were at work clearing space for the tents the scouts would soon hurry to supply. Solas rubbed his brow and gathered kindling. If they worked steadily they could finish setting camp before sundown. Cassandra’s best estimate was they would need at least three weeks in the Hinterlands to get the very basic done of what they needed to do. It would be a long three weeks.

Chapter Text

“Yes, but why do they glow? There’s no magic I can feel on them… but they glow!” Leena swiveled the skull, peeping through, sounding more amazed than anything.

“Princess, it’s already creepy without you pointing out something impossible.” Varric stepped back from the Occularum. “Did it have to be a skull?” He sighed. 

“Ah, I am not too familiar with this kind of magic, but I can hypothesize. And there is magic used here, it’s just the skull is a Tranquil and nullifies its ‘ripples’ so to speak.” Solas watched her peer through the eye piece.

“That’s… just sad. So this is where all the Tranquil’s disappeared to after the Circles fell? Some crackpots were making binoculars out of them?” Varric looked horrified, “Disgusting.” 

“Oh!” Leena chirped, “I can see something! I mean, when you look through it’s all weird? More flat? But certain parts are more…shiny, ripply, like something is there? Brighter than the sun. We should check it out!” She unrolled the map and marked little crosses near the spots.

Solas peered through, “Ah, at a guess… some sort of magical refuse or artifact causing subtle amplifications in the Veil. The Tranquil skull is used because it deadens the ambient magic and allows you to focus on the abnormalities.”

“Well, great. Not creepy as shit at all. Yeah, let’s find what magic these human skulls pointed us to. Great idea. Who set these up to begin with?” Varric sighed, scribbling something in his journal.

Cassandra finally commented, turning to walk back down the steep slope to the road, flanked by Varric, “That is what I wish to know, and why we should follow up. If it was important enough to devise such an elaborate device, I’d imagine someone is up to no good.”

“I’d imagine you’re right.” Solas hummed, leaning over Leena as she marked the map. Varric and Cassandra soon moved out of sight and began untethering their horses from the trees they’d fixed them to. 

“Ah, right here. You missed one, lethallan.” His hand gently gripped hers and moved it further down the map. Leena’s face flushed. Every touch since that night felt intimate, no matter how small. They had not spoken of the encounter by the tree since, though it was obvious when she looked at him that it was quite an active thought. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Did he lose interest? She was unsure, and her new confidence felt unsteady. It’d been two weeks already. Sure, they’d been stuffed into cramped camp sites every night and were exhausted from the constant physical strain of riding and fighting, but there were opportunities. Often they found themselves alone while Varric and Cassandra attended their own business or took turns hunting, or when they wandered off to practice magic. Two weeks and no more than a few gentle, lingering touches. Leena’s mind snapped back to the present. He smiled knowingly, brushed his lips to her ears, and with a low whisper, reassured her, “Just a little longer, fenorain. You’re being very patient.” His hand slipped slowly up her arm and rested on her shoulder, giving a soft knead. He drug his lips along the sensitive rim of her ear, eliciting a shudder in her breath, “I have not forgotten. I will keep my word.”

Wordlessly he rose and sauntered down the hill, smirk plastered on his face. Solas was obviously pleased with himself. Leena inwardly cursed; was she so easy to read? She needed to do something about that, but doubted that in her current state of constant sexual frustration it was going to get any better, as she couldn’t even find enough privacy to grant herself any semblance of relief. It amazed her that even on the most exhausting of days, between her legs was unrelenting heat. Worse, Varric and Cassandra had certainly noticed the looks she was giving Solas. His face betrayed nothing to them— as smooth and composed as ever. Both Cassandra and Varric had responded by giving the two of them space, and shared responsibilities around camp. Once Cassandra had even asked if she’d preferred to share a tent with him instead of the current arrangement (a particularly embarrassing conversation for them both). After a long day of placing watchtower markers for the Inquisition forces’ to return to, they retired to a particularly well-stocked camp, with Leena in a particularly reserved and agitated mood. She nearly at her limit— electricity and mana jumping to her skin at the slightest touch. 

“Shit, compared to the lake camp, this is Halamshiral.” Varric grinned, “Five tents! A writing desk! The least wimpy looking messenger birds I’ve seen yet— they might be able to make it to Haven in less than a year. Shit, fruit and port wine!”

Cassandra scoffed, “Yes, given the proximity to Redcliffe Farms, the scouts were able to outfit this camp more than adequately. For such a large camp, I am surprised only one is here. Scout, report?” 

“Nightingale requests your immediate return to Haven at earliest light— there’s news.” A young, redheaded scout handed a missive to Cassandra, who grimaced. 

“I do not like the sound of this. The White Spire is empty? Templars hiding? Why not meet directly in Val Royeaux next week like we planned? Surely we would do better to head there sooner rather than later.” Cassandra passed the note back.

“Two scouts have written back from Val Royeaux. There are Templars in the city, as well as a small faction of Apostates. Neither seem preoccupied with each other… both groups appear to be waiting. As for what they are waiting on…” the scout trailed off.

“…it is us.” Cassandra sighed, “I see. Someone must have tipped them of our plans and she does not want us to go without necessary precautions. Does that mean Cullen plans on escorting us?”

“Yes, my Lady.” the redheaded scout sighed, crossing her arms, “It is inconvenient, but as Maser Dennet has given you a few new mounts ahead of the watchtower construction, it should at least go quicker this time. As far as where they received this information from: Leliana will discuss it upon your return.”

“I understand.” Ah, a mole. It wouldn’t be the last, but disloyalty still stabbed at Cassandra’s steadfast sense of duty. She did not take kindly to traitors— and neither did Leliana. 

The sun set later and later each day, and the warmth of the day carried farther into the evening. Soon the team was forsaking their heavy winter coats in favor of lighter and lighter clothing, and Leena found herself wishing she’d thought through her packing more as she headed down to the deep stream to wash the blood, dirt, and sweat from her body. The small world of Haven had warped her view of what to expect in the Hinterlands as far as climate and weather. She could have asked for help, or advice, but such a detail escaped her. She was distracted before they left. Hell, she was distracted now. Today was the first uncomfortably warm day, however, and Leena was thankful she’d have her own tent that night for a number of reasons.

After finding a bit of privacy near an alcove in the stream, she sheepishly looked around before stripping off and lowering herself into a pool of water swirling towards a slight drop. Sweet relief. Also uncomfortable was the stretches of time they went in between proper bathing, having to substitute using a wash basin and rough cloth for the majority of the time. She hadn’t felt truly clean since their last night in Haven, where she’d bathed privately in her small cabin in a large wooden tub the maids had furnished her with. She warmed the water with magic, and tried to forget how comfortable the cloth lined basin was compared to the cold, clear waters of the stream. A leaf floated by. She dunked her head under and rinsed the soap from her pinkish cheeks. In the distance, Leena heard voices and her ears perked towards the noise. They grew faint and moved away— sounded like some of the farmers— and she relaxed her back against a rock once more as the sound of crickets in the early evening soothed her.

Blissfully alone, and comfortable, her hand rubbed the wash cloth carefully over her chest, lathering away her tension. Her eyelashes fluttered closed and she paused briefly at her nipple, sighing slightly at the overly sensitive bud’s excessive reaction to even the slightest stimulation. She was frustrated alright. Her tent seemed so far away, and her hands were so close to her now. Leena bit her lip, deciding to indulge and forgo the added privacy she would find later in the night. Who would come, anyway? She leaned back, taking her time to gently twist and roll her hardened, darkened nipples between her thumb and index finger. The feeling went straight to her groin, and she moaned, unrestrained, and squeezed her thighs together. One hand traveled across the plain of her stomach as she slumped against the side of the stream, ignoring the slightly awkward angle she had to spread her legs at to gain firm footing. She was glad to be facing a large rock wall, as her legs were spread quite wide, and had she chosen the other side any approaching party would have quite the eyeful.

Only one small weakness existed in the alcove’s privacy: a small path that lead to a cave. Earlier they had cleared out the area of what remained of a smuggler’s camp site, looting and salvaging the remaining artifacts of what was once something different, something ancient.  Solas was particularly interested, but they had not had time to explore before making their way to camp.  He mused that the architecture was Dwarven, but that it had been altered by its inhabitants afterwards into an early Dalish shrine. All the monument and idolizations had been stripped away and lost to time. Any clue he could get about its dedication and history would have to be in the Fade. 

The water grew cold on her skin, now exposed to the humid air of the returning night. It didn’t matter— she was completely focused between her legs. The pleasure Solas gave her in the early morning twilight that night seemed so distant, but thinking back to it fueled her lust. It inspired her, delighted her. Perhaps she would sneak into his tent, catch him by surprise? That low chuckle of his, and knowing grin. He would most likely deny her his body, the tease, and then bring her pleasure again with his hand or oh— that mouth. His mouth. She still had yet to full kiss him. Yes, the’d kissed, but in her fervor it was not the kiss she wanted to give him. Her mind wandered further. How else could he use those lips, that mouth and deliciously long tongue? Her fingers rolled and pulled at her small shaft, clit swollen and protruding from its delicate hood. Head rolling back, she felt the blush traveling completely down her chest and stomach. Fuck, damn, shit— she needed to come— she was so close. Leena concentrated on how his mouth would suck-pull, suck-pull and then dip unexpectedly into her tight entrance. She tried pushing her own finger in and moaned, then another. On the third she was met with slight resistance and discomfort, and squirmed, bringing her other hand from her breast to her clit to sooth. She gasped, wondering, then, how his cock was? She tried to picture such a thing, thinking about the feeling of it pushed against her rear that night— the slight buckle and shallow thrust he let slip as she came in his arms. It felt amazing to stipulate he wanted to fuck her right there. Yes, oh, that cock was certainly wider than fingers, Leena. She smiled at the idea of him stretching her— tearing her open— and filling her with every inch. Gods, he would ruin her!  At least she hoped he would; she would happily let him use her to his own selfish ends. The lewd thought excited her and brought her over the edge.  She shuddered, hand stilled and trapped in her tight cunt, strong muscles pulsating around her fingers. An unrestrained, throaty moan echoed slightly into the nearby cave. The hidden figure bit his lip as he silenced his own pleasure, thrusting once more into his own hand before spilling out onto the dark ground. 

Solas was becoming quite good at circling her, stalking her, during her scarce private time. That wild, unrestrained look on her face when she thought she was alone— it erased any moral qualms his conscious spat out about drinking in such a scene and then using it in such a base manner. Leena had a wild heart. Each day it growled louder and stronger, that shy, unsure girl falling back as an unused mask. That was her temporary, transitory self; the shock of a sudden clean slate. Leena now was much more sure of herself, and had stopped questioning who she was. Instead, she focused on who she would be, or could be, or was now. She asked countless questions, and never silenced her opinion. Nothing from the past haunted her, or restrained her conscious. She was pure, unabashed, and wild. More beautiful to him by the day. Thus he felt no guilt for enjoying her like this— it was natural, wild— and he would gladly admit to her if called out. He was sure her reaction would be satisfaction, not disgust. They were simply two animals dancing around their carnal, physical needs. She displayed her invitation so innocently, and so often, that someone had to keep that invitation under watch. Often, she thought she was alone and her youth slipped through to her decision making in choosing her when and where. Often, men with ill intent were closer than she thought. This was no fault of hers, and in a perfect world she needn’t worry. He kept his self-assigned watch over her with pride. Solas tucked himself back into his pants, grinning. Yes, he would claim her invitation soon enough. 

She was considerably less tense now than during their ride in— the air about her now calm and even. Her hand slipped away and slight embarrassment flashed in her mind, not for getting off so opening, but for how poor her attitude was towards her companions. She’d make it up to them and down one of the smaller rams she’d seen walking over. Maybe she could drag it herself? No matter. She set to dressing herself and picked up her weapon. As she struggled to drag the now dead ram down the uneven path, she saw Solas approach with a soft smile on his face. Where was he before? Her heart leapt. Did he come from the cave? Fade dreaming, perhaps, like he had mentioned earlier. It was a deep cave, and she reassured herself of her earlier privacy thusly. A small voice whispered: would if be so bad if he saw? The blush of her cheeks returned as she gave the ram a forceful pull by the horns, “Oh, hello!”

“Ah, dinner?” he chuckled, leaning to help her hoist the ram up. He easily lifted the beast and she sighed in relief.

“Yes, I thought I’d go ahead and snag it while I’m out here. One point in the Dalish box.” she joked, grinning at him.

“Perfectly logical reasoning.” He laughed, “Glad to see your mood improved.”

“Mmm, a good bath will do that.” She smiled. Yes, bath. “Dirt does not agree with me. Nor do horses. Or all this heat.” The ram swayed between them, her arms tense. “Can’t we just… magic ourselves here and there?”

“You don’t like dirt? Minus one from the Danish box. And unfortunately, no, the Inquisition does not have that technology.” Solas wished they did have such technology. It did exist and he would love to rid her of such physical unpleasantness; Elvhen ladies need not suffer long distances by mount.  

“Plus one in Varric’s favorite— ‘lost Princess from the Uncharted Wilds.’ Except less wilds, more climate controlled castle with magically heated bathing pools. And libraries. And decorative paintings.” She grinned, eyes drifting off in her daydream.

“Is that what he’s going with now? I think he’s just using you as a transmutable plot device at this point.”  Ah, that particular castle could be arranged, certainly. Solas smiled to himself. They were getting closer to camp, the roaring fire appearing over the hill’s crest.

“I think that’s what he’s always done, Solas. We are all merely plot devices— the man’s transparent in his intent with his scribbly little journal.” She raised her voice, teasing the man who’s back now appeared before them hunched over and furiously writing.

“What’s this about plot devices and scribbly little journals?” Varric called out from the desk. 

“You heard that?” Leena giggled.

“Just because I don’t have freakishly long ears doesn’t mean I can’t have good hearing. Oh, ram. Haven’t had that in at least three nights.”

“Hey, beats nugs and berries for dinner. Or whatever it was you brought back from that lake. Was it a fish? It didn’t look like a fish.” Leena and Solas sat the ram down away from the camp circle and Solas crouched to dress the animal swiftly, 

Varric turned from his writing and grinned at them both, “Not complaining, just contemplating. Oh, and Leena… a letter came for you, tucked into one of mine from another friend.” 

“For me?” She raised from her knees, wiping her hands on a cloth and snatched the letter from his hand. Though it had no return mark, it was obvious to her: this was from Fenris. Cassandra was luckily somewhere with the scout. “Ah, from…!”

Solas watched curiously as she opened the letter. Who could possibly be writing her? A wave of annoyance flooded him.

The handwriting was rough but legible— a bit like a child’s— and the message was vague:  

L,

 

I am deeply troubled to hear such a thing happened so far down south, if it did indeed happen. I have doubts and also heard strange rumors that might offer an alternative solution. We will talk soon in person. Tell our mutual friend I say hello, and to stop worrying. I am not worried about what he is and all his letters were received. I will come alone to you and write you again when I am close.

 

- F

 Leena bit her lip, then passed it to Varric. He let out a relieved sigh. “Thank the Maker. Tonne of bricks off my chest there.”

Solas looked directly at Leena, but said nothing. Leena smiled and approached him, “Varric had me write one of his friends who might have some insight into my memory loss. He had similar experiences…” 

“…We’d appreciate if you failed to mention this to Cassandra.” Varric handed the letter to Solas. “I figure you two are pretty close so no use in hiding it there.”

“Ah, I see. Any reason?” Solas raised his brow curiously.

“Let’s just say she was looking for the writer of the letter and I may have failed to mention I knew his approximate location…or rather, a friend who knew where his location was.” Varric laughed, “It was none of her business though. When you meet… well, it’ll be interesting to say the least. Just warning you, he’s not much of a magic fan.” 

“Isn’t Hawke mage?” Leena wondered how the two managed to come together— Varric’s book didn’t pry too heavily into their romantic life, but it did mention it. 

Solas’ mouth slipped into a wry smile, “Ah, the Champion and her Elvhen lover? I see.” 

“Yes. The book didn’t quire cover the amount of internal conflict he went through. He really loves her despite their disagreement on the war. Cassandra is looking for them…I know why, but it doesn’t matter now. We’re not trying to be shifty here and sneak around, we’re just trying to keep from rustling Cassandra’s already rustled feathers unnecessarily. Neither Hawke or Fenris would agree to what she wants from them. Hawke was deeply suspicious of the Inquisition’s motives way before shit got weird. And hold up— Chuckles, you read my book?”

 “Of course. It was in the Inquisition library. Well, if you can call it a library.”  Solas carefully folded the letter and placed it back in Leena’s hand. Leena tucked it into her pocket and stoked the fire, placing a large kettle on top of a brace.

The smell of stew greeted Cassandra and Erin (formerly known to them as ‘that redheaded scout’) upon their return— their mouths pulled tight into a serious expression.

“Get excited, we found root vegetables that aren’t potatoes and this camp has salt!” Varric wagged his finger playfully in a mild attempt to defuse some of the tension wrought across their faces.

“There is a huge Apostate encampment between here and Redcliffe.” Cassandra sighed. Straight to business it was. “We had to drive a small band of them back from the edge of town. I have sent word to Leliana that we will be taking care of it before our return, as they seek to underhand our efforts with Master Dennet. I am not sure if they are truly attempting to handicap us or are just trying to steal the mounts for themselves.“

“Why focus on just one horrible reason?” Leena started to ladle out thick helpings of stew into wooden bowls, carefully placing them on a nearby bench. “Surely they are capable of both.”

“Their organizational skills are not as impressive as you’re imagining. Most of these mages are either abominations or completely mad at this point. My coin is on petty theft.” Erin lifted a bowl from the bench, uttering a soft thank you.  “They’ve summoned demons as well. One of the other agents stationed here was injured scouting. We’ve sent the third stationed here with her on a mount back to Vale at the Crossroads.”

Leena remained silent, and looked towards her teammates. Cassandra tucked into her bowl, “We should take our time tomorrow and fall back if overwhelmed. I do not want us to take any serious injury before a long trek back. Sleep is important tonight. Erin will stay here and repack our supplies for us tomorrow morning so we can have additional rest.” 

Varric was digging through his rucksack. He pulled out a deck of cards, “Well, no way anyone is sleeping with this storm cloud hovering over our heads. My recommendation is some therapeutic gambling.”

“Whats that now?” Leena poked a carrot into her mouth. 

“Wicked Grace, Princess.” Varric started shuffling the deck. “Don’t worry, you’ll catch on quick. Or go broke.”

Chapter Text

She’d initially thought sleeping in her own tent would be a blessing, after many nights trying to calculate which companion snored the loudest (really a Varric versus Cassandra issue), but the silence was nearly as distracting. Thick leather walls drowned out even the sounds of the night: crickets, owls, scurrying little animals all remained silent for her. Leena rolled dramatically, huffing in frustration after Gods knows how long of laying motionless on her bedroll. Were the others having this difficulty? Her hand raked through her hair and worked out small knots mindlessly. Solas was surely asleep by now— the man dropped as soon as he hit the bedroll. It was a hot night and she was sleeping in little but a shift; was he also mostly bare? Lean, taught muscles of his stomach leading down to the dip and jut of… Leena groaned at her swelling imagination; her mind was in a relentless pursuit from which she never caught a break. The fire between her legs rose again and with a frustrated huff Leena dipped out of her tent, barefooted and still only loosely clad in her night shift. The dying embers of the fire crackled hello as she paced and peered up at the night sky. It was well past midnight, but not what she’d consider early morning as of yet.

She stilled her feet in front of Solas’ tent, listening closely. Silence. Slim, delicate fingers ran along the seam of the tent flap and gently parted them, careful not to let in too much light or air so as to disturb the man. He was a relatively light sleeper. His features were slightly illuminated by the sudden light, softer than their waking versions and somehow younger looking too. Solas was obviously much more experienced than she but his face did not reflect this without his added expressions. On the now blank canvas of his face, his actual features were softer and younger. It was his behavior that betrayed his youthful look to experience, truly. Her eyes dipped lower and a soft sigh escaped her mouth accompanied by a flush of cheek. Nothing but his smalls and a loose sheet. Heart thudding in her chest, an impish spark fueled her feet and turned down her mind. Perhaps just a little? Maybe it would be easier to sleep here— it was a rather roomy bedroll he had tossed down. Lies. No, it wouldn’t necessarily be easier. Another betrayal of her own lust. It was worth a shot, though. They did all practically promise Cassandra they’d turn in earlier and get up later. Her internal monologue antagonized how she would explain waking not in her tent. Fuck it! None of their business who she quite literally slept with, and Solas would probably think it amusing, not inappropriate. No, he’d most likely take it as a badge of pride. Leena grinned as she imagined his smug look. A good and handsome look.

Leena dropped to her knees and held her breath, slinking across the ground with great care and grace. Impressed with her own slyness, she stopped at the edge of his cot and let her breath slip. No movement. Nice. Her still, small hands brought the edge of the sheet back and she tentatively placed one hand onto the pad, bearing her weight upon it. He made a small, subtle movement but again stilled, hand draped over his midsection curling a little. Very carefully and with all the grace her lithe elf limbs could muster, she slipped into the bedroll, her head resting gently on the unused expanse of pillow. Thud, thud. If anything would wake him, it would be her impossibly loud heart. Leena shifted her head slightly and peered at him in the dim lighting. His head was turned from her, exposing the beautiful curve of his neck. Yes, beautiful. Solas probably did not hear that often enough, but it was true. Eyes dipping lower, she fought back a groan and her body turned ever so slightly, instinctually, to tuck next to him. The fire in her belly raged, bemoaning her neglect, and demanding her attention with a sweet musky scent. She forced her eyes shut with her lip still curled under her own bite.

A sudden fluid movement and both her wrists were well above her head, pinned with one strong hand. His body draped over hers, their hips the only hinge of contact. Solas’ lips dipped and spoke lowly in her ear, a predatory but playful note bouncing off each lyrical syllable, “Ah, da’fenlin, did you think you’d sneak in and I wouldn’t notice?” He tutted his tongue, then dragged it along the rim of her ear. “You play a dangerous game.”

Her voice was caught in her throat. What had she thought? No, she’d wanted to get caught. Her voice escaped as a gasp, hips bucking up into his. Gods, he was hard. She could feel the outline and weight of it clearly on her stomach, her shift haphazardly pulled up nearly to her breast. She wasn’t wearing any smalls and felt the humidity of her sex slick her legs expectantly. Oh. So thick. She could feel him as he proudly showed himself, rutting ever so slightly against her stomach. Solas wanted to show her, let her feel the iceberg of strong masculinity peak; impress on her what was always lurking gently under a careful mask. How stark the contrast between this and the self he showed the rest— strong but reserved, payable but opinionated— a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She shuddered.

“Sathan! I want to see it.”  Leena’s face brushed ferociously as she let the omission slip from her lips.

Solas grinned, placing feather light kisses down her neck and inhaling deeply, “So impatient. Shall I spoil you?”

Leena moaned wordlessly in response. His free hand cupped her breast and rolled her nipple gently, ghosting the motions he’d watched her preform earlier, “So sensitive here.” Solas released her hands and let his mouth travel down to her taught breast, sucking rhythmically till she bucked her hips up. He grinned and released her purpling nipple, “Do you play with them often? Or was that display earlier unique.”

Leena’s stomach fluttered and eyes widened. His fingers teased her chest as she struggled to accept his meaning, “Ah…y-you saw…!”

“Yes, you’re still quite unpracticed at using your aura to reach out and check the area. I wasn’t hiding, mealy returning from the cave. What I emerged to was quite the performance.” He surveyed her shocked face, “Are you so embarrassed? There’s no shame in taking your own pleasure, Leena.”

“But…” she turned her eyes away, squirming under him.

“May I request another performance? It was a shame my view was not as clear as I’d wished.”

“I’d rather…” her eyes dropped to his cock.

“Oh, I am aware of what you’d rather have. And I will reward you if you listen.” the thick tenor of his voice drowned out any protest she might have imagined, and felt her hands betray her propriety at travel across the expanse of her stomach. Her eyes fluttered as she sucked in a deep breath of air, hand shakily taking to her engorged clit for the second time that day. Solas rocked back on his knees and watched her keenly. Somewhere between whimpers and fevered thrusts of her hip he’d removed his smalls. Her eyes widened in surprise, the very sight of his cock nearly pushing her to orgasm. He chuckled deeply, reaching a hand out and stilling her. Leena huffed in frustration as he wordlessly spread her legs wide and dipped his face a breath away from her cunt, “Let me, Leena. Ha’mi’in. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din.”

She groaned, the song of his words dipping into her as his tongue. She was helpless before him, hands gripping feverishly at whatever they could find— a sheet, his hand, her own hair. Pulses of energy danced from his lips and curled up within her, her voice some other place. The heavy air was filled only with her deep breathing. Solas’ hand flicked, casting a spell to assure silence outside the tent in anticipation of her pleasure. His eyes locked on her lost expression, moaning into her sex as his cock strained and wept from the sight. Gorgeous. Two long, carefully manicured fingers curled within her, beckoning.  Her own hands pulled and tugged at her breasts roughly as she finally arched against his rhythmic suction and cried out, body convulsing and honey pouring from her sex. She shook against him, heavily lidded eyes catching his. “Solas…ah…”

“You are so beautiful, ma’lath, unfolded before me.” his eyes flickered with his own energy, thumb still rubbing her clit as she hovered on repose. She groaned and felt herself spike again. He gracefully slid up and captured her lips, mouth devouring hers. She tasted herself on his lips and moaned. Dirty.

“Sathan…” she groaned, her hand snaking and snaking between them, finally grasping his cock in her hand. Warm, thick, heavy. She could feel his heartbeat thudding as his breath hitched. An unspoken anxiety pooled in her stomach and she tensed, unexpected to her. She’d mentally prepared herself for this, hand’t she? It was no big deal. They were already sexually involved. Her hands shook as she guided him to her. What more was a cock, then? She desperately wanted to reciprocate pleasure and see him release. The darkening head of his cock rubbed gently at her swollen entrance.

His eyes caught hers, sensing her hesitation. A more serious expression crossed his face as he stilled his movement, “Are you sure you want to do this tonight? Ma’lath, there is no rush. I will not take your innocence uninvited. There is no shame in needing to stop.”

Her cheeks burned, voice wavering, “Can I… I want to…” she licked her lips and her eyes caught his playfully, “I want to see how it feels first…”

He chuckled, relaxing and laying beside her as she shifted, eyes curious. A smile cross his lips, ”As you wish, my body is yours.”

She sighed, eyes locked on his proud manhood jutting up expectantly. He was watching her curiously as she leaned in and licked timidly around the head. His breath hitched— how could something so intimate and sexual be made to feel so pure? This version was a new feeling for him too. When women sucked him off it was always with a feverish sexuality that radiated confidence and desire. There was little talking, and they knew what was expected. Leena radiated something different— sexuality and desire, yes, but also curiosity and innocence. An intoxicating mix. With her plump lips wrapped wantonly around him, he would guide her to his pleasure. Her eyes timidly caught his, looking for reaction as her lips sucked softly around him. He smiled, hand pushing her hair behind her ear and resting on the back of her head to coax her in the right direction. She seemed to get the gentle instruction and flushed, eyes tearing as she bobbed up and down on his cock. “Yes, good…” he growled, hips bucking causing her to balk a little and gag. Leena fought the urge to pull back and instead took a deep breath through her nose and choked down as much of him as she could. She felt his hand rub her ears knowingly in an attempt to sooth her.

“Use your hands on the base.” Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes and one escaped down her cheek as she complied, moving her hand in rhythm with her mouth. His breathing was growing heavy. Leena moaned against him, sending waves though her throat and his member. He responded by gripping her hair roughly and rolling his head back. She gathered he was not going to come easily, that it would take work on her part. Not all of him would fit in her mouth. How did other women do it? She wish she’d had some sort of reference point that wasn’t Varric’s dirty romance serial. She pulled and sucked more in each time, till he heatedly bucked fully into her throat, hand holding her head back to prevent her from pulling him out. He was in to the hilt. Her eyes grew wide and he growled, cock swelling and asphyxiating her. She pushed back against his hand after a few more rough thrusts and gasped in air, his hand urging her to go back down quickly. The fire in his eyes was lit, he was close. “Good girl. Take it fully again. Make me come. Swallow it.”  It was no suggestion.

She nodded and gasped air before his cock slammed back into her throat. Anxiety and arousal swelled in unison with the cock now rhythmically thrusting in and out of her throat. A guttural moan escaped his lips. She felt him still then his sex pulse. She knew he was going to come, but still it took her by surprise as she struggled to handle his aggressive orgasm. He pulled slowly out of her throat, hand still on the back of her neck controlling her movements as he continued to come in her mouth. In his eyes was a look of dominance and triumph. It tasted slightly bitter but not entirely unpleasant— a taste she might like. She swallowed all he gave her with eyes looking to him for his approval. “Mmm, it felt very good, ma’lath You did very well for your first time— a very talented mouth. I would be happy to fill it again.”

She nodded wordlessly, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She felt satisfaction in his approval, a smile cracking her doe-eyed look. His cock was softening slowly before her, but her own body remained tense and alert.  He smiled and beaconed her.

“Let me sooth you to sleep then. We must rest.” Solas drew her near into his arms, one hand sliding down to her sex and the other gracefully slid across her brow. She sighed, mind hovering in the space between awake and asleep. Solas pulled her softly to sleep with both hands releasing her in separate  ways. She felt her body drift and peak to orgasm again before she sunk into a satisfying and deep sleep.

Chapter Text

Among other oversights in her ill-thought but surprisingly satisfying late night foray, Leena failed to consider timing leaving the tent so as to preserve her modesty.  Leena woke still curled in Solas’ arms, his breath even and body relaxed against her. They were both still naked but during the night a thin sheet came to bound to them both loosely. She hadn’t registered falling asleep but recalled a wave of pleasure ushering her into blissful dreams that now escaped her upon waking.

Not a dream, then?

Each salacious moment flashed again in her mind and she pulled herself fully from her half-awake state with a sigh. Her eyes traveled his peaceful face curiously, noting the normally serious expression was melted from his countenance. Outside the tent she heard the sound of Erin’s morning routine: the shuffling of armor, clang of glass potion flasks, and the thud of firewood. No one else was awake yet, so she could easily slip back in her own tent sub rosa. But why? Did she really care how blatantly obvious it would be to leave his? Not particularly. It wasn’t like Varric or Cassandra didn’t already know they were involved on some level. Sure, it was embarrassing to have their private life so out in the open but there was no shame in it. The idea of slipping back into her own shelter to put off such confrontation remained a velleity. Adults have sex. Adults have relationships. Was this a relationship? He taught her, advised her, counseled her, flirted with her; that was their initial relationship. Now— now was past flirting. She’d made the decision, she’d escalated their flirting to what was now the current state of things: a sexual relationship.

Though she’d initiated it, it was obvious to her who was in control. Solas saw her desire and, much like he had so easily morphed into the role of counselor and teacher, he morphed seamlessly into lover. She wanted him to complete his role, to take her wholly. But what after, what was it— lust into love? Would he slide just as easily into her heart? A flicker of doubt; Leena didn’t want his insincerity. To give her pleasure was one thing, but to give her love was not a demand.  She had no expectation for his heart. They were friends, and she did love him as much as she’d expect to love someone who without pause dedicated his time and companionship to her. Still her heart ached and she wanted that love to bloom. Somewhere, deep within her chest, she’d urge the spark into a fire.

“Lost in thought?” He could sound so frustratingly sweet. Sleep dripped heavily off the edges of Solas’ voice as he collected her against his chest, her head tucked beneath his.

She traced circles on his bare chest, morning light dimly filtering in and illuminating her hand. “Dreading leaving this tent…much less pleasant than staying in the tent.”

He hummed softly and kissed her forehead, hand dipping down her lower back and giving her bottom a gentle knead. “Ah, it seems the rest of the party is already preparing.”

“Just a little longer then…” she purred and stroked the rim of his ear with her lithe finger, earning her a chuckle and playful, squeak-inducing smack on her ass.

A hearty laugh came from outside the tent, “As intriguing as the color of Cassandra’s face is right now, you two should know we can hear you. And that we need to leave soon… sorry to interrupt. ”

It was Leena’s turn to flush into a lovely cherry hue. Solas smirked, a smug look flashing across his features as he continued to lavish her ass with attention. “Ah…uh.. I’m…” she squeaked in surprise, breath hitching as Solas parted her cheeks with the palms of his hands, fingers playfully teasing her rear entrance. “We’ll be out in bit. Solas!” She chided him, earning a mischievous grin and a defiant grind into her stomach as he pushed her against him to feel his hardness.

He leaned to her ear, voice barley a whisper, “Shy now? But it is exciting to… show off a bit, no? Well, could always learn to be quiet.”

“You of all people have a taste for exhibitionism?—Ah!” Leena hissed quietly back as he slid her up to sit on his face, deeply inhaling her ripe musk with a moan. His eyes met hers in a challenge as she hovered her slit nervously over his mouth, knees flanking his head and his hands still firmly on her ass.  Her eyelashes fluttered close and she bit her lip as he tried to get a rise from her. Breathing heavily, she swallowed her voice. Solas initially avoided her clit, instead lavishing his attention on her lips and partially cloaked entrance, tongue thrusting and stretching at it. Despite her efforts, the quietest of mews began escaping her lips, hips quivering at the assault. One hand traced across her ass while the other supported her weight, stopping momentarily to caress her pucker before slipping a single finger in beside his tongue. She squirmed in discomfort; even when she touched herself like that it always felt alien at first to have something wriggling inside her. He pushed ever so gently forward and she felt herself stretch a bit and a second finger enter and spread her a bit wider than comfortable. She tensed and he pushed a bit further, adding another finger and holding her firmly in place.

He met her eyes, smiling, “Relax into it, Leena.”  When her eyes finally betrayed pain she winced and the tiniest bit of red-tinted liquid pearled at her entrance. He smiled, retreating a bit, and curled his fingers inwards before latching onto her clit and sucking forcefully. A soothing burst of magic spread over her and once again all she felt was pleasure, her mouth parting and voice escaping in a soft trail of satisfaction. Her hips ground into him and she lost her battle, voice crying out loudly as she fell over the edge, coppery tasting fluid dripping down his chin. Her hands clasped over her mouth in embarrassment as she shook.

“Do not worry, I silenced the tent before you came. I am not so cruel.” He cleaned her mess tenderly with his mouth before sitting up, sliding her into his lap in one motion. His hardness pushed against her. She eyed his cock guiltily, hand drawing to it in assistance. He tutted then softly grasped her hand, kissing the back of it, “I am fine. I do not want to keep them waiting any longer. I enjoyed you and that is satisfying enough. If I indulged myself in you as much as I wished, we’d never be on our way.”

She nodded and grabbed the thin night shift, pulling it over her head, momentarily watching him dress. She exited the back of the tent, avoiding her other companions at least until she could slip into something more substantial than the silky nighty. What had she even been thinking of before he completely obliterated any thought? Perhaps this was some incredibly enjoyable form of mind control Solas was practicing on her. Her armor was already laid out and waiting for her to dress, every piece clean and orderly. Erin had outdone herself in the extra time their dalliance had allowed.

Oh Gods, here comes the worst bit. She inhaled and exited her tent, pulling her staff harness tightly to her back. Solas was already tucking into his breakfast, smirking as Cassandra avoided any and all eye contact with either of them. Apparently, tying her boot straps took full concentration. Varric handed her a plate with a big stupid grin plastered on his face, “Morning, Squeaky. Eat quick. Bashful over there already scouted with Erin our approach route while you two were having a lay in. Or on? Couldn’t tell, all the squeaking magically got quiet…”

Oh, Varric. Leena rolled her eyes, cheeks beet red, “Varric, please refrain…”

“You’re the ones who kept us waiting so… anyway, congratulations to both of you on the sex but if we don’t get a move on soon our plans’ a bust.”

An hour later they huddled low in foliage watching a group of Apostates guarding a magical barrier. They passed seamlessly inside, barrier still intact.

“How in the— I mean, the other barriers we’ve seen, no one could pass through without disarming it?” Leena tilted her head to the side. It was a curious barrier spell. It radiated no elemental magic.

“Ah, there is a magical signature written into the barrier. For those aware of it and with the corresponding ‘key,’ phasing through is no issue.” Solas looked thoughtfully at the mages moving effortlessly inside, “Perhaps they are more clever than the mages we met earlier. This is not an easy spell to maintain, and contains no elemental weaknesses.”

Cassandra huffed, “How will we get passed it? Can we force ourselves though like before?”

“It… is not so simple to disarm completely. We can interrupt the barrier easier than destroy it, which means…”

“…that once we are inside, we will remain there until we can disrupt it again? That will take concentration and space. Which means we must clear the encampment out in one swoop. If we manage to disrupt it carefully, and choose the right moment, we can enter undetected..” Leena connected the dots, brow knitting in worry.

“Yes, ‘ma’av’in,” a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips, “That is correct. Alternately, we could look for a weakness in the surrounding fortifications.”

“There were no obvious weaknesses. It is carved into a mountainside.” Cassandra interjected, “We could also draw a many as we can outside of the barrier before entering.”

“Maybe the three of us can work the front while Solas falls back and works on the barrier?” Varric suggested.

Cassandra sighed, thoughtfully, “No way we do it will be easy. There are at least 20 mages. How long will it take you to work out the barrier?”

“Hmm, uninterrupted, I would say about ten minutes to do it in a manner that will not alarm the inhabitants. Less than five if your intent is to simply alarm the inhabitants.”

“Well, Herald? What do you think we should do?”

“Oh… me? Hmm, I think we do not know what lies in wait inside their fortifications, so there is more of an advantage in using the familiar surroundings outside the encampment.”

“Yes, excellent point. They could have artifacts inside that would put them at an advantage. The barrier alone suggests such a thing.” Solas hummed in agreement.

“It is decided then. We will take position, follow me you two… Solas, you begin on disrupting the barrier when you see me give signal.” Cassandra nodded to him and beckoned Leena and Varric.

The barrier sparked and flashed, rippling and sending bursts of energy in all directions. They heard the agitated noses from inside and soon mages erupted from the faltering barrier. A rather agitated and feral looking brute erupted with an obviously possessed female flanking him. Cassandra waited till they were completely out in the open then lunged, signaling both Leena and Varric to begin raining down attacks from afar. After Solas felt they were adequately aware of the assault, he joined them, sweeping a newly emerged set of spellswords to the ground and paralyzing them with electricity. He felt Leena’s magic encase him, erecting a delicate but intricate barrier around him fully— just in time to protect him from a burst of fire spewing from an apostate that dove from behind a rock. He flashed her a smile— well done and thank you— then froze the man in his tracks. 

The first wave of assault was quickly quashed; they had not sent their best, that was for sure. Or, if the apostates had, Cassandra and Erin had severely overestimated their potential.  Solas focused his energy and the barrier spat again. “Hurry, no more are coming out. We must meet them head on!”

Leena fell back in step with Solas, flanking him and casting a preemptive barrier over their team. Immediately upon entering the encampment, they met with a fierce wave of fire burning through half their barriers. Cassandra raised guard and charged straight at the spellbinder, his eyes glowing dangerously and hand raised in chant. Solas was casting mines further in, holding back an offensive wave when he heard Leena cry out in surprise.

“Fuck, Solas, get to her!” Varric began hurling arrows at the footmen that were lunging towards Solas in an attempt to free him from the wave.

His head jerked completely and Solas could feel his feel moving before he could register completely the scene in front of him: a crazed looking man wielding a glowing dagger pressed it firmly to her neck. A ripple of blood drew a line, her eyes wide and terrified. The stalker’s other hand had Leena’s hands firmly behind her back, voice roaring out to them, “Get the fuck away!”

Rage. Solas felt his anger converge onto a point, the sight overtaking his emotions fully. How dare he touch her. His instinct swelled and commanded he protect, protect, protect. Before the man could blink he reached out, his own magic flaring and paralyzing him before reaching to the anchor. Leena gasped in surprise as she felt her hand surge to life, knocking the man back completely. She stared in amazement; how had that happened? The mark had protected her? Her body trembled as Solas pulled her to her feet, shielding her as he continued the assault. “Can you fight?” His own voice was shaking, an uncontrollable mix of leftover rage and concern.

“Y-yes.” She took a deep breath, joining but keeping close to Solas. The spells she cast wavered visibly, obviously still shaken from the experience. Huffing, she regained her stance. At last, it was down to one crazed man and his demon charge. Obviously touched by madness, they had not the space of mind to hold against them and fell.

Once they confirmed them all dead, Solas finally could think. He’d acted completely without thought, and in a manner he’d outgrown eons ago. Surprising his feelings should over take him, but affective none the less. She’d completely locked up and failed to use her melee skills to fend off the attack, which would be addressed later.  “Are you truly fine?”

“Yes, I realize… I could have prevented that myself. I am sorry if I worried you.” She smiled sheepishly, taking a swig from her canteen. The thin line of blood shone in the filtering sunlight. Solas’ hand raised and gently stroked it, healing it in one soft charge. A full blush spread across her cheeks and chest at the intimate caress of his hands; his eyes shone at her full of something and connected with hers.

“Yes, perhaps. No matter, we will discuss how it can be avoided again later and give what we glean practice.”  He smiled affectionately, fingers lacing through hers.

“You guys ready to head out? We still need to stop back by camp before making the road back towards the Crossroads. If there’s still daylight Cassandra wants to get as far out of town as possible.”  Varric was picking through the bodies’ pockets and eyeballing for anything valuable. Cassandra was half-heartedly appraising a broad sword and fighting back a curious smile, her attention more torn by the affectionate scene in the corner of her eye. The ferocious way he looked towards her and shook in battle, the romantic clasp of their hands, suggestive and subtle turn of their bodies…. “Hey Seeker, you in there? Yes, no? Keeping that sword?”

“Oh! Uh, yes. I think it can be of use for Corporal Vale.” Clearing her throat, Cassandra turned again to seriousness and motioned for the team to follow back to the mounts.

When they arrived back at the camp, Erin was speaking with a boisterous human scout, grinning wildly at them and waving their approach. “Good news? Everyone fit? A few scouts on the overlook saw it was all clear.”

“Yes, and we are fine. They were dumber than we expected.” The scout helped Cassandra detach the   plundered goods from her mount.

“And very possessed.” Varric shivered. “Anything for us?”

Erin piped in, “Just another missive from Nightingale! Asking if you’d left. I sent back word of a late start.” She giggled and grinned at Leena and Solas.

“Great, good, awesome. Yes. Leaving. Go us.” Leena’s verbal diarrhea earned her a hearty laugh from Varric.

It would be selfish to ask to switch tents, right? Leena sighed, shifting under her sheet, head lulling to look at Cassandra’s turned back. Sleep was not coming easily to her tonight, mind replaying the days earlier events and hand stroking the spot on her neck the enchanted dagger had been pressed. Both the cool night air and the solitude clawed at her each time she drifted towards the darkness of sleep; she’d nearly died today, yet again. It wouldn’t be the last time, just the most recent. It never got easier. She couldn’t vocalize her discomfort to Cassandra, or explain without sounding incoherent or offensive why she felt so alone next to her; Cassandra was certainly understanding, but a friendly acquaintance at best. They got on well enough, but she did not comfort her past a vague surface level. Cassandra prayed for her every night, prayed for all of them; this somehow made Leena feel even more disconnected from her. Someone who looked to her God and introspection for answers was such a contrast to herself, who looked to the advice and opinions of her team; Leena thought faith beautiful and a strength but not a source of answers. She previously confided her anxiety about fighting to her a night before they initially reached the Hinterlands, and Cassandra had suggested they pray together. This was not how Leena coped, but Cassandra’s own perspective made it difficult to get away from. She was always trying to bring Leena to faith, insisting it an answer to a question Leena hadn’t asked.

Meanwhile, Solas lay awake in his own tent. Sleep did not often elude him, but when it did there was good reason. He had not expected this. He had not expected to play more than a fleeting game of satisfaction with the woman; his own reaction startled him and the anger from the moment was very real in his mind still.  It was easy to lust, lure, capture. But love? No, love would make her somehow like him and that changed everything. She was somehow brighter, vibrant. Clear. Her feelings spoke to him and his heart responded, in time. It would complicate things for him later if he pushed further into this but at this point, could he help himself? Solas always lacked a certain measure of discipline when passions became involved. He caved easily to those who’s ernest feelings begged favor. Women who wanted love, children who wanted to play, and all who wanted freedom. He gave pieces of himself openly, and somehow never scraped the bottom. No, he grew each time. His heart swelled when he imagined her face smiling in laughing. Leena, lovely, lover, very real Leena.  He could feel her still very awake and not at all near the Fade.

Leena mulled further, considering still the option she’d now let pass over an hour ago when Cassandra laid her head to rest. Beyond their difference in perspective, perhaps it was also selfish to ask Cassandra to put up with Varric any more than necessary. The man stood her hair on end. She and Solas had taken to riding between them at times to split the tension. On some level, Leena expected Cassandra knew somehow he was contacting Hawke and Fenris from the leering Varric received every time he lifted a pen.

Watching them fight was a bit like watching an old married couple pickle incessantly at each other, past the point of caring what the other thought of their criticism. Their squabbles made the long trip back to Haven interesting considering they managed to fight over even the most banal minutia. Is the wind from the North or is it more Westerly? Neither!

“It’s diverted by the trees, it’s from the East.” According to Cassandra.

“Just lick your fucking finger and wave it in the air, Seeker.”

“I fail to see what this has to do with where we set up camp.” Leena would be glad tomorrow, when they returned to Haven, to have even one day’s break and personal space. Or rather, to choose who’s space she shared.

The next morning, they left early. Haven was half a day away and they arrived to Leliana waiting at the gate.  “Meeting. War room. Now.”

Chapter Text

“The Templars and the Mages are not the only lingering presence in Val Royeaux, Herald,” Leliana passed a missive towards Leena, “There has been… an unusual presence. Researchers out of the University of Orlais have also gone missing, without a whisper. Disappearing right out of their offices midday. Their offices are all ransacked, and precious research material and books are all missing.”

“Is there some kind of… link? Tying them all together I mean. Like a shared interest?” Leena scanned over the scout’s report.

“They were all scholars on early Tevinter and Elvhen culture. Many of them were actively researching related projects. This is not all though. I have received word from my spies in other Universities and they have repeated odd happenings as well, though no disappearances.”

“What kind of odd happenings?” Leena’s eyebrows raised.

“Well, normally sharp professors are seeming somehow… daft. Walking around bumbling, forgetting their research or even losing interest in teaching. Addled, if you will.”

“Are we sure they aren’t just getting old and insane? Have you met the people who study ancient Tevinter?” Cullen scoffed.

“I am quite sure this is beyond what is normal for old age, though, yes, many of them are quite up there in years. But there is a pattern that is developing. Someone is trying undermine the universities for an unknown reason.” Leliana sighed and leaned against the wall. “My agents are doing their best to find any clues of who is behind it, but despite the widespread reports no one has caught the offenders in the act.”

“But how would they even addle their brains? And why are some just disappearing?” Josephine took the missive from Leena’s hands.

“Magic, of course. What else? Are we sure it is not the mages?” Cullen paced thoughtfully.

“What would the mages want with some dusty old tomes and old men when they’re barely able to keep  their group from turning completely savage?” Cassandra finally raised her voice, “At any rate, we will need to leave for Val Royeaux soon. We cannot sort this out just by talking.”

“What would they want, indeed. I have ideas, but no clear lead.” Leliana’s eyes darkened.

“I am with you on making a move, Cassandra. The guard will be ready to leave at first light.” Cullen met Leena’s eyes softly, “I am sorry you are not getting much of a break.”

“Ah, no, I quite understand. If that’s all there is, I need to prepare and repack. Maybe enjoy an hour or so to myself.” Leena smiled then nodded, excusing herself from the room.

Back in her cabin, Leena made quick work of tearing apart her field pack. While they were gone, the cabin had been rearranged in an attempt to organize a rather disorganized occupant— Leena was not the best housekeeper. She had books and papers and clothes strewn across the floor when she left, and had no real organization to speak of with her clothes or armor. As she got to the floor and looked under her bed, frustratedly looking for her more presentable pair of leather leggings, she felt her pants split. Right down the seam of her ass.

Did she gain weight? Momentarily surprised, she froze, then a steady laugh rose from her chest.  Now that she thought about it, all her clothes felt tight. And her pants were gaping slightly at the bottom. A growth spurt? Absolutely ridiculous. Leena stripped and slipped into her loosest pants, which now fit like a glove. Nearly a whole size difference! She ran her hands over her breasts, now free from the snug band, and stood before the small mirror. Before she’d left for the Hinterlands, her small chest stood straight out, barely a handful. They were heavier, slightly turned down, but not what she’d consider large by any means.

Solas’ door swung open. He looked up from his book, eyebrows raising. A slightly confused looking Leena huffed in and shut the door, her button down shirt halfway undone. “Yes?”

She said nothing, then finished unbuttoning her shirt before squeezing her own breasts emphatically, “They got bigger! And I split my pants earlier, the tight patchy green ones? When I bent over.”

“….Ah.” He was at a loss for words. “Have you tried… larger pants?”

“I’m taller!”  Leena waggled her arms around wildly, oscillating between Common and Elvhen. “Was I taller yesterday? Stand up! My nose…” She stepped closer and then pulled him to his feet, “Should hit here!” Leena jabbed him playfully in the clavicle. Her nose now cleared his shoulder.  “I can see over your shoulder so easy! Wow, yeah.”

“It is not unusual to have growth spurts into your early to mid twenties, lethallan. Longer even for some.” He kissed her cheek, buttoning up her shirt, “You’ll catch cold like that, I have not properly stoked the fire in some time.”

“But so quickly?” She grinned, teetering back and forth on her feet as Solas tended his dying embers.

“Yes, that is… a bit odd, but you’ve eaten ravenously for as long as I’ve witnessed, which would make sense. And you are a mage, so it is natural your body bend the ‘rules’ a bit. Not that there need be any.”

“Hm, I suppose that makes sense. Maybe I’ll be able to reach the top shelves in the library soon…” she  quipped before turning the topic to more serious matters. She fell back on Solas’ bed before sharing the War Room meeting with him.

“Obviously this is either the work of the party responsible for the Breech, or…. someone also attempting to foil them.”

Her ears perked and she tucked a pillow underneath her chin, “Someone else foiling….? What would… what would they want with a bunch of old men and books? You know, you’re probably right. I get the feeling you are right, at least.”

“Think, Leena. Is knowledge not the most valuable of weapons?” He had turned to face her, legs lazily crossed and arm leaning on the oak desk.

“You sound like Leliana. She seems to have some idea, but she hesitated to say what.”  The entire plot made her uneasy. The feeling tore at her, grew into a tense hand, tugging at the corner of her thoughts.

“No, she would say if she really knew. The amount of information missing is a disguise to cover what they actually were looking for and since the staff cannot remember or make heads or tales of the situation, there is no authority to seek either.”

“The thieves took everything not out of necessity but as a cover… smart.” She sat up abruptly, “Solas, did you ever find that researcher who passed through Haven? Have a nice chat?”

They connected, “Ah, wonderful. Yes. He was gone when we returned, I was going to return the books he lent me.”

Solas rose to his feet and swiftly procured a book from his pack, before sliding two more off the neat bookshelf and handing the three books to Leena.

 

Legendary Beasts from Before the Blight by  R. Vaillant & A. Liddles

Elvhen History, Bought & Sold by R. Vaillant & A. Liddles, with foreword by J. Didier

What Tevinter Remembers, What the Elves Taught  by R. Vaillant & A. Liddles, & J. Didier

“Which one was the man?” She flipped to the back of the book, peering at his oddly comforting, beardly face. Two dark eyes, framed in wrinkles, smiled at her from author’s page. The drawing was a finely detailed rendering, so fine she imagined it would be quite easy to pick the man from a crowd of other bearded men with wrinkly faces.

“Richard Vaillant. The other two were more assistants than writers. He pinned the book, but they did the legwork. He used to join them, but he is an old man now so traveling off the beaten path is difficult.”

“It was kind of him to include them, then.” She smiled, “He must be a kind man.”

“He was, and yes, it was a king gesture. It is my understanding that his assistant researchers are elves, even, which is… unheard of for an Orlesian scholar. Or any human scholar.” Solas’ voice softened, a slight sadness caught in the undertones, “I should like to speak with him again. He promised he would still be here when I returned, as he had a few books of mine.”

“Hopefully Richard Vaillant did not meet the same fate as his colleagues.”

“Yes, let’s hope.” Solas tilted her chin up, and leaned to capture her mouth in a gentle kiss.

The next morning Leena sat anxiously in her saddle, shifting her weight impatiently as she watched Cullen organize the guard with some tactful yelling. Traveling with an additional 20 heads would feel crowded compared to their month in the Hinterlands, where save for an occasional agent, it had been the four of them.

It also moved considerably slower. Leena’s stomach lurched and she pulled a hunk of jerky from her pack, causing Varric to laugh, “Didn’t you just put back a huge plate of bacon and potatoes, Princess?”

“I’m a growing girl! These are new, baggy pants. I need to fill them by the time we get back, Varric.” She gnawed shamelessly.

“I cannot believe it.” Cassandra sighed, “The fate of all of Thedas depends on…an unmanaged adolescent.” She chose her words carefully.

“Seeker, elves can grow much longer than humans.” Solas snipped at Cassandra and passed Leena an apple.

“Solas is just in denial, afraid he’s fu—”

“Varric, I see where you’re going with that and it is completely unacceptable and inappropriate.”  Solas cut Varric off, agitated tone silencing the Dwarf.

Leena grinned, slipping into a teasing tone, “Oh, hah’ren, teach me tonight how my growing body is changing…there are all these new feelings! And sensation!”

Varric laughed, “No idea what she just said, but judging by the color of Solas’ ears and the scowl on his face…nice one, Leena.”

Solas’ horse pulled closely to Leena’s, voice lacking the teasing tone hers held and mouth quirked into  predatory grin, “I’ll teach you as much as you wish, da’len. Would you prefer my hands, mouth, or something…else?”

It was her turn to blush furiously. Varric’s hearty laugh caused the back row of solders to turn slightly in a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “Oh, Maker, Elvhen flirting, too good… ah. Leena, you’ll have to translate later. I need some good dialog for this romance serial I’m trying my hand at… not really coming as natural to me as it does you two.”

“No!” She snapped, still bright red, voice dropping. “It’s… not for you.” She bit her lip with a wicked twist and turned to Solas, “I’ll try ‘something else’ then…”

Heat surged to his groin and he was thankful for the thick padding obscuring his reaction, “Ah, I am always happy to teach such a good student…”

Leena giggled girlishly, cheeks still pink. She pulled her horse astride with Cassandra and wiggled her butt at him playfully.  Cassandra cleared her throat, trying to act surprised, “You? Are writing a romance serial? It hardly seems your… expertise.”

“It’s not. Thought I’d give it a shot, though. Gotta try new things, clear out the cobwebs…”

“Varric, you never told me about Bianca. I mean she obviously meant something to you if you named your most prized possession after her.” Leena pelted the back of Varric’s head with an apple core.

“Nope, like you said… not for you.” He patted Bianca lovingly. “So, Seeker, what are we dealing with first?”

“We will address the Chantry when we arrive, unless the scouts have found a more pressing issue. We still have another two and half a days of travel so it is completely possible the situation will change in as much time. We are lucky this time to travel along the highway since there will be less rough terrain. ”

“And inns?” A note of hope rose in Varric’s voice.

“Yes, Varric, but we cannot afford such a luxury every night, given the number of heads we have….in the least we four and perhaps Cullen can stay the night we arrive.”

“Seeker, you might find it difficult to find an inn willing to accept non-human occupants the closer we travel to Val Royeaux.” Solas finally spoke for the first time in hours. He had been lost in Legendary Beasts from Before the Blight, carefully tearing through chapter after chapter.

“True. Well then, we should stay outside of the city center. Perhaps Leliana’s team will know of a place.”

And they did. It was a full morning outside the city, but Les Jardins d'Ombre accepted Elves, Dwarves, and Humans alike with no questions asked. Sure, it was a bit dated and the lobby had a musty floral scent, but the rooms were clean and comfortable. A nimble, aged man had greeted them at the check in desk. Well, nook. Desk was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a small, fancy side table with a pile of papers next to an inordinately large and squishy sofa chair. He practically drowned in the chair, lap wrapped snuggly in a knitted afghan. His twinkling eyes peered up at the five of them, “Bienvenue! Greetings, Travelers! Of what assistance may I be?”

“We are in need of loggings for the night.” Cullen went straight to the point. “We have five. Doubles are fine.”

“Let’s see, let’s see!” The short but spry old man disappeared into another room, quickly returning with three sets of keys. “Two doubles and a single?” His eyes sparkle, handing one key to Cassandra, one to Cullen, and one to Leena. “The keys are marked…S for single of course. D for double.”

“And why did you hand me the single?” Cullen looked into the palm of his hand.

“Isn’t it obvious? Double…” he motioned to Leena and Solas, “…Double…” then Cassandra and Varric, “and Single!” he smiled and beamed back at Cullen, waggling his finger. “Though, I hear the Tavern down the block might be able to fix that… for a price.”

Cassandra and Cullen, both flustered, immediately object loudly at the old man’s implications, while Leena, Solas, and Varric burst into laughter. “Cassandra, why don’t you take the single? Solas and I will share and then Cullen and Varric can suffer together.”

The old man motioned to the stairwell. Once they settled into their comfortable lodgings, Leena sought out the women’s bathing room. She ambled down the dark hallway, wooden flooring groaning under her bare feet. As she walked passed a closed door, a cool, crystalline breeze rolled out and crept slowly up her ankle, causing her to stop in place. Magic, a familiar one? She stilled and listened carefully for any sign of the occupant. Footsteps, soft. A glass being set down on something. A drawer opening. She should move on, but she didn’t.

Something in her begged her to knock, so she did.

Chapter Text

“Hello?” Leena’s soft voice reached out. The feet behind the door stilled before moving forward; a hand could be heard unhooking the door lock and twisting the bolt. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest.

“Yes? How may I help you, da’len.” A tall, lithe elven man with greyed hair pulled back into a tight ponytail gracefully opened the heavy door without as much as a squeak from the hinges. The only sound was the soft brush of his heavy, simple outer robes against the floor— muddy brown but clean and well kept. His piercing green eyes met her own curious clear-blue crystals with appraisal; a soft smile followed the soft wrinkle of his face.

“Ir Abelas, hah’ren…I don’t know why I bothered you.” Leena ducked her head in apology and shuffled her feet hesitantly.

“It seems I cannot hide from you,” the man laughed, bemused, placing a familiar hand on her shoulder, “No matter, I am glad to see you. It has been some time, yes? Do come in— I am not so busy that I should turn away a familiar face.”

“Excuse me, but, I know you? Ir abelas, some things have changed and I have…. I cannot remember…” Leena’s thought trailed off, as did her voice. The man was certainly no stranger to her despite no memory of him existing.

His face grew worrisome, “Alas, you too? Oh no, whoever is doing this is really something if you of all people… alright, come in and I will explain as much as I myself know, da’len.”

She stepped into the room and the older elf closed the door softly. On the table sat a small hand mirror emitting cold, icy pulses of energy. “Ah, the record glass…I was reviewing some images from the field. The vandals did not get this much, no, they did not. First, a seat my dear.”

Leena nodded and sat in the pulled out chair across from the elf. The small wooden table, seated by the window overlooking the shady rose garden, had collected some of the frost from the glass. “Can I know your name?”

“Ah! How rude, pleasure. I am Professor Virlas, most recently on sabbatical from my new position at the University of Rivaini to work with the professors of anthropology at the University of Orlais. Or, rather, I was en route to do so. Until all this mess started. And what are you calling yourself as of late?”

She hesitated then provided her name, “Leena.”

“Ah, lovely.  Last time it was… no, do you want to know?”

She paused and bit her lip, “Do I change names often?”

“Yes.” he laughed, pouring her a glass. “At your own insistence. A folly of your youth.”

“Then there’s no harm in it? I should like to know.”

“Sora, and before that, Harea, and before that, I think… Fenora? Or just Nora. I could ask Richard, but I fear what contacting him about you might lead to. To the University you were someone else entirely. I think you enjoyed messing with them— drove Richard batty, but you’ve known him since you were a child and you’re still a young thing so he forgave you. No matter, you are here now, more or less, and grown into a lovely young woman.” His eyes dropped to her hand, which he immediately reached for, “Is that? Oh my… what trouble have you gotten into now. I had heard of such thing, but not realized. What a twist of fate, the whole of Val Royeaux is speaking of you Herald of Andraste.”

“Yes, they say that, but I still don’t really understand what’s going on…I do not know what happened and I think the whole idea I’m sent by some bride of the Maker is ridiculous. Anyway, please, do continue…” she was becoming increasingly frustrated. Was he to be trusted? Leena wanted to trust him— her gut said he was trustworthy. Still, she wished she’d brought along anyone, but especially Solas.

“Alright, it is like this. I am not in the same field, my research is quite different and more of after what you and the professors were involved in, but it is related so we are friends. I am not sure what exactly has been lost, which is why I suspect I might have not been affected by this… purge of thought. All of you were researching the same era, at least, pre-modern Thedas and most recently Elves. You and Professor Vaillant were working together, as you had been for some time, but you always simply shared your own adventures with him. Adventures he financed, and sometimes directed when you’d listen. Do you follow?”

“Yes, I think so…”

“Good, so we may continue. You did not exactly work for the man, but you were initially a wild child that charmed him and his response was to throw money and ideas at you to see what happened. He is missing right now in his own right, as he went to look for you on the border, where you had sent word of something you found curious. I fear he’s already been apprehended— he was the only in the department out of the city when the shadow swept. I am not sure if he is aware of what is going on here either.”

“So, I did what exactly? Resarch?”

“Oh, well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Professor Richard Vaillant is not an elf, thus he has trouble wrestling the information from ones who’d have it. You were… a more persuasive experiment on his part after his own attempts failed. Perhaps from an alienage? Dalish? Not sure myself. Most of the professors had this method if they were serious about their research, though Richard is the only one to admit it and give credit where credit is due.”

He paused, eyes lingering on her face, “Though, this vallas'lin you bear now… is new. An odd choice, when you’d been critical before and, I quote, ‘thought it looked like a child writing its name on a favorite toy so its sibling wouldn’t play with it.’  But I digress… So no and yes. He would get wind of a place, give you a sack full of gold, and wave you off into the woods. You’d return or send word of your findings with sketches or using a record glass and he’d draw his conclusions, to which you’d colorfully respond with your snarky opinion. I don’t know much beyond that, as I’ve only met you a handful of times, but I have read your work. It’s… colorful. Not very Chantry friendly, but like you ever cared. Richard always toned it down for you.”

“I have work?” Her eyes brightened, “Do you have any I can read?”

“No, no, I do not… and, what might remain is either with Richard or has been confiscated, or destroyed. Whatever you and he had been researching has lit someone’s feathers and they seek to keep it quiet for whatever reasons. Their memory loss is not so complete as yours, as you seem to have completely lost you sense of self. Not to mention, considering the time line….this is all very recent here in Val Royeaux.”

“I’ve been like this for almost three months. Well before… any of this, I am guessing.” 

“Yes, you were the first then, and perhaps the key. Whatever you wrote to Richard to send him in such a hurry to find you is surely related. Find him, and hope he still can explain why.”

“Who? Who do you think would do such a thing or be interested in such a specific topic? Do you think it’s related to what’s happened at the Conclave?”

“I am not so sure I understand what has happened there, but it is not out of the question. Since none of the professors were killed I find it also easy to presume it is unrelated to the mage and Templar debacle. Or there are many hands in it, at least. The kind of magic used to addle someones’ brains like that is highly unusual and not a well known task. Most of the time it’s either all or nothing, like your case. Odd yet again. That no one was caught, or even clues left, tells me this is more than professional. This is a level of magic I would not imagine any circle mage understanding, which leaves Tevinter or other.” 

He hummed and waved a hand over the record glass, causing a projection to float and cycle. In it, a hooded figure knelt at an alter surrounded by intricate carvings and depictions. In the shadows were out-of-focus figures standing as motionless as statues. The figure at the alter waved its hand and lit veilfire orbs before bowing completely. On the alter was the figure of a woman entwined gracefully with a tree. “Richard sent me this, actually. Whether it is you or your male counterpart JosaI know not. It is one of the many alters to Mythal scattered across Thedas. I am not sure why he sent this— my research has to do with the after though, as in, what became of such places.”

“What a curious device. Is it an artifact? It’s quite old looking, and I’ve not seen anything like it.”

He smiled warmly, “Yes, and no. It is based on one, but it is a replica…still about 100 years old, though. Tevinter. I imagine the original Elvhen were more clear, and reliable. The Dwarves have something similar, so who knows who thought of it first. Their records are out of reach, and despite the academic efforts Orzammar is hard to negotiate. Using this one takes some finesse as the charm on it is failing a bit, and, despite having a bit of magic myself I do not know how to repair it correctly so I just will enjoy it as long as it holds. Richard said he got this one from an Antivan dealer, but who knows where the dealer came across it… pillaged, probably.” He tutted his tongue.

“Do you mind if you explain some of this to my companions? They are also curious. We are trying to figure out this business with the University as well.”

“Ah, agents of the Inquisition? They are with you, yes?”

“Yes, and I’ve been here for some time so I’m sure they’re worried.” She scooted her chair back, “Will you be here for a bit?”

“Yes, I have no plans to leave this place today. I am a bit under the weather, actually. It was a long and uncomfortable journey from Rivain, and it is much less welcoming here thus I find myself in this Inn, though it has a wonderful reputation despite its dogged appearance in places.”

Leena rose from her chair, “Ah, I will be back then.”

She left the room, closing the door tightly behind her until it clicked. Mind swimming, her feet carried her swiftly back to her and Solas’ room, where he was reclining on his bed, book in hand. “Leena? You’ve been gone the best of an hour, Seeker Cassandra was in here looking for you moments ago. I did not sense you in danger, though.” He noticed the complex, heavy look on her face, and closed the distance between them, hand comfortingly squeezing her shoulder, “Was I wrong? what is the matter?”

“I— Well, I met someone you should meet. Perhaps Cassandra, too, but it’s about— well, it’s about me. Or past me. Someone recognized me, Solas. I’m tied up in this… University business… more than I realized. The man was a professor, an elf.”  Leena launched into everything Professor Virlas had shared with her, down to the invitation to the other Inquisition agents to visit him in his room.

He stood in silence, eyes unblinking. This raised as many questions as it answered. “Yes, I should like to meet this person.”

She took his hand and lead him down to the door, knocking again. Silence. Opening the door again, she called out, “Professor Virlas?”

He was laying down on his bed, unmoving. His only response was a faint groan.

“Professor!” She went to his side, shaking him, “Professor? What is wrong, you were fine one moment ago? Solas, he said he was feeling ill before I left, but not like this…”

Solas rushed over, gently nudging Leena out of the way and raising a healing hand to his forehead, “A fever? He is nearly unconscious, but not asleep.”

The Professor’s eyes fluttered— the orbs underneath distant. “This is… “ Solas’ own expression changed, “No, you cannot forget.” A burst of mana pulsed and the Professor’s body jumped slightly at the shock.

“Oh…da’len, I needed to lay down, so sorry… I seem to have forgotten why.” He rubbed his forehead, “Is this your friend? Ah, pardon me.”

“Ah, I am Solas. I am glad you are alright. It was a slow moving spell— a curse, even. One I have not seen practiced for many years, centuries even… reduced to a whisper in the Fade.” Solas’ expression still serious, he helped the old elf sit up, “You have been feeling ill? More forgetful?”

“Yes, I…I have. But I feel better now— whatever you did, it stopped. I feel clearer than I’ve felt in days. 'Ma Serannas, lethal'lin”

“Sathem lasa halani. I am surprised you’ve held out so long, I imagine the spell was cast a good time ago.” The other affected parties had, save for Leena, been human, and possessed no magic. Elvhen blood was strong, even this far removed from his People, the spell would behave differently than in a human, for it was an elvhen spell. The one here was weaker— much weaker than what had to have been used on Leena, which purged her completely of her sense of self.

“Ah, so I did not come away unscathed. I had thought myself lucky.” Professor Virlas smile sadly, sighing, “I am glad you came when you did, then, and it explains quite a bit about… all of this.”

“Yes. Leena, Cassandra should be downstairs with Varric. I will keep the Professor company if you’d retrieve them? Best not have this repeated more than necessary.”

“Of course.” She disappeared again though the door, leaving Solas and the Professor alone.

“May I see the glass?” He rose to his feet and strode to the table where it lay.

“Yes, by all means. Do you know ho— oh, you do know how to use it.” The old man smiled, pleased, “What a well spoken and smart man, ah, I am glad she is in the company of such.”

He stroked the edge of the gilded frame, a fair but laughable replica of what his People had created, and the memory played. The hooded figure lit the orbs— part of the ceremony before prayer to ask blessings— then carefully and perfectly made motion with her hands. Female of course. Yes, this was Leena. A man would have not prayed here, and this particular shrine of Mythal only allowed access to women. She was dressed appropriately, hooded in white silken robes. If they had approached, the figures disguised as statues would have sprung to life. Sentinels. “Normally women prayed here after a pilgrimage, to bless and purify their bodies before becoming a vessel. Most who completed the journey were either newly engaged or newly married women, nearly always virginal. After praying they bathed in the shrine’s pool, which you cannot see in this recording, but it is there.”

“Ah, you’re familiar with this place? I had been wondering… so, that would be Leena. Vessel? Pregnancy?”

“You can learn many things in the Fade. The journey to the shrine itself was commonly called ‘i'var'linemah’ara’  And yes, normally it is associated with pregnancy, though it had other implications as well. I suppose that is the one not lost to time.” He smiled sadly, “Though it is interesting she should be there on… research. I am quite curious what they were working on if it brought her there.”

“The journey before pregnancy?” He quirked an eyebrow. “It must be related to her work with Professor Vaillant. She would not consider such a thing at the time and this recording is at least a year old. She’s not even twenty here, I do believe, and unattached, uninterested in much beyond forays in the forest, even…”

“Here the intent of the word is not merely pregnancy, but any vassal state. In fact, she fits the demographic quite well as far as who would enter this place. Professor Vaillant probably knew that upon sending her, or he wouldn’t have put her in danger. If she was there to investigate the site, failure to follow the ceremony or even just raising suspicion might end her life, so it is very shrewd of her to follow.”  Shrewd indeed. “She is no stranger to these places.”

“Oh, I’d imagine not.” Virlas’ eyes drifted to the door. The handle turned and Cassandra, Varric, Cullen, and Leena followed. “I wasn’t expecting a party! Forgive me if I am not a good host, I was not expecting so many…” He chuckled as Leena smiled and locked the door behind them.

“So sorry Professor, please let us know if this is a bad time. Let me introduce Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Commander Cullen Rutherford, and… Varric Tethras.” She motioned to her teammates.

“Pleasure to meet you! Ah, Ser Tethras, of Tale of the Champion fame? I should like to ask you some questions myself!”

He grinned, “One and only, and I’d love to answer.”

Cassandra cleared her throat, “That is not why we are here.”

“Sorry to intrude, Professor, but we’ve been informed by Leena here you’ve information regarding herself and the nature of these attacks on the University of Orlais staff.” Cullen cut to point, hands clasped behind his back and stance firm.

“Yes, ah… I’ve told much to Leena here. I will tell again he best I can. I was not expecting what I know to be important, but, apparently I am a bad judge.” He took breath, cleared his throat, and retold all he could to the now crowded room.

Chapter Text

Cullen was the first to speak, “Whatever the aggressors are hiding, why was it of such interest to these professors? Is it some sort of weapon? Powerful relic?”

“A fair question, Commander. I can only understand from an academic standpoint their motivation— I cannot imagine it would extend beyond curiosity and the pursuit of knowledge, knowing these men and women. As far as what it is, it could be anything. Professor Vaillant was particularly interested in studying ancient animal husbandry as of late, so I can’t imagine it be something militant. Though, knowing what surprises we’ve encountered before, I cannot dismiss it.” Virlas sighed, pouring water into a glass from a decanter and taking a long drink.

“It is not them, but who’s hands the information could fall into.” Solas’ held his own chin in his hand, other arm cross his chest, “The information, even exploited for educational purposes, is still information not meant to be shared. They cover it because it is their job to protect it from anyone who should not have it.”

Solas was quite sure he understood who but could not in good conscious betray such information without a good reason. As far as he could tell, the Sentinels responsible were doing so justly. There was no mistaking the mark of their work: perfect secrecy and swift and without a trace. The magic they used was old, elvhen, and traceless. It did not go against the Inquisitions’ work— if anything they were aiding them. Whatever his lethal'len were so intent hiding should stay hidden. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to convince them to drop it without them expecting duplicity or arising suspicion as to why, especially since their Herald’s own identity was wrapped up in the mess.

“Well shouldn’t we find who should have it then?” Varric leaned on the window frame, peering down as the residents of the street moved beyond the gates of the inn, going about their day.

“Where do we even begin with something like this? I am apparently involved, but I have no recollection. Solas, do you think the same spell you disarmed on Professor Virlas was used on me?” Leena’s light, questioning voice rustled his thoughts back to the heavy air of the room as he paced.

“It is possible, though I should think what was used on you was much more intense and instantaneous. Also, there was no trace of such spell on your person. I would have noticed such tinkering as it leaves a certain shape behind for a long period, though with no trace to the caster. No, no, you were first. Possibly more intimately involved than the other victims considering your primary role was fieldwork. Which makes me wonder…” His mind flew away again. If the Sentinels were responsible, the possibility existed she was aware and even agreed to what happened to her. That they had let her close enough implied alliance. Whoever had gotten to Leena was either separate, or Leena herself had betrayed their trust. No— Sentinels would have just killed her if she were a great threat. “…why keep you alive? Why keep any of these researchers alive? Whoever is responsible surely has the means to kill.”

“Fascinating,” The professor rose to his feet, “Yes, it would be much easier to kill us all. This seems extravagant?”

“They could have some later use,” Cassandra offered, “Whoever left them alive needs them alive. Killing is easy, mind control is not.”

“Perhaps, could this be temporary?” Leena hadn’t remembered anything since waking in the forest, but she had felt things familiar. She still remembered language, a great deal of obscure information, and was a quick study as far as magic. What she lost was largely personal— who she was.

“Yes… and no. We would need to determine what spell was used on the other victims.” Solas sighed, “It might be too late.”

“Professor, what are you going to do now?” Cassandra crossed her arms and focused her gaze on the old elf.

“Ah, it is not safe for me to say here. I had tried to reach out to a friend, but no reply yet. I am booked here till the end of the week.”

“You are welcome to return with us to Haven. I am sure our Spymaster would like to speak with you.”

“The Inquisition, you say? Yes, perhaps for a time.” His eyes twinkled, “Could prove interesting, and I might be of some use.”

“Perhaps. We will speak again after we return tomorrow.” She made her way for the door, “Till then.”

The rest of the team bid adieu followed her back to Leena and Solas’ room, which had a sitting area adjacent to the sleeping quarters. She rifled through a bag, looking for a quill set. “This is…” She sat, chair loudly scraping across the floor as she pulled it, “Very convenient. Certainly an interesting coincidence.”

“Something weird about that one. Don’t know too many old elves working for universities…” Varric finally spoke, falling back onto a couch and pulling Bianca into his lap.  “It’s not that I think he’s lying, but…”

“It is possible he is confused. Or does not know he is being manipulated.” Solas sat beside Varric, eyes falling to Leena who was standing by a circular window and watching the city dwellers move on the street below.

“Which is why I invited him to Haven. I would prefer to keep a watch on the man.” Cassandra dipped her quill in ink. “I do not trust him.”

“Running theme Seeker: you don’t trust anyone.” Varric scoffed.  “But you’re right. Shit’s getting thick, shit’s getting weird.”

“How did you you say you knew he was there, ‘ma’lath?”

“I didn’t. I just had an odd, prickly feeling, and the room felt cold and odd and I sensed magic so I knocked.”

He chuckled, “Ah, prickly feelings, of course.”

“Princess, if you’re gonna bust into every door you sense weird magic from it’s gonna be hard to keep you alive.”

“I didn’t burst Varric. I knocked. Politely.”

“Still, maybe take someone with you before you go rasping on magical stranger’s doors?”

“Agreed.” Both Solas and Cassandra chimed in unison.

“Well, we will have to table it for now. We must send word to Leliana of what we have found, but we need to focus on the Mages and Templars’ tension in the city as well as our plan to reason with the Chantry. Tomorrow we will approach the Chantry— they are leading some sort of event in the city center.” Cullen clicked his tongue, “It would be wise to stick close, guard the Herald. We now have three agitated parties in close proximity.”

Leena looked to Cullen, “Will you also join us?”

He furrowed his brow, stern eyes meeting her soft, questioning ones. The waining afternoon light filtered through the window, playing off the pale curl of her hair and illuminating the feminine curve of her lips. The front of her blouse, soft and delicate, gently strained around her bust and tightened around her flexed, crossed arms. He was seeing her for the first time, every time. Cullen’s tension softened considerably when he spoke with her, be it a war meetings, in the training fields, or the rare occasion she sought him out for input or company. Maker, don’t look at me like that.

He cleared his throat and adjusted the waist of his breeches, “I was planning on it, yes.”

“Alright.” Flashing a wavering smile, Leena turned back to the window.

Another strawberry popped past her lips and Leena sighed, glancing coyly at the apostate deep in thought next to her. His brow was furrowed, eyes closed, hands tucked under his chin as he sat in the plush chair overlooking the garden in their shared room. Solas was preoccupied, and not the manner in which she wished him to be preoccupied. He’d been sitting, unmoving and silent, for at least half an hour. She thought to speak, but decided against it. A lot had happened in the last few hours and he probably wished to think on it? She could do the same, but thinking wasn’t the most fantastic use of their private suite. Her conscious chided her, ‘You practically stumbled upon your own trail today and all you can think of is this lusty preoccupation?’

She didn’t need to speak to garner his attention, however, for Solas could feel her curious gaze, and hear the obscene sound of her lips sucking on sugared strawberries distracting him from the sanctuary of his thoughts. His eyes flashed open and a smile met her gaze, “And what do you think this development, Leena?”

She nodded, “It’s shit.”

Solas barked out a laugh, “Is that all?”

“Well, no, but we can’t let it be a distraction when the validity of all… this… can’t even be assured. Honestly, I think I liked it better unexplained. There was a certain freedom to it.”

“Mmm, yes,” his eyes raked over her red stained lips, “A distraction,” he plucked a strawberry from the glass dish on the side table between their chairs, “Is an interesting way to frame it.”

“Oh, you disagree?” She watched his lips lick the sugar coating the outside of the strawberry before devouring the red bulb in a single, graceful movement.

“I wouldn’t call it a distraction, Leena. It is essential we understand who you are and what happened, though I do agree the more pressing matter is the other two parties in this city, who likely seek yours and the Inquisition’s ruin. Also,” he licked the sugar off his lips, eyes meeting hers, his voice dropping to a rich lull,  “We all have a past, ‘ma’lath, it does not do you a great service to stick your head in the sand and ignore it. Best to grab it and face it— own it.”

“Always with the words, tisk,”  Leena felt a bolt, then leaned in and licked the corner of his lips, “Missed a spot, hah’ren.”

He murmured against her lips, capturing and rolling the bottom in his teeth, “Oh? Missed what now?”

Leena sighed happily as his hand snaked around her neck, urging her to move closer. She felt is tug a and complied, shifting her body out of her own chair and pulling herself closer. A strong arm encircled her waist, pulling her gently between his legs to sit in his lap, other hand moving to cup her face gently as their red lips and tart tongues danced playfully. Leaning her body against his chest, she tested him, grinding her ass abruptly into his groin. Solas groaned into her mouth, hot breath huffing from his nostrils as she felt him unmistakably harden against her rear. Only a thin, cotton night slip and his tightening linen breeches stood between their unmistakably aroused sexes. Leena whimpered and writhed against him, her need for friction and complete lack of shame overrunning her higher executive functions. Tearing from his mouth, she trailed a devilish tongue along his jaw to the soft lobe of his ear, sucking and flicking between her teeth. She was more than a touch aggressive, hands sliding under his tunic and feeling the hard-earned lines of his chest.

His hand gently pulled her face to meet his, eyes locking, “You’re quite… vigorous tonight. Is this what you want?”

She grinned a devious grin and pinched his nipple playfully, rocking her clothed cunt against his groin.

“Ah, you play with fire, Leena” he chuckled, the growled, capturing her lips again for a heated kiss then breaking apart again and voice slipping into heated, lyrical elvhen, “I am not sure I will be able to resist taking you tonight, ‘ara’lan, I would not play games about such things. I would take you in ernest.”

The heat of his words roused a deep flush across her face and spilled down her clavicle, “Sathan, I… want you to, It’s all I can think of, even with so much else…. I feel like I’m going mad.”

His hand slipped below her shift, finger lightly tracing the seam of her sex through the delicate fabric of her smalls causing her to jolt and plead, “Mmm, if you’re mad, I must be even madder.”

He had stopped trying to justify his unhealthy obsession with such a distraction. He’d thought age and wisdom could deter the fire she stoked, but instead it grew into an unhealthy roar. Perhaps giving in would give him some semblance of control again. If all she wanted was sex, he was happy to give it. His heart ached at the thought—she could be more— and he drowned it in his lust. He did love her, but how? He loved many in his years, and all of them with sincerity, but none of them with a unquenchable fervor that absolved his duty. It was best to hand her the reins first, and see how far her feelings grew, before guarding both their hearts from the inevitable. A flash of heat, a dalliance. Best to give the girl what keeps her grounded— affection, lust. She was alone, desperately alone in her thoughts, and that loneliness drove her to seek him. He felt for her.  Leena had reached out so earnestly; how quickly she was drawn to him. He barely had a breath to decide what normally he spent years, decades mulling over. But she could not succeed in her own duty if swallowed by lust for companionship, love, and closeness. His answer was easy.

At times, Love was duty. 

Lust, pure lust filled her eyes as his index finger curved and slipped under her panties, rubbing her swollen shield in the small, circular motions he knew elicited sweet, succulent gasps at each beat of his rhythm. He licked the shell of her ear, “Into my bed, Leena, or I shall have you in this chair.”

“Chair, bed, table, fuck I don’t care…sathan, sathan…” She babbled lucidly, pleading while moving her hips against him, slick coating his fingers and her smalls.  Her body shook and he lost patients, hoisting her by her ass from his lap and striding to his bed, sliding her nightclothes over her head as he laid her down on her back. In what felt like seconds, one fluid movement removed her smalls and she was completely bare before him, breath hurried and eyes full in a mix of need and anticipation.

Slow hands traced the path from her lips to her engorged sex, pushing her legs apart as he leaned over her, still fully clothed. “Shall I have you spread apart, on your knees? Pushed against you from behind on your side, leg wrenched open? Which would please you for your first time?”

Opening her mouth, she choked on her response, voice instead coming as a needy whine.

“Indisposed so quickly? Perhaps it is best I decide.”  He rose again to his feet, tunic quickly falling to the floor. He unlaced his straining pants and let them drop at his feet, the sight of his naked body and dark erection drawing another moan from Leena. She’d not seen him fully naked before; he was so quietly masculine during the day-to-day that she did not expect such an overwhelming feeing of submit to overpower her at the sight.  He entered the bed from the foot, pushing her legs wide apart and hovering his mouth over her sex and inhaling deeply her musk. “I thought you’d feel more comfortable face down, but I’d rather see your emotion writ across your face than allow you to hide it. Show me your embarrassment, Leena.”

Solas’ tongue dove into her without pretense, her eyes fluttering shut and head lulling back as he devoured her blissfully sensitive cunt, his eyes darting to her face, “Look at me, love, I wish to burn your delight into my mind forever.”

With considerable effort, Leena forced control of her heavy gaze to his face, fighting moment by moment her desire to turn from his piercing blue eyes. It was too much, too overwhelming, too naked. Not shame, but the panic of her untested desire rose under his stare, body shaking with not fear but anticipation. His tongue drummed against her, drawing her ever upward in the spiral, mouth gaping open and eyes pleading as she teetered on the drop. He smirked, reading her expression, and dipped his graceful fingers into her already tightening cunt to languidly stroke the hot wall pressing against her clit. One, two, three strong thrusts of his fingers against her and her voice cried out, sweet coating soaking his hand as body danced against him in beat with her pulse.

Blissed out, she did not put much thought into him slipping another, then another additional finger into her. The dull ache seemed far, far away from her as he gently expanded his hand within her, working the limits of her elasticity. She felt a small jolt of pain and whimpered, twinge of blood visible on his fingers. Solas did not break eye contact, and lapped the coppery fluid down gratefully, stoking again the fire in her clit. He pressed again against her, feeling again resistance then pulled from her body. He licked his fingers clean and placed them under her ass, massaging her cheeks gently before fluidly sliding his own body up to hover over hers. 

A confusing bubble of feeling and emotions; yes, pain was often paired with pleasure. This pain was unique, fleeting, something she would share with Solas and only him. The primal lust of his gaze burned, bored into her, override her fears. His mana flared out, enveloped hers, tangling and weaving and bubbling in her as her voice, detached, escaped her without much thought, “Sathan… sathan…”

Pleading was all she could cognate, his lips crushing against hers, thrusting her taste into her mouth. His hands slid to the back of her legs and wrapped them around his waist before leaning over her to whisper in her ear, “Let me know if I need to stop, ‘ma’lath”

Her legs encircled him, pulling him closer. Leena inhaled expectantly as his thick cock hovered and parted her lips gently, his foreskin rolling back as the very tip of him pressed against her wounded barrier. Loving, light kisses peppers her jaw before he pulled back to meet her gaze. Something overwhelming in his eyes had shifted, something strong enough to distract her from the swift jolt of him burying his cock to the hilt. Something overflowing enough to make the sharp pain in her engorged sex secondary. Mana flowed and encircled their joining, soothing her and recovering her diminished arousal before he began to move ever so slightly, unwavering eyes still boring into her as her face danced the whole gamut of emotions.

What an unexpected fullness. It felt good. It felt good to feel her pulse thumbing against him, and feel his connect. It felt good to hear his haggard intake of air, knowing it was her giving him this pleasure and tightness. Her own voice was acting of its own volition, crying and wining with need for more, more, more as she climbed higher and higher in her pleasure.

He shushed her, keeping his steady pace, “I am glad, ah, you feel so good…that I have not hurt you… but trust me…”

The room was filled with the slap of skin and wetness and unbridled moans. The only complaints came from the furniture, the bedside table shaking in protest and the bed frame jumping from the wall. Solas’ pace quickened— he was fucking her now— she wanted, needed to be exhausted of her youthful exuberance, if only for a night. Her face told him she was delighted and whatever pain that she’d started with was now nothing but a blood stain on the sheets. Her hips broke free from his steadying hold and met him in ernest with each thrust. As it turns out, sex came quite naturally. Her quickening, cacophonous pace and ragged breath proceeded the intensifying grip of her body on his cock. It was nearly impassible. “Fuck…” Solas groaned, feeling his own pending release build, “Leena, ah, you’re gripping too tight…. I can’t…. I’m going to…“

He couldn’t remove himself. His mana pulsed strongly over her clit and she screamed his name, body drawing and sucking him further. If their neighbors did not know who was fucking whom, they surely did now. She moved her hands from the sheets to his hips, nails digging in as she rode out her release, granting him unspoken permission to stay deeply seated in her. Permission to fill her. His eyes fluttered shut and he let go, exhaling deeply as ribbons of seed pulsed from him. Unreal waves of satisfaction drowned out worry and duty and any past or thought beyond that moment, “Exquisite…”

Leena flushed with delight at the new sensation— she could feel him pulse and the pressure build at the back of her cunt. It was much more than she had expected. She certainly hadn’t swallowed nearly this much of that in the tent. Lurid, primal feelings swelled in response, growing into no small measure of satisfaction. Looking at his lost gaze, she smiled, “Solas.”

Finally able to move from his frozen stance, Solas lowered himself down, still within her as he softened, kissing her once more. Not a fervent, heated kiss but a slow, passionate kiss. “How do you feel, my love?”

“What a silly question,” she smiled and captured his lips again, humming sleepily, “I feel wonderful. Alive.”

As it turns out, they had no need for the second bed. Solas curled around her, arms holding her sated body close as they slept. Indulging himself further, he drug her deep into the Fade to entertain her curiosities further. Her smile and girlish delight, the grip of her hand in his as they danced and explored his second home for dream after dream; he felt his happiness spark and swell the entire night. There would never be enough time, he thought somberly, he would always want more.

Chapter Text

Les Jardins d'Ombre  was at least a good hours ride outside the city center. The closer to the city center the more the streets filled with glittering dresses and lavish masks, backs of their wearers stiff and proper— not a single servant, a single dirty face to be seen in the uncomfortably pristine streets. Not a sign of the mages, the Templars, either. Black, silken waves of silk weaved the front of market stalls and wreathes of nettles and thorns graced doors and windows. Stuck to pillars were scrolls of scripture featuring uplifting and reassuring verses and hymns. Many had been defaced, scratched up, and written over with crude words and slander at whoever the saboteur could think to blame for The State of Things.

“The city still mourns.” Cassandra lead their sparse team, Cullen following the four of them at a distance, flanked by a stern looking woman in full armor.

A woman cowered, gasping— pointing to her lover at Leena before scuttling away, “Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are.”

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.” her voice, ladened with her umbrage, beat in time with the eco of her firm footsteps.

“My Lady Herald.” A hooded figure approached them, dropping to her knee in front of Cassandra and Leena.

Cassandra halted, “You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?”

“The Chantry Mother’s await you, but… so do a great many Templars in the center. Mages have been sighted weaving in and out of alleys and buildings.”

“They are waiting for us.” Cullen’s voice was curt, ladled with suspicion. “But how did they know we were coming?”

“People here seem to think the Templars will protect them from… the Inquisition.”

“What of the Mages?” Cullen cut in, “Surely the Templars would have noticed.”

“They are unconcerned with the Mages in the city, and the Mages are unconcerned with the Templars. All parties are… preoccupied. The Templars and Chantry are gathered on the other side of the market. I think that is where they intend to meet you.”

“Protect the people, from us…? Return to Haven, scout. Inform the forces outside the city as well as Leliana incase we are… delayed. The Commander will tell you where to look.” Cassandra nodded to Cullen, who dispatched the Scout. The team exchanged looks as Cassandra sternly pressed ahead.

The noises of the market became louder before it hushed almost completely— a wave of anticipation sealing shut the mouths of Val Royeaux’s nosy denizens as the wary Inquisition agents approached the hastily erected wooden platform.

On it stood a Templar aside a Chantry sister, who rose her voice to cut the silence, “Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn our Divine, her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer, well, wonder no more!”

Her eyes met Leena’s with a sneer, “Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! The maker would send no elf in our hour of need!”

Leena felt her ire rising, “Good people, we came in peace, to speak to the Chantry of the Breech. Pointing fingers and assigning blame will not close the gaping hole in the sky! Whatever you are trying to accomplish here is only distracting people from the real problem that threatens us all.”

“It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.” Cassandra stepped forward, the rest of her comrades woven among the crowd. Solas watched the perimeter of the crowd carefully, aura reaching out to detect any sudden disruptions or changes in the Vail. If any of the powers at play were to strike, he would know immediately.

The Chantry sister smirked and pointed, “It is already too late!”

A man cut through the crowd, followed by a battalion of Templars. No smile or warm look graced his face, only anger and disapproval. The Templar beside the Chantry sister shifted anxiously, eyes darting to the men behind the leader.

“The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe once more!” The Chantry sister spoke with an unearned authority against the cacophonous rhythm of the solder’s march.

Their stern leader took to the small wooden stage, passing her without insomuch as a glance, as a Templar scribe approached her from behind and punched her clear to the ground. The crowd gasped, and the leader quelled his now roused confederate on the stage, “Still yourself. She is beneath us.”

 The bile in her throat rose, and Leena’s voice cut again through the crowd, Cassandra too stilled in shock at the sight to yet speak, “You strike a defenseless woman to achieve what ends? What is your goal?”

He sneered, “That is not for you to know, fool.”

“Lord Seeker Lucious, it’s imperative that we speak with—“

He cut Cassandra off immediately, walking hurriedly away from the scene towards a Templar, “You will not address me.”

“Lord Seeker?”

“This is madness!” Cullen called out to the crowd. “Templars! Join the Inquisition, as I have, and serve Thedas. This is your duty!”

“Silence, traitor! You betrayed the Templars and are no longer a Knight-Captain! Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the Mages! You are the ones who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

 Both Cullen and Cassandra seemed shaken from anger, shock, and the like.

In his peripheral, Solas felt a twinge, and a spark. Then nothing. His eyes snapped to a heavily shadowed archway where he felt the movement in the veil. A mage. A flit of a shadow, then nothing. He saw Leena’s eyes momentarily follow the same path, then felt her hand slyly reach back and grace his arm as to signal. He sunk back into the crowd that had formed a circle around their group and moved towards the ripple in the veil.

Solas felt the pull further down the market and his feet followed, quickly. There was still time— he could still feel the hint of a presence. The trail lead to the docks, a dropped flower along the way.

“Why are you here, then, if not to help the Chantry? What is your goal, Lord Seeker?” Leena’s voice echoed off the pristine stones.

“I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh.”

The silent Templar next to the Lord Seeker finally spoke, “But Lord Seeker… what if she really was sent by The Maker? What if—?”

“You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question.” The scribe stepped forward, motioning forcefully to the Templar to stay quiet. Leena saw Cullen seething out of the corner of his eyes, but saying nothing.

“I will make the Templar Order a power that sends alone against the Void. We deserve recognition, independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” 

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?”  Varric broke the silence.

Finally, Cassandra’s eyes tore from the spot the Lord Seeker had stood. “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?”

“Do you know him very well?” Leena looked back towards them, then eyed the direction Solas had disappeared towards.

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lamber’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre.”

Cullen looked pensive, “What we saw here today was… very disturbing, but I am glad I came.”

“I don’t trust him, and at this point, I’m not sure we should rely on the Templars. We will speak on him later. First, let’s find Solas. We felt a presence during Lord Seeker’s enlightening speech and Solas went after it.”

“I should get back to the rest of the team. Ser Delrin Barris was the man next to the Lord Seeker… I think he can be reasoned with easier than Lucius. Do be safe.” Cullen met their eyes and nodded, unsettled air thick around him, and quickly retreated alongside several scouts.

“Oh, was it magic? I did not… I did not feel anything.” Cassandra furrowed her brow, watching Cullen go, “Yes, let’s go.”

Leena turned back to Cassandra, “Yes, like magic? A trace of it. Maybe not magic you would notice as a human, but for an elf, there was no mistake.”

“Whatever it was, was it safe for him to go alone? He could have asked—” Cassandra was cut off by the whistle of an arrow. “Are we being attacked? What is this!”

The arrow stuck into the ground at Leena’s feet— attached was a note. “What is this? Friends of Red Jenny? So many distractions, can’t anything normal happen, can’t I meet normal people? Oh! Don’t look at me like that, Varric, and stop laughing— yes, you’re very odd. Alright, tabling this, again… moving towards the docks before Solas is ambushed by a band of hooligans.”

“You and Hawke share a certain penchant for the abnormal, ya know that, Princess?” They drew closer to Solas, who was standing cross-armed next to a dark-haired Dalish woman,  a curios expression on his face and a ring of flowers atop his shining, pale head.

“Maybe it’s you Varric. You are the magnet that draws all things… Solas, why do you have a flower crown? Oh, hello.”

“Oh, another Dalish! An'daran Atish'an, lethal'lan! Well, he’s got no hair, right. Needed… needed something though? And I had so many flowers! These Orlesians really go all out— it’s so thoughtful.” She turned to Leena, then her eyes shot immediately down, “Varric?”

“Still picking city flowerbeds clean, Daisy?”

“Excuse me, do you know this woman?” Leena’s eyes lit up in recognition,  “Wait she’s…. isn’t Daisy one of the people from your book?”

“Oh, you read it! Half the things Varric said are a bit of an exa—“

“Yes, yes, anyway, what are you doing here, Merrill? I thought you were back in Kirkwall…”

“Oh, I was! And then I was here. Am here.”

“That’s not an explanation. This isn’t a good place for you, Merrill— lotta bad shit and no one around to babysit. At least in Kirkwall it’s… familiar bad shit.”

“Wait, she might— do you know where Hawke is?” Cassandra cut in, expression suddenly very serious.

“Hawke? No, no I haven’t seen her since….since the Gallows. Why are you frowning? Are you gassy?”

Cassandra scoffed indignantly, then met her eyes fiercely, “The Inquisition has been trying to locate the Champion for some time now, and Varric here has been little help!”

“Oh—oh! Inquisition? I’ve been hearing that a lot. People don’t seem to like it. Or do. Or don’t. Mostly not, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been here awhile then?” Varric carefully steered the conversation away from Hawke.

“I— I don’t know. I mean, it feels like I just got here— and some things happened, I think? The thing is I just can’t… I can’t…”

“Remember them?” Solas and Leena finished her thought, in unison. Solas had surely felt the trace of elven magic on the girl that had also been present on Professor Virlas.

“Fuck, Daisy, what’d you— don’t tell me you got that thing to work.”

“What thing?” Daisy’s voice held genuine curiosity, causing the pit of Varric’s stomach to drop.

“You can’t have forgotten…The mirror!”

Solas cut in, “A mirror? An eluvian?”

“Oh. That sounds familiar now! I think I might have had one in my house?”

“Shit, they got you good, Daisy.” Varric sighed, “Anyway, let’s… maybe sit down and talk about all this?”

“I agree. Let us all go back to the inn. Herald, what about the message on the arrow?” Cassandra gestured to the arrow still held tightly in Leena’s hand.

“Arrow? Ma’lath, did someone try to attack you?” Solas stepped closer, gently taking the arrow and it’s message from her hand.

“It’s… got directions. It seems friendly, not an attack? Maybe we should look into it before we leave the city. Ah,” she giggled, eyeballing the flower crown still affixed atop his crown, “It suits you, my love.”

“Oh, for—“ The tips of his ears turned red and he snatched the crown off his head.

“Do you not like flowers?” Merrill looked sorely disappointed before almost instantly brightening, “Or perhaps they make you sneeze!”

“Yes, they make him sneeze. First, we need to go the market.” Leena beckoned, and they followed.

Chapter Text

They didn’t get very far into their search for ‘red things’ before another (albeit less audacious) interruption gave them pause; a stiff looking young man in very fine clothing extended an invitation to a fête held by the First Enchanter Vivienne. Leena had not a clue who she was, but Cassandra assured her it was worth the trouble of going and seeing what kind of assistance the First Enchanter was offering.  Varric had left with Merrill for Les Jardins d'Ombre in the company of several Inquisition agents, his thoughts obviously not in their hunt or concerned with Orlesian parties. Only Cassandra and Solas remained at her side— both on edge. “Would you two please, for the love of whatever God you pray to, relax? No one’s going to ambush me in such a public place. If they’d wanted to, they would’ve by now.”

Cassandra scoffed, not taking her hand off the hit of her sword, “How can you be so relaxed?”

“I’ve survived this long, really, why not? I’ve lost any capacity for surprise. Try me— go dress like a bear and hide in a bush;  get me when I least suspect it. Swear to you I won’t piss myself. Not even a little. Oh, oh… Better yet, get a real bear! Maybe one that does tricks…oh, found it!” Leena chirped as she plucked a red handkerchief and hastily scrawled note from the ground.  “And it smells like fish. Great. A key to who knows what and another part of this map, if you can call this poorly executed scribble a map.”

Solas produced the other pieces of the note and aligned their backsides, “Put them together, then, and there you have it. This is very late tonight but not so far that we cannot manage? We will have plenty of time.”

“This is a bad idea.” Cassandra scoffed, “It could be a trap.”

“Oh it’s certainly bound to be bloody? General trend here. Just guessing based on the past few weeks and the course of luck we have.” Leena pocketed the key and the paper, “To the Inn, then? I need to shove myself into some fancy dress that’s probably a size to small by now.”

Cassandra snorted, “Rather you than me. I detest such affairs. We are fortunate that Josephine anticipated you would need a nicer change of clothes. What— why are you laughing?”

“Mental image of you in a dress. How long would it take for you to rip it and cover it in various body fluids? I think eviscerate is the word that comes to mind in general, when I think of you, you fierce warrior princess.”  Leena grinned and the corner of Solas’ mouth twitched slightly.

“You’re getting quite surly. I am not sure I like it.”

“I think you mean friendly, Cassandra.” Leena linked her arm through Cassandra’s, “Since we are, you know, going to be working together it might be good to loosen up?”

“Oh? I thought Solas was already doing you that favor?”

“Was that…was that a… joke? Cassandra? A blatantly dirty one? About sex?” Leena burst into a full laugh.

A reddish glow covered Cassandra’s face and she spoke defensively, “You are not the only one who did not sleep last night! It is not like you’re keeping such things private!”

Solas chuckled before brazenly groping Leena’s ass, “Ah, my apologize Seeker, we will make an effort to be more discrete about what we do in the privacy of our room…”

Such behavior did not escape the flustered Seeker, “Hardly private! And Solas I am shocked, you normally behave with such propriety that such lewd things to…I am done with this conversation.”

It was too easy to push her buttons, Leena mused. “Which bits did you hear exactly? Any notes on the performance?”

“Enough!” Cassandra stalked off, making for the gates of the city.

“Too much?”

“Ah, maybe a bit much for her, but I’m sure she knows you jest.” His arm curled around her waist ever so slightly, hand squeezing her waist, “Shall we?”

As they caught up with Cassandra, a voice cut against their backs, “If I might have a moment of your time.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” The tension in Cassandra’s voice was replaced with slight disbelief.

“Leader of the mage rebellion. Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” Solas said with a certain air of reverence.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it is help with the Breech you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.”

“I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave.” Leena smiled coyly, “Convenient for you, when a great many perished.”

“Yes. You were supposed to be yet somehow you avoided death.” Cassandra’s eyes bore into the Grand Enchanter’s, voice laced with suspicion.

“As did the Lord Seeker, if you would note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead incase it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to be alive. I lost many dear friends that day It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it. I am hoping you won’t let them.”

“So you think the Templars are responsible?” Leena raised her eyebrows at the accusation. 

Cassandra scoffed, “Why wouldn’t she?”

“What about the group attacking the scholars? They are mages, are they not?”

Fiona chose to ignore their suspicions of the mages, instead turning their attentions back to the earlier display of the Lord Seeker. “Lucious hardly seems broken up over his loses, if he’s concerned about them at all. You think he wouldn’t happily have killed the Divine, to turn people against us? So yes, I think he did it. More than I think you did it, at any rate. As far as the ordeal with the Universities, they are not our mages. We know not who is acting, but it is unrelated to the mage rebellion and the ordeal with the Templars. We do have certain suspicions, however, about what is going on, and that information might also be on the table for debate.”

“Does that mean the rebel mages will help us?” Leena was hopeful, but it seemed all too convenient. Too easy. However, the mages were the underdogs with so many supporting the Chantry and harboring pure fear of magic— they had the most to gain from the Inquisition’s support. Freedom, purpose, and organization.

“We are willing to discuss it with the Inquisition at least. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come, meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lady Herald.”

Cassandra’s eyes stuck on Fiona’s back as she left. “Come, let us return.”

Back at the Les Jardins d'Ombre, all had piled back into the sitting room attached to Leena and Solas’ suite. Cassandra debrief on what had transpired with Fiona, earning a rough laugh from Cullen, “Why am I not surprised she was there? And why should we believe her people are uninvolved in this…” Cullen made a waving gesture towards Leena and Merrill, “…madness.”

“Madness? Elves aren’t mad, Commander. Just a bit pointy and fair in bits.” Merrill cocked her head to the side, “Oh! No, I don’t think the rebel mages are related, at any rate, to whatever happened to us. Strictly elf business, this, nothing to be worried about unless it is. Is something to be worried about, I mean.”

“What is it that you remember, then?” Cassandra pressed further.

“Not a lot, I do remember waking up in some old Professor’s office, though, with a bag of pastries and a coin purse. Couldn’t find my staff, though. He was asleep when I left. Before that, Redcliffe I suppose. Right, after you left, Varric.”

“You.. didn’t think to wake him?”  Cassandra paced near a window.

“No, why would I?”

Cassandra looked about ready to smack her, “You’re…kidding right? No one is this…”

Varric glowered at Cassandra, then turned back to Merrill, “Daisy, I left Kirkwall over three months ago.”

“Well that was a very quick three months!” She paused, “Oh, I see. We should go back there, should we not? To the University, I mean. Not Kirkwall.”

“Can you remember what room? Who?” Cassandra was quickly edging on losing her temper.

“I— vaguely.”

“We— Varric and I—will go with you. Herald, please prepare for the soirée.”

“That’s at least three hours from now—“ Leena pouted, shoving a forkful of elderberry tart into her mouth. At least Orlesians were good for baked goods.

A pale blonde scout muttered from the back, “Getting you into that damned dress will take most of that.”

Leena’s mouth gaped at her, “What?”

“No more eating,” the frisky woman snatched the plate holding the half-eaten tart from her hand, and poked her in the bosom, “None. For the rest of the night.”

“Nadia!” Cassandra tried to sound disapproving. Truly, tried.

“Aren’t elves supposed to be….” She gestured her hands up and down vertically.

“Supposed to be what!” Leena could feel his grin. Feel it. “Solas, why are you smirking!”

“Yes, what are we supposed to be?” Solas snatched the plate from the scout and inched closer to Leena on the sofa, offering her the dish again before pressing a kiss to her hand. She took it, pouting, then ate the rest of her sugary treat defiantly.

“Ah, shove off, you know what I mean, tits. I’ll be unpacking the trunk in the bedroom. Whoever took your measurements for this was illiterate. Or blind.”

“Hey! I— I grew! Taller, too.”

Nadia rolled her eyes, “Yeah, grew.”

Merrill broke the awkward silence, “Was she calling you fat?”

“Daisy…” Varric hid his grin with his hand.

“You aren’t fat! Just bigger in bits.”

“Daisy.”

“Rounded, squishy bits.”

“Daisy! Not helping.” Varric wasn’t sure which was better— Leena’s sour expression or the fact Commander Cullen had completely excused his blustering self from the room halfway through the exchange. 

“You are perfect, ma’lath.” Solas murmured quietly in Elvhen, causing a blush to spread across Leena’s face. “I’ll be quite happy to get you out of that gaudy frock later.”

“Alright, the sexy elf talk means I’m out.” Varric rose to his feet, “Come on, Merrill, let’s find you a staff.”

Merrill giggled at they crossed the threshold of the door, “Oh, he’s naughty.”

Well, she was in the dress. Somehow. It felt like she could rest her chin on her chest if she needed a nap, and breathing was an issue at first, but somehow she managed and, along with a team of highly skilled professional women, looked rather lovely in the Orlesian sense of the word. The dress, a bright cerulean blue silk that gathered at her now impossibly stiff, impossibly tiny waist, had a certain quality akin to water as it moved. The opalescence of the silk shone softly the same mirroresque quality her eyes held, eyes now framed in kohl and accented in muted shades of rose-orange pigment to highlight their clarity and color. The women had powdered her face in such a way she did not recognize her reflection outright, her face too clear white and cheeks much too pink. The scar under her chin she’d earned in a fight with a terror demon was covered, as was her faint, red vallas'lin. Instead, it was her lips that were red and full and lovely. They stung of peppermint and the hot spices used to swell them since plump lips were in fashion this week. They were painful, and Leena found pressing them together made the pain worse so she parted her lips awkwardly. Nadia insisted it gave her the air of ‘consumable sexpot’ that was also in fashion and would give her leverage when stupid, uncouth things poured from her inexperienced lips. She didn’t know the game so she had to compensate.

“Well, this is… really weren’t kidding about the three hours bit. Does it always take Orlesiasn this long? How do their women ever make it out of the house before noon.” Leena shifted and looked at her backside in the mirror. If she bent at all, the curve of her spine made it even more pronounced.

Nadia snorted, “They don’t. Why do you think it took four months for the pricks on the Council of the Arts to decide what color the new awnings in the financial district should be?”

“Emphasizes the finer points of Ferelden fashion, doesn’t it.”

“You mean the lack there of? Yes, plenty of time saving. No time to spend 3 hours on clothes when you  have to muck out shit from horse stalls and hide from abominations. Or Templars mistaking your shovel for a staff and merking you.”

“Hah, well. Are you sure this looks alright? I mean, I look… a bit too sexy for this?”

“That’s the point. Right now you’re too scary Danish elf mage so our ambassador and spymaster thought this angle might help with public opinion. I think they figured someone would invite you to something while we were out here, thus the gown. Quite a few important dignitaries frequent these parties, you know.”

“Help do what exactly?”

“Well, to be blunt, if the assholes think they can fuck you, they won’t think you’re able to fuck them. Simple animal behavior, easy to exploit. Nevermind you could easily light all their asses on fire or hand wiggle them into oblivion, but if they even subconsciously feel they can dominate you then they might be open to…negotiations. They believe themselves with the upper hand in the end, even if they suffer losses up front.”

“Negotiations for what? Why do we need such people…” Leena huffed and knifed Nadia with an icy glare, “We can gain allies in ernest with the weight of our cause. I do not appreciate being used in such a way. ”

“Well, get the fuck used to it, Princess. Playing the Game is about exploiting every tool you have in your belt for the endgame, and that pretty young face and pert ass are great ones. You must sacrifice a little to gain a lot. Or keep your position on the board, or cut your losses. Shit, sometimes you must do it to just not die a brutal death.”

“Sacrifice my pride as a woman? I am not some tart. Besides, I am… ”

“What, are in love? Hah, what is that romantic view of yours worth, anyway? And why do you assume you’re being used to be dressed in such a way? It’s huge power you’ve been handed. Your sex is power. It is no accident the great heros and leaders of our time are women, or being throughly manipulated by one. Do you think even Holy Andraste, Maker’s Bride, discarded a perfectly fine piece when she played the Game? No, it won her the heart of the Maker… along with at least two other powerful men. There is pride in this as well. Listen, I know you’re still innocent. First love, butterflies, in love with taking that elf man’s cock, romance, blah blah but… grow up. If spreading your legs gets you closer to your goal, just woman up and spread them.” 

She didn’t even remember lifting her arm, but Leena’s hand flew across Nadia’s cheek so fast and with such a force she stumbled into the dressing table and knocked over a menagerie of glass bottles and small tins.

“Hah, I suppose I should have expected that.” Nadia gingerly stroked her quickly bruising cheek, her own anger seething. “Dumb knife-eared cunt.”

Furry danced vividly in Leena’s eyes, “How small is your mind if you think sacrificing ideals and lowering yourself will do you any favors in the end? All that does is wrap you so firmly in meaningless drama that you lose sight of yourself, your goal. Small victories are no match for winning the war, and nothing is worth going against your own nature and growing disdain towards yourself. You do not need immeasurable power and influence to change the world— I believe I can do so with my hand alone. One pawn can take the King, even when the rest of the board lies empty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get out of my room, now.” Fire danced at her fingertips, a single flame jutting out in warning.

Nadia sneered and slammed the door open, making no quiet exit.

Solas, who’d heard the tone of the muffled exchange from the other room, quickly entered into the room. “Leena, ma’lath? Are you well?”

“Help me get out of this goddamned dress, I’m wearing my armor,” she turned to him, a vision of enraged femininity, face beautiful bare, “I will not submit to this… farce… they intended to trick me into playing.”

“Do you have time to change?”

“I’ll be late then. Fashionable, is it not?”

“Do you care to speak about what happened?” Solas helped her unlace the corset. It was a shame it’d been ruined for her, really, when she looked so lovely.

“Oh, just a viperous lecture about it being my duty to look fuckable and spread my legs to achieve our goal that ended in a nice final note of ‘dumb knife-eared cunt.’”

“What?” Solas’ voice dropped an octive. Leena felt his body tense behind her, hands falling to her waist. “Completely unacceptable. She is one of Leliana’s people, and should be informed at once of her insubordination.”

“I am too worked up to think about it right now, I just need to get to this party meet with this Grand Enchanter, then we find this Red Jenny. Hopefully somewhere in between, or after, I can light something significant on fire and send a raven to Leliana.” Leena sighed, feeling calmer as his deft hands fitted her mail under armor closed at the back of her neck.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her still red lips, then wincing, “Why do your lips… ah, some Orlesian trend, I take it?”

“They rub hot pepper oils into their lips to make them appear fuller. It’s extremely painful but I was beguiled into believing it necessary. Until, of course, I almost immediately realized it was not.”

“That is… well. I cannot say I am surprised, but it’s a bit masochistic, even for a beauty routine?”

“Isn’t all of Orlais masochistic?”

He chuckled, “I imagine only half of them. The other half holds the whip.”

“In this case, I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive, or collectively exhaustive. They all hold whips, and wear shackles, striking the other while failing to see they themselves are slowly being pinned down.”

“Mmm, must we leave this room?” He growled into her ear, lips tracing its shell, “Your lips are seducing me in other ways.”

“Ah, it is time to leave.” She ground playfully into his hips and finished fashioning her belt around her waist, lips leaving a burning trail down his neck before slipping gracefully from the room.

Chapter Text

As soon as she stepped out of her carriage, Leena immediately recognized the weight of her decision to forego any special attire before sashaying into the Duke Bastien’s Château. The look of the guardsmen on her unmasked face was mild contempt and distaste. Was it the ears, or her Dalish armor, or both? Josephine and Leliana had pushed the idea of keeping to the general public perception she was Dalish; it was the least sticky and most logical explanation, and shut down most second thoughts immediately. As she had arrived to them dressed as a Dalish, and bore the markings of such, they still claimed her of clan Lavellan. A rather large sum along with constant gifts and words to support to their Keeper kept them hush on the murkiness surrounding her beginnings; Leliana used Souren and Isene’s approval of her and her tragic, slightly embellished and perhaps a not all-together true ‘actual’ backstory to keep the Keeper appeased. Keeper Deshanna was a kind and proud woman who’s heart was easily turned at the mention of slavers and Leena’s general youthful age. She accepted her as one of the People and thus, would willingly lend her their clan’s name if it could further better option of elves or acknowledgment of her clan’s right to use of land in the Free Marches. Besides, she had a tell: Keeper Deshanna had sent spies to the Conclave. Leliana easily understood this curiosity and desire for upward mobility could be used as a bargaining chip. The Nightingale promised Inquisition agents to keep watch over the clan when word of bandits arrived by raven, and sent a band of scouts to the forests of Wycome. No word had been heard back yet, from either the clan or the scouts.

Few outside her inner circle understood Leena’s mess in ernest, save for a handful of scouts that traveled with them, and Leena’s handmaids. Some were aware she suffered from amnesia, or had been “victim to a slaver” though it was never revealed outright she had not belonged to Clan Lavellan before that time period. Her connection and frank conversation with Professor Virlas had not left the Inn, and would not go much further. She was a Lavellan, per Souren and Isene, and next to their Keeper’s, Isene’s word was final as her First. The Keeper also had accepted this and there was no conflict in her mind over her status as mage because, as long as no more than three lived in the clan at any given time, it was a nonissue. She was not technically living in the clan; Souren and Isene’s mage children need not leave now, and the thought of sending any of the children away after their parent’s death was banished completely. Since their death, another of their children had come into her magic, putting the clan at four mages even without Leena’s physical presence. The Keeper was prepared to fight tooth and nail any shem who fussed over their excess of magic, though, since the mage rebellion and the deflection of the Templars from the service of the Chantry, there was no one to stand in their way or say no.

As she nodded and stepped into the antechamber, presenting her invitation as she had been instructed by one of the scouts, waiting to be announced, “The Lady Lavellan, Agent of the Inquisition and Herald of Andraste,” 

Leena took a deep breath and entered into the Grand Hall, attempting to ignore the feel of eyes peering out from under masks. She went straight for the refreshments, mostly for the familiar reassurance of seeing another elf. Unfortunately they were not guests; all the other elves were here as servants. She was the only one invited, and the help stared at her with amazement, all competing to hand her a glass of champaign. Mentally, she noted that the Grand Enchanter did keep swaths of elven servants and only elven servants. Perhaps racism was fashionable to her?

Two friendly courtiers greeted her, exchanged pleasantries, and prodded her (quite obviously) for more information on the Inquisition. They were not unkind— surprisingly, they were actually interested in what she had to say. The woman drawled out in a thick Orlesian accent, “I have heard the most curious tales of you! I can’t imagine half of them are true.”

 Leena raised an eyebrow, “Oh? What have you heard about me?”

The lady courtier’s face was almost completely hidden by a combination of her mask, large hat, and a rather intense ruffled collar. Despite this, her mouth betrayed enough for Leena to know she was not as friendly as she looked, and at best held a tepid opinion of the Inquisition in general, “Several things. Some say when the Veil opened, Andraste delivered you from the Fade herself. Others claim you the murderer of the Divine. And my own cousin claims he knows of you, though I think he is mistaking you for some other rabbit. So many running around the University, of course, since Empress Celene began paying visits to Chancelier Morrac— hard to keep the help straight from the students. Not that there’s much difference anymore.”

“Ah, perhaps they got carrier away in their tales. This is the first time in my memory of being in the city of Val Royeaux, so I can’t imagine your cousin has seen me before.” 

The man next to the courtier sneered as he spoke, “Yes, it is quite sad to see the most prestigious University in Thedas begin to wane, but I also believe he is mistaken. Mind must be losing its edge. Surely no Dalish would have the education to make scholarship. At least that is still quite competitive.” 

The bile rose in her throat and Leena opened her mouth to retort, words not coming easily in the face of such blatant racism. Shock stilled her mouth.

“They embellish, but only for the best affect! The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales.”

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit! Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers— no one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.” 

“Pardon?” Still riled up from the earlier rudeness, and the even earlier spat with the agent, Leena could feel herself teetering very close to a fine tipping point where her careful, thoughtful nature gave away to a deeply satisfying rage.

“Do those giant ears of yours not work? We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a woman of honor, you’d step outside.”

A cold sheer of ice encased the marquis, anchoring him solidly to the floor. An equally icy voice carried from atop the western staircase and glided closer,  “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house to my guests. You know such rudeness is… intolerable.”

“Madame Vivienne! I humbly beg your pardon.” Unable to turn to meet the sultry, dark woman she instead glided around to meet his eyes through her silverite and moonstone embellished mask. Every ounce of her presentation was immaculate; impossibly smooth leathers faded into ethereal silks and laces per the latest trends in Orlesian fashions. A mix of gold and silverite buckles and embellishments reflected the warm candle light and magic illuminations scattered tactfully around the room. Feathers were tucked delicately around the keyhole bust of her dress in lieu of lace or fur and a perfectly cast mask of her face gave into the grand horns of her headdress. She was already a statuesque woman, towering over Leena even without the additional height the ornamentation provided.

 “You should. Whatever am I going to with you, my dear?”  The Enchanter smiled sourly at the Marquis, then turned to Leena with a milder, softer grace on her lips, “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?” 

Leena took a deep breath, “I am over it by now; he has been humiliated, has he not? Leave him to go lick his wounded pride.”

Madame Vivienne smirked, aura still dancing around him in icy daggers, “Poor Marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Freudian doggerel—by the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it.”

The Marquis stumbled forward as he was released from his icy cage, face unreadable and turned away from them as he hurriedly left the party.

Vivienne’s smirk melted into demure, practiced smile, “I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

“It’s been a blast.” No it had not. “Everyone’s been so kind.” No they had not. “And the rose champaign is divine.” That, actually, was true.

Vivianne fanned herself with an ornate fabric fan, “Well, I am pleased to hear you’re enjoying yourself, but there is a reason I invited you to the Chateu.”

“I surmised as much,” Leena flashed a grin, “How can I help you?”

“You, help me?” She nearly cackled, “No, no, my dear. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thesas, I feel it only right to lend my assistance to your cause. But I am getting ahead of myself— Let me formally introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.” 

Leena looked her straight in the eyes, “So you’re in favor of returning the mages to the Chantry Circles?”

“Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents?” She smirked, “Unless the Dalish can all take us under their wing, we need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own.”

Slight on the Dalish? Unnecessary. “And how do you suggest the same abuse not be repeated?”

“Ah,” she tisked, “I should have guessed you a sympathizer. I would be happy to provide council from a more realistic perspective, dear, if not for your own good but for the good of those around you.”

“What are you offering, exactly, Madam Vivianne?”

“I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal.” She paused before adding, with a smirk, “And, I’m a mage of no small talent. Will that do?”

 Well, the woman was useful. A bitch, but useful. “Alright Lady Vivianne, the Inquisition will be happy to have you. We will see you at Haven.”

After winding through the vipers once more, and downing another glass (or three) of champaign (ok, four) while mindlessly nodding to courtiers, Leena found herself unsteadily moving towards the door. The party was by no means over, but she had a potential trap to trip and less than two hours to be sober enough to aim fireballs if the need arose. She shuffled through the chateau’s garden, casually feinting appreciation for a rather garish topiary with a certain obliviousness brought on by fine drink and insufferable company. It was pleasantly devoid of obnoxious courtiers and pompous lords strutting like peacocks, and some of the more tropical flowers were truly remarkable to be grown this far south, but she had no time to linger and take in modern Orlesian garden fashions.

She turned suddenly, and planted her face directly into the chest of… a servant? He was dressed as plainly as a servant, but carried himself with confidence and poise. An elven servant, yet he was not carrying a tray or sweeping up the foul bones tossed from the partygoers’ plates. His golden eyes bore into hers curiously, heavy with an age his youthful and handsome face did not betray. Somehow, he felt familiar; Leena immediately felt at ease speaking with him. She nodded an apology, “Ir abelas.”

He gently steadied her swaying, framing her shoulders with his hands. When he spoke, the Elvhen dripped off his tongue a smooth honey, “No matter, da’len. It seems you are inebriated and alone— there are those who would take advantage of you in such a state. Many wish to see you ruined completely. Are your companions far?”

She felt unable to unlock her eyes from him, as if by magic, and her lips spoke only the truth, “No, they should be at a tavern just down the road. I am to meet them by the time the bell tower sounds 9 from the spire, or else they will come seek me.”  

“Ah, there is time yet. I will escort you from the shadows, then, my child. For your safety, and for the sake of what you must accomplish.” It was not a question. The man brought a gentle hand to her cheek and tucked an errant strand, “Go, da’len.” 

She nodded, transfixed. She saw no weapon on him, yet he seemed confident enough in defending her— was he a mage? Leena blinked and he was gone from her sight but his reassuring presence remained. The walk to the tavern felt longer than the walk from it, and with each step she realized how disproportionately drunk she was compared to the amount of alcohol she consumed. Had she truly imbibed so much? She paused her feet as her world spun, using her staff for support. A cool trickle of mana spidered from her head down clearing her senses slightly and steady hands on her waist guided her back on course while a whisper flowed into her ear, “Just a bit longer, da’len, and you can rest.”

She groaned in response, vision blurred around the edges. Leena’s hand met the handle of the door and the presence behind her left her, the strange elf’s mana gently touching her’s as if to bid her farewell. Stumbling into the tavern, the sounds and laughter of the patrons were overwhelming.

“Leena? Are you well?” Solas’ concerned tone accompanied the sound of a chair moving against the floor.

“I will be fine…I’m just a wee bit…” 

“Drunk?” She was thankful to hear him more amused than worried and slumped against his chest for support. “That I can see.” 

Varric laughed, “Sober up, Leena, we have a few more hours till… whatever it is we’re doing in two hours.”

Cassandra deadpanned, “It’s a trap.”

“Obviously it’s a trap, Seeker.” Varric tossed back the remainder of his drink, “So naturally we can’t miss out.  Anyway, Drinky, what else happened at the Chateau besides inebriation?“

She sat next to Solas, drinking the glass of water he offered and rubbing her head, “We have a new ally. Grand Enchanter Vivianne offered her support to the Inquisition and will meet us in Haven. Also everyone there is awful, some man tried to challenge me to a dual, and at least three people had to make blatantly racist remarks to sooth their egos. The less time we spend in this city the happier I might become. Actually, if we could burn the whole thing down that’d be fine too.”

Varric groaned, “Hey, no joking about blowing things up, you’re giving me flashbacks.”

Was she missing something important?

Solas lifted the corner of his lip wryly, “Ah, only three racist insults? They must really think highly of you.”

“Perhaps the lady who asked me if the city made me claustrophobic, and if I needed to go frolic bare in the garden should count twice? It was a particularly colorful slight.”

Cassandra grunted, “What awful people. I understand why you’re drunk.”

Oh, that’s right, “Yes, but it was still a poor decision. Thankfully I had an escort back.”

Solas’ voice raised curiously. “Escort? Were you not alone when you came to the door? We saw you through the window.”

“Yes, one of the servants I think? An elf.” Her head hurt to think of him, “I can’t really recall.” 

Varric raised an eyebrow, “Can’t recall? You’re not that drunk.”

“Yes, that is…odd. Was there anything about this man you found striking?” Solas placed a hand on her leg.

“He spoke beautiful Elvhen? He had a charming hat?”

“And you didn’t find that…alarming? That an Orlesian servant should speak a language at a level only known to the Dalish and scholars?” Solas sighed. What would bring a Rasdale’lan— shadow killer—here?

“Oh, well. Now…that you mention that. Huh, it didn’t really register at the time. None of it did. Weird…maybe it was the alcohol.”

“Was he a mage? It could be magic.” Cassandra sounded a lot more worried than Leena thought appropriate. 

“Well, of course it’s magic.” Varric groaned, “All of this shit is weird. Maybe we should blow it up…maybe Blondie was onto something.”

Chapter Text

You all realize Princess is still kinda drunk, right? Or whatever is actually wrong with her.” Varric sighed, hoisting Bianca into her resting position. They’d all changed in a rush to their best ‘battle ready’ selves and jettisoned across the city to meet this ‘Red Jenny’ contact. Considering it took the better part of an hour to reach the villa, Cassandra had warily agreed Leena would probably sober up enough before the encounter to brandish a weapon, if necessary.

“We’re aware, Varric.” Cassandra sighed defeatedly, “Solas, please keep an eye on her. This was a mistake.”

Leena giggled, gripping onto Solas’s arm, “I’m good, like rea—ally good. It’s fi—ine guys!”

“Leena, ma’lath.” Solas sighed, shaking his head, “Are you sure you are up to this?”

She giggled and smacked Solas’ ass before leaning into blow on his ear, tongue darting out to skim the rim, “Mm, yeah, I’m really ready to go, Solas.”

Solas shot her a heated look and braced her with his hands, concern and lust both writ in his eyes, “Not what I meant, love. Save your… energies… for later and you will have what you desire.”

“No, I amend that, she’s actually drunker than before.” Varric said with amazement, shaking his head and laughing, “Gonna assume she’s an ‘Rivani drunk’ now. Which is… good for Chuckles, bad for the rest of us.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, “Let’s just get this over with; Leena can just stay back as much as possible.”

“Seeker, this is…” Solas peered into Leena’s adoring eyes. Her face was giddy; this was no problem of alcohol. His eyes narrowed and scanned her face, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, “It isn’t poison, per say, but she certainly has ingested something to trigger this reaction— something slow burning.”

Yes, slow burning and slightly hallucinatory, like black lotus or any number of similar herbs used to induce euphoria, arousal, or, the use Solas was more familiar with: easily accessing the Fade. But who was trying to force her into the Fade? He would guard her tonight for she would not be alone; it seems her earlier escort wished another conversation, somewhere more private.

“OK, so she’s high and drunk. Great job at the party, Princess.” Varric snorted, “Are we sure she’s not dying.”

“Positive, her vital signs are immensely healthy and she’s in no stress. Any poison would have started to weaken her mana in the very least by this point, and all but one I can think of would have killed her.”  Solas paused to give the illusion of considering. He did not wish to mention the particular uses of the plants she most likely ingested— if one of the People sought to contact her, it would not be without reason, “Also, I have been dosing her with antidotes for various poisons for the past week in preparation for our trip to Val Royeaux.”

“What, whatcha been doin’ now?” Leena was now running her hands up and down his chest, mesmerized she could still feel the chiseled outline of his chest through his light armor. “When?”

“You,” Solas laughed, leaning against the stone wall of a shadowy archway and smirking. hands circling her waist to steady her, “Are not the most careful of women. Often a walking liability.”

“So you didn’t think to tell me?” She pouted, furrowing her brow, “I would have taken it, you didn’t have to be sneaky.”

After a beat she spoke again in Elvhen, snickering all the while, “Oh, I’d take anything you gave me. Anywhere.”

Solas chose to ignore the additional sideways comments, “I did not want to worry you incessantly. And you say you would have taken it, but you…” he paused, considering his words, “Tend to be overconfident in your abilities and naive to people’s intentions. I apologize if you read at as deceitful; we all work very hard to ensure your safety, ma’lath, if we told you every precaution we took….Well, you might be a tad indignant.”

Cassandra snorted, “I’d rather not recite that list. Leliana would kill me, at any rate, for bringing to light all her carefully laid preventative measures.”

Leena sighed, struggling to think through a mind thick with muddled thoughts, “I…no, do what you like. You will anyway, Solas, whether I raise a fuss or not.”

“Well, as long as we’re doing what I’d like…” Solas began, lip curling slightly.

“Oh, shit, Princess,” Varric laughed heartily, big cheesy grin plastered on his stubbly face, “Nothing’s gonna save you now.”

Solas was neither amused or impressed, “I do not mean this lightly— as there might be unwelcome and unexpected danger inside those gates.”

Cassandra scoffed, “There is no question of that.”

“But I think it best for you to lay back and hide, considering you are rapidly deteriorating…” He steadied her again with one hand to her waist, and another threaded between her fingers, “And probably best wait for us to investigate. There is a ladder around the side, leading to a tower above the courtyard in which we are meeting the contact. Hide there, and come when we call. That is, if you can make it up the ladder.”

She glowered at him, “Wait— you want to literally put me in a tower— hic— Solas! I know Varric thinks its fun to call me Princess, but I am… I am…”

Varric finished it for her, “Drunk?”

Cassandra sighed, “I would go with ‘air-headed and impulsive’ and ‘lacking a certain level of awareness in social situations.’ and ‘currently ridiculous.’”

Solas shook his head, frustration apparent, “Do you understand?”

“I suppose you’re right….” Leena sighed, pinching his side, “But next time we get to do what I want!”

Varric stifled his snickers with a cough, then shrugged when Leena glared at him, “You said it, Whiskey Princess.”

“And you are the one who’s mind went elsewhere,”  Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him, “Varric.”

Leena slipped in and out of Elvhen, eyes squinting as she wobbled towards the side yard for the ladder, “I will have you know— hic— I drink mead or wine, not whiskey. Whiskey tastes like halla dung. So it’s just Princess to you, you… mouth breather!”

Varric shook his head, laughing into his hand, “What did she say in the middle of all that, Solas?”

He sighed, “She finds whiskey distasteful. She prefers wine or mead.”

Leena barked, halfway up the ladder with Solas’ hands guiding her for stability,  “That is not what I said!”

Cassandra shushed them and motioned for the rest of the team to follow, hand already moving to withdraw her sword. From above the courtyard, Leena could see the outlines of shady figures moving around the rest of the compound, the windows unusually dark, even for night. Most villas in the area kept their houses illuminated with enchanted devices, designed to act as both a deterrent to theft and would-be assassins. The lack of lighting meant the house had been tampered with by someone within the compound— someone who was not intended to be there. Was it their contact? Cassandra braced herself for the possibility of apostates.

However, there were none. Someone had disabled the security lights, but without magic— and upon closer inspection, they had been destroyed completely. By arrows. Lots of arrows. As they made their way inside and Varric whistled, “Whoever hit those was a great shot.”

As her team cornered the front garden, Leena slipped around the top of the platform, eyes struggling to stay awake. Exhaling a shaky breath, she slid down the pillar of an arch to watch Cassandra approach a pompous looking Orlesian henchman.

“Members of the Inquisition? How much did you have to pay to discover me!” The man’s voice echoed across the courtyard, yet barely registered in her thoughts as the Fade started to pull strongly at her.

Murmurs of Cassandra’s voice echoed, and something incomprehensible from the sour-sounding man answered. Another voice tore through the haze, someone Leena couldn’t make out, “Just say what.”

Red Jenny! Leena struggled to hold on to her consciousness, hearing again the subtle shrill of the woman’s voice speak, “Who are you? Where’s the Herald? She’s the one I invited, after all.”

“Herald? Leena?” She heard Solas’ voice call to her. Unable to gather the energy to respond, she felt a wave of magic wash over her— a feeler of sorts that acoemopanied a slight sense of worry and panic. “Ah, she is up there. I apologize but she must have passed out.”

“Wot!” The woman cackled, besides herself with laughter, “Don’t tell me—snort— she’s a lush? Blacked out on some “

Solas answered the woman again, “Ah, not quite. She met with a potential ally earlier and, at the event, was drugged with a benign, mild psychotropic drug. Thus, we sent her up there as she’s… indisposed.”

“Oh shit! One of those fancy Orlesian parties? Wish I woulda know— got Jennies working those gigs that could tell ya right away what and who. Glowy bits’ safer up there right now, yea? ‘Cause they’re coming! But it’s OK, someone tipped me their equipment shed.”

Cassandra scoffed, obviously unimpressed with the girl, “Who is coming? You could be more clear.”

She cackled again, “They’ve got no breeches!”

“Why— but why not take their weapons?” Leena could hear the disbelief in Solas’ voice.

The clang of combat raged loudly below as Leena finally lost the rest of herself to sleep, tendrils of magic dancing wildly in viivd color behind her eyes. The waves and patterns slowly formed the familiar cradle of the Fade, her feet forming a more corporeal form below her. The stone-lined Orlesian streets reformed below her feet, recreating a familiar but unreal street in an unreal Val Royeaux. She walked carefully, unsure at first about the dream— was this hers, or…?

An ethereal voice called to her from behind in perfect and beautiful Elvhen, “An'daran Atish'an, da’len.”

She shot around, eyes meeting who she realized was someone she should know. But why? She considered the possibility of knowing him, and based on feeling, knew that possibility was fact. “I know you.”

He laughed and responded playfully, stepping closer. The clean lines of his intricate vallas’lin shone like silver— the mark of Elgar’nan subtle on his face. “Yes, you do. But from where I might ask?”

She blinked, eyes gazing somewhere past him towards her memory, “I haven’t the slightest idea from where.”

He slinked closer, satisfied with her response, and purred, “Good. And you will forget again, yes? When this dream is through?”

She nodded obediently, dropping to her knees before him, her own vallas’lin shimmering to life, “Yes.”

“Ah, so well behaved, my child.” He smirked, stroking her cheek, “I am here to remind you of his will for you, and to not forget the duty you willingly undertook as part of your training. One of your brethren had to guide you earlier— which is fine, considering your state, but do be careful.”

Leena nodded, “I understand. Have you any instructions for me?”

“Learn everything you can about the elven mage with whom you are enamored. Utilize your bond with him and tease out his strengths and weaknesses.”

Leena flinched, “I…love him. I cannot—”

The lean man’s tone grew icy, “You will. Love matters not in war— it will not save your life when the time comes. What use for love will you have in the Void? But worry not, you will forget until the time is right. You expressed in the past it is excessive, but your companions must not sense your duplicity. I have a feeling this man is perceptive enough to sense such workings, so I have simplified the task for you.”

Leena nodded, eyes sad, “Is that all you ask?”

“If you do not act quickly to solve the riddles we have left, the shemlen will awaken a beast below and that will distract our efforts in our main mission.” He paused, “You must follow the clues. We have left just enough to suss out the location from the researchers, but the Oracle claims the ‘Red Ones’ will reach it and begin trials within a season.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled, “Anything else? I feel a tug— someone is trying to pull me from the Fade.”

“Remember you are indeed a vessel, and this he knows— if he asks of you the same, implicit or explicitly, then comply if it draws you closer to your task and provides explanation.”

“You mean…?” Leena shook her head; she did not want this. This was not what she had agreed to, ages ago.

“Yes. Give him the illusion of control— over your body, even.”  He smirked, “It might be necessary.”

“As you wish, sir.” With sad eyes, she left, as did the memory. But the feeling remained. The crickets chirping first came into her peripheral, followed by the feel of leather against her cheek— Solas’ leather leggings— and the smell of elfroot and pine.

“Leena?” Solas’ soft voice greeted her. He was bent on his knees her head on his lap, “It is time to leave. We have a new… ally.”

“Rise n’ shine, Herald.” She sniggered, “Uhg, Herald. We have to do something about that, right?”

Leena rubbed her eyes, then cast her gaze on the blonde elf, bow and arrow strapped to her back, “You are?”

“I’m Sera, the Red Jenny. I wanted to meet you, Herald.” She smirked as Leena wobbled to stand, aided by Solas.

“Nice to meet you.” She glanced down to the courtyard, bodies scattered haphazardly all over, “What happened? I… fell asleep for a bit.”

“Yeah, for an hour.” Cassandra dead panned, “We tried to wake you. Solas had to use his magic to pull you from the Fade. We were worried, since you normally rouse easily and had been drugged, but Solas explained it could be a side effect of the substance that strongly attaches you to the Fade so we chose to wait it out as long as we could.”

Sera visibly shivered at the mention of it, “Weird, why would some nutter wanna drag you down like that? Creepy magic shite. Bet he wanted in your breeches.”

Solas visibly rolled his eyes, “That, da’len, is a complicated question we will discuss upon returning to the Inn amongst those who need to know.”

Sera glared at him, “Wuddya call me?”

Leena smiled, “It more or less means ‘child’ in Elvhen, Sera, but it refers to anyone younger or more inexperienced than oneself.”

Sera scoffed, “You know whats good? Words that have meaning. Like ‘apple’ and ‘arrows.’ None of that elfy shite.”

The glare from Solas could have set her on fire, if he was slightly less contained.

“Uh oh,” Varric laughed, “This will be interesting. Anyway, let’s head back to the Inn. Think you can walk now, Sleeping Beauty?”

Leena groaned, still being fawned over by Solas, who was prodding her and poking at her with magic feelers of sorts, the hum his mana reverberating in the air, “Uhg, yes Varric. Don’t call me… things! I have a name!”

Two hours later, they were all exhausted in their beds; Leena had dropped like a rock as soon as they returned.  Sera had set off and said she would meet them in Haven in a weeks time. It was well into the wee hours of the morning and exhaustion was painted across everyones faces, especially Solas’ who was uneasy about Leena’s earlier behavior. She had not remembered any of her earlier time in the Fade, but confirmed she’d been there. Not that he couldn’t sense that, nor the blanket surrounding her in the Fade that was completely impervious. Few could accomplish such a feat— and she was not yet one of them, though she did hold potential, as any skilled mage sensitive to the Fade could learn such skill with time and practice. But she had not the practice, nor time with her magic to develop such a talent. 

Curious.

This girls memory— it would give him problems. Finding some way to unlock or block whatever spell was interfering with her could result in dangerous altercations of her current state— it was much safer to watch and wait for an opportunity to block any future attempts than set any sort of wards upon her mind. They again shared a bed, her form curled close to Solas and fisting gathers of his loose sleep tunic as he restlessly tangled his hands through her hair— he was too agitated to sleep. Her soft, pale complexion flushed and faltered, eyes moving rapidly under their lids as little huffs of air escaped her lips. Smiling, he kissed her forehead gently, a wisp of magic trailing across her face, pulling her towards pleasant memories. Yes, he had many years and ages of time to perfect his mastery of the Fade. It was easy to manipulate his own and other’s mindspace to bring them either peace or distress. He did not earn the nickname Bringer of Nightmares without reason; what was lost to time, however, were the pleasant ones he also gifted. The dreams of love, beauty, and paradise. The dreams of enchantment and frivolity he happily gifted to lovers and friends, as tokens of affection. He could give her unimaginable pleasures that would wake her breathless and in a heat, or show her festivals and feasts so grand she’d want nothing more than to dance with him in the morning. No— none of that made legend. Fear makes legend.

“Good dreams, emma’lath.”

Chapter Text

The particularly mischievous imp of a woman he’d fallen asleep next to drug Solas into the early morning light— barely giving him a breath to bid adieu to his companions in the Fade. A plotting hand had found wriggled into his smalls, grasping the stiff member in its fingers. He growled, and Leena giggled, “You poked me awake, Solas… so I’m punishing you.”

He moaned as her body shifted, head disappearing under the blanket and slick lips closing over the head of his cock, “This is hardly punishment, emma’lath.”  

She said nothing, but hummed around his cock, sending vibrations shivering down the shaft, eagerly taking as much of him into the warm cavern of her mouth as she could. His breath became ragged and his hand tangled in her hair, tugging gently at her to release him, “ Enough. Come here. ”

She released him with a loud pop, and emerged from under the sheets, grin on her face as she walked on her hands up the mattress to hover above him. Solas’ hands slid to her naked waist, and he smirked. She’d already stripped herself prior to her attack , “Ah, eager, my heart?”

She kissed him— a wordless response— and he chuckled as he flipped her onto her back with gusto, capturing again her lips while sliding his hand between her legs and dragging a comparatively lazy finger along her slit. Leena sighed happened, nuzzling Solas’ neck while bucking instinctively against his now probing fingers. “You are so very eager this morning— good dreams?”

“Maddening dreams— ah!” She gasped as his electric-charged  thumb found her clit, rolling her head back.

He smirked, second and third finger slipping in with ease, “Tell me of them.”

“You wouldn’t fuck me, and—nngg,” she wriggled impatiently, his hand’s pace just a tad too slow to truly satisfy, “And— instead— ah— you made me watch you fuck some sassy red-headed wench . I was so…mad!”

He chuckled, hand withdrawing completely to her protest, “I am not so cruel, my love.”

“Uhg, yes you are! Please!” She whined and flashed him pleading eyes, “I need…we haven’t since… “

“Hmmm?” He lazily licked his own fingers clean, eyes flitting shut as he relished the taste, “What do you need, Leena?”

“Please, I need you inside me.”

“Ah, I just was.” He laughed at her pout in response, “No, not like that?”

Her hand snaked between them and gripped his cock, “Your cock, please… please, fill me. Please, please— fuck me .”

“Since you asked so nicely,” He removed her hand and pinned it with her other above her head, “I cannot deny you-- ma nuvenin .”

She gasped as he hooked her leg onto his shoulder and, in one fluid motion, buried himself to the hilt. She cried out and bucked instinctively into his thrusts, meeting them enthusiastically as he lost himself in the softness of her body. This fullness, this overwhelming pleasure, was exactly the distraction she needed. Her body hummed with excitement and the slick wetness throbbed from her cunt around his rapidly moving sex. Solas cursed loudly at the sinful sight before him— the clouded look of pleasure on her face urging him onward along with the distinct groaning of the bed against the old wooden floors. He paused, automatically earning him a whimper, and flipped her onto her stomach, dragging her backwards, as he rose to stand along the back edge of the bed. With a yank, and a gasp, her ass was level with his cock and he again slid into her weeping sex. It was a beautiful view. He gripped onto her hips as leverage and the sound of his sack smacking against flesh as he picked up an indulgent pace. Leena was not shy— not this morning-- nor was she as delicate and sensitive as the first time they’d laid together. Yes , Solas thought, this was preferable to dancing on eggshells . Her voice filled the room, a string of obscenities and pleads, “Fuck me— fuck me ! Ah!”

Solas smirked, voice a low and faint rumble, “Stop touching yourself, Leena.”

“I want—ah!” Her hands flew out and became rigid as magical restraints glued them to the mattress with a flick of Solas’ wrists. Her clit throbbed and she whimpered, “Please!”

With another gesture, Solas’ magic was around her and she screamed as it snaked and closed around her delicate clit like a python. Her pupils blew and her cries fell silent as it tightened and pulsed in time with each blow to her cunt. He felt her tighten as she teetered on release, his own movements becoming shaky as he greedily anticipated the feeling of her climax around his cock. A spark flashed to her clit, her moan cascading loudly off the walls as she seized around him, mouth gaping as the ripples of her orgasm sent shockwaves through her pelvis and cunt. The pressure built in his cock and Solas dug his fingers into the skin of her hips— little crescents now marring her flesh as he chased his own pending release. Solas was never shy about such base instincts— moaning as loudly as Leena. The bed competed with him in the chorus, somewhere between Solas’ yells and Leena’s pleasured sighs as she basked in the heavy ripples of pleasure. After offering a string of elvhen praises, he exhaled as spurts of cum spilled from him into the wet crux between her thighs. He held nothing back. Solas would mentally berate himself later for the mistake, as he had after the first time they’d laid together and he’d greedily indulged.

In the hazy afterglow he marveled at the wonder of her body and slowly watched his still stiff member slide from her and trail a thick ribbon of pearl fluid down her thigh. Twice now she had not brought it up, had not stopped him. Why? Was she not worried? He very much could get her pregnant; there was absolutely nothing stopping it from happening. She was drinking no contraceptive to his knowledge, and he had not cast a barrier, or used whatever foolish methods humans used.

Fuck. He sighed and collapsed beside her, scooping her into his arms, kissing and murmuring into her long, delicate ears, “You are perfect.”

“Solas…” She cooed, drawing circles on his chest with her finger.

“Leena.” His voice suddenly became serious.

She looked up to his eyes, “Wha? What is it? Why the brooding look? Or is that your normal brood.”

“I— we— we cannot keep indulging without precautions, my love.” He sighed, “It was very selfish of me. I should of at least pulled from you.”

“Oh.” She blinked, the thought finally dawning on her, “I could get pregnant.”

“You— you had not considered that?” Solas was flabbergasted, “That what we were doing was risky behavior? And you not only could get pregnant, you could already be pregnant. We had uninhibited sex prior to this as well.”

“Oh.” She tensed, “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Solas, this is— that is— not what I need right now. Is there a way to uh, hmm, prevent it? Some potion or something…what do other girls use? It’s never really crossed my mind. Oh. Creators. This. Is. Am I this dense? Fenedhis lasa ”

He placed a calming hand on her flustered cheek and swept a lock of hair from her visage, “Firstly, you should calm down as no outcome to the situation can be remedied with panic. Secondly, from here forward, yes, we can, but…If has already happened our options are limited.”

A frown tattooed itself across her lips, “Really, how are you so calm? Or do you just do all your screaming internally.”

Solas’ lip turned, “Mostly internally.”

“Ah. Well then.” She laughed a hollow chuckle, “I mean I guess it wouldn’t be a huge fucking deal to raise a kid in the on the brink of world destruction. Not like there’s really any negative consequences if I fuck up— ship’s sinking any-who. Oh, so that’s the joke that upsets you?”

“It is best not to make light of what is a very serious responsibility— well, responsibilities. ” He furrowed his brow.

“Which are what? Saving the world and rearing our imaginary love child? Though I hope it has my hair. Sorry, ma’lath .” Leena flipped her long, thick hair dramatically.

Solas barked a laugh, then rubbed his head thoughtfully, “I do normally have hair. I do this magically by choice.”

“Wait, you could have hair? And you don’t?” Her mouth was agape, mind reeling with the possibilities. Were they dark, ebony locks? Was he a ginger? She snorted at the thought, earning an eyebrow raise.

“Yes, long, dark hair. Why is that so surprising? You find my choice of hygiene amusing? It is much more convenient when you travel to lack the commitment of hair. Though in my younger years, yes, I did take much pride in my hair and looks.”

“I mean you’re hot like this too.” She smirked at his rather pleased smile creeping out from under his forced neutral expression, “I just like to imagine what a younger and fiery Solas was like. Bet you had all the ladies swooning…. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it’s better you’re bald...”

“I will not deny I had a few admirers.” He was now smiling slyly, eyes distant and remembering.

“Oh, please , Solas. No one fucks like that with a few admirers.” She pinched him playfully, “Sure you don’t have secret children scattered across Thedas?”

He laughed, then groaned, “Please don’t say that. No, I assure you there are no errant children.”

Leena waggled her finger, “That you know of. ”

“I would be able to tell, you know.” He smiled, kissing her cheek.

“Wait, why? Is it something you can tell? What’s going on in…there. That’s creepy, Solas. You’re creepy. This is all… creepy. You know, I bet you do have a secret love child or twelve, and that is why you’re so quiet about your family. ”

“Oh yes of course, I am always on the run from my multitude of parental obligations. Caught me.” He shook his head, “But in all seriousness, yes, a mage can detect if his partner is with child— his child — at will if and only if he knows what to look for and how to sense the very distinct spark of mana. Especially since you are also a mage, for our child would most certainly possess arcane talents as well. It is a well documented method of detection for pregnancy… well, documented in the Fade. Since the advent of the Chantry and, subsequently, the Circle, the knowledge has fallen to disuse in the southern part of Thedas. Humans are much more trepidacious about mixing pregnancy with magic, though, when done correctly it can greatly protect and aid the mother and child.”

“Oh.” She paused, as if to think, grinning from ear to long ear, “That’s still creepy. Oh! can you imagine? Everyone’s reaction— I think Cullen would lose his mind. He loses his mind any time I do something remotely risky! He flipped out when I climbed that tree behind the chantry.”

She deepened her voice in imitation, “ But mages are prohibited from fraternizing!... I mean, he already is so awkward around us both I can’t imagine.”

“Ah, well, there is little they can do now considering all mages are now apostates and therefore unbound to the Templar’s restrictions. Though Cullen is still bound to order and regulation on a deeper level, thus the compulsion must be difficult to suppress. I doubt his opinion has changed. Though, I doubt that is the reason he is awkward around us. And I agree with the tree Leena, that one had very weak branches….”

“What? I was fine! Shut up about my trees already. And, yes, he’s just… like that, isn’t he? Also pretty set in his opinions on the matter, having lived through Kirkwall and what not. Last meeting it was something about contacting the Templars, blah blah, didn’t listen. Made little sense— why do we need Templars with a giant hole in the sky? What good will they do.”

“Ah, you would do well to listen during these meetings. He was discussing using the Templars to close the Breech by suppressing the magical energies— though I find his approach flawed. We have no reason to believe their powers would work to do such a task, while I am almost certain the mages would accomplish this task.”

“I have no memory of this meeting.”

“Ah, of course you don’t.” Solas chuckled and drug his fingers down the smooth curve of her back, pads of his fingers sending shivers down her spine.

Leena chirped, “Well, we have established my head’s been addled with!”

“That we have. Though I think in this case,” he pinched her side, “You were simply not paying attention.”  

“Mmmm, I have a wonderful distraction.” Leena’s mischievous hand dipped lower, slinking between their mess of legs, her teeth simultaneously finding Solas’s earlobe, “Can I use youth as an excuse?”

He audibly sighed, eyes flickering closed, “Must you repeatedly remind me of our palpable age difference?”

“Yes, yes I must. But only because it seems to get a rise out of your otherwise collected self. Speaking of rise... ”

“ Fenedhis, Leena! Do you ever take a break?”

“Oh, Varric, have you talked to Hawke? She sent me a letter. I think. I can’t seem to find it. Or maybe I am still confused.” Merrill sipped her herbal tea in the small sitting room adjacent to the dining hall of the Inn. They were not the first awake— Cassandra and Cullen had been up earlier than any of them, but quickly made themselves scarce and left the establishment with rather serious expressions.

“Shh, Daisy, not so loud!” Varric shushed her and waggled his finger, “She doesn’t need any additional attention.”

“Oh, I am just worried, that is all. Say, it feels strange seeing you without her-- or Fenris. Or Isabella. Or Aveline. Or even….Anders.” she looked to her feet, “It doesn’t feel right and this city is not Kirkwall, by far. I thought elves were treated poorly there, but here it is another level. It seems so long ago we were all together, but now that I think about it, it really wasn’t’ so long ago compared to the time we spent in Kirkwall.”

“Yeah.” Varric said little. He looked to his lap and rubbed the rough skin of his calloused hands, well worn from ten years of chasing after Hawke.

“You sound so sad, Varric. I know you miss her, but you’ve made so many friends already! It’s amazing. Do you think they’ll be my friends too? The Herald’s Dalish too— it’s quite exciting seeing another one of the People— though I’m not sure about this whole Herald of Andraste matter. Perhaps it’s better attributed to demons?”

“That’s— I’m going to stick with the Andraste version of events. And you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like. Sure, everyone’s friendly but I’d hardly call them friends yet...”

“Oh, no? Well, you’ve got me here now, Varric.”  Merrill was genuine. Varric didn’t always agree with her methods, and sure as hell didn’t understand the blood magic, but if any of them needed her she would be there, and they for her.  

“And Merrill, I don’t know if she’s Dalish. She sure is friendly, though-- warmed up to Chuckles mighty quick.” A hint of not suspicion, but curiosity, tinged Varric’s voice.

“But she’s got Vallas’lin!” Merrill frowned, “Though I suppose, perhaps, it’s got to come from somewhere, hasn’t it? Fenris has a form of Vallas’lin as well but magical, and he isn’t Dalish. Perhaps...no, that would be...”

Varric raised an eyebrow, “Well, I’m not sure I’m following Daisy.”

“Oh, nevermind, Varric, it was just a thought.”  

“We’ve sent word ahead to Leliana and begun mobilizing our soldiers back towards Haven, per your request, Commander.” The scout saluted Cullen, “Though we are….uh... “

“Well spit it out!” Cullen had no time for Jim’s inhibitions.

“We are not all accounted for, Ser! We cannot find two of our men, Commander. One was an elven scout reporting to Leliana, and the other was that… lady… who was assigned to help the Herald. Nadia was it? She was rather sour.” Jim sighed, “I’d expect her to run off, but not the elf-- Adele? I can’t remember her name, it’s the weirdest thing.”

Cullen scratched his head, also failing to remember her name, “The dark-haired one with a perpetual frown? And all the tattoos? What was her name?”

Peculiar. He did not regularly forget someone’s name who reported to him on a recurring basis.

Cassandra scoffed, “Close. His name was Adehen.”

“Wait-- that was a guy?” Jim sounded perplexed, then abashed, “I…well...he was very pretty.”

“Does it matter?” Cullen shook his head, “I assume Leliana is aware of the situation?”

“She’ll know as fast as the birds can fly, Cullen. I assume she will send her agents after him for questioning.” Cassandra crossed her arms, “As far as Nadia, I assume she is just agitated after her dismissal. Check the bars-- and brothels.”

“Well? You heard her, Jim, dismissed.” Cullen pointed towards the city.

“Y-Yes ser!”

They found neither Adehen or Nadia prior to their return to Haven. That put both Cullen and Cassandra in a stiff mood. Merrill had followed them back, sharing a saddle with Varric for the first part of their trip then Leena and Solas shared the next and Merrill rode by herself on Leena’s horse. “It’s awfully quiet-- no bandits at all! Kind of boring isn’t it, Varric?”

“Merrill, don’t curse us. This isn’t Darktown; there aren’t bandits on every corner waiting to mug you.” Varric shook his head.
“Why not?”

“Why not--? What kind of question is that.” Cullen muttered under his breath.

“Oh, Cullen, this can’t be so much different. Kirkwall really wasn’t so bad, you know, and sometimes they even asked for your money nicely!”

Varric muttered an aside, “Before stabbing you and throwing you in the sewers.”

“No, it really is that bad. I’ve been all over and I can say most cities have some level of control on crime. Hell, even Denerim had more control during a Blight. ”

“Whatever this Kirkwall place is, it sounds awful.” Leena sighed, rummaging through Solas’s pockets for snacks she’d stored.

“Are you hiding snacks on my person again?”

“...D’uh. You’ve got that huge coat. I don’t have nearly enough pockets. Almonds! Jackpot.” She tossed a few in her mouth, “Hey, isn’t it Kirkwall leaking all over the reason we have to deal with this shit? The mages, the Templars, the Conclave...humans fucking up politics beyond repairable conditions. Classic.”

“Ah, yes. Here we are.” Varric paused, “Cleaning up another human mess.”

“What would the Inquisition do without our stabilizing influence, Master Tethras?” Solas smirked.

Varric laughed, “I'd assume they'd just start burning things”
“That does sound like most humans I know.” Solas nodded thoughtfully.
Cassandra snipped, “If you gentlemen are quite finished?”
“Now, now, don't get touchy. We're just here to lend you simple humans our help.” Varric threw Cassandra and Cullen a huge grin.
“Before you cause everything to explode.” Solas added.
“Again.”

Cassandra barked back, “If I’m remembering correctly, Varric , you were one of the instigators of this entire mess!”

“Seeker, if you remember correctly , you would know I had no hand in starting this war! I was a simple bystander fighting on the side of justice from time to time.”

“Yes, Justice.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.

Varric’s smiled dropped, “Poor choice of words! I meant the idea, not Anders.”

“There is a bounty on his head now.” Cullen broke his silence, “Incase you had any doubts on what would happen.”

“To be claimed by whom? What’s left of the Order?” Varric narrowed his eyes, “Highly unlikely.”

“Highly unlikely he is still in the Free Marches, or anywhere someone might recognize him.” Merrill sighed, “He’s clever, Anders. Kind of.”

“He has a lot of enemies after deserting the Wardens and then blowing up a Chantry. Someone will recognize him. If there is anything you are not tell--”

“I told you all I know!” Varric cut off Cassandra, “Believe me, I don’t agree with Blondie’s decisions. Or what Hawke failed to do.”

“She should have killed him.” Merrill shook her head, “But I understand why she didn’t.”

“Fenris was livid…” Varric muttered, “For a number of reasons.”

“What? Why didn’t she kill him?” Leena loved drama, but only if it didn’t directly invoe her. She pried, “Something you didn’t write in the book?”

“Well, you see, Heroes are fictional. Real people aren’t perfect , you know. Hawke had her shit moments too. And it would have been too personal for me to include that bit, and probably made people dislike the hero, and my book, so...I just casually left it out.”

“You...left what out?” Leena shook her head, “Spit it out.”

“Hawke may or may not have been cheating on Broody for a time… though cheating is a strong word. Technically they weren’t together -- it was more of an on, off, on again kind of deal. With a lot of fucking.”

“Oh, no, she was certainly cheating on him.” Merrill nodded and said, matter-o-factly. “She also slept with Isabella. Twice. And most of the Blooming Rose. Especially that one busty blonde girl...”

“ Daisy if you’d just be a little more tactful…” Varric sighed, “No one likes a cheater, so I left it out. Shit went down that day in more ways than one. Both men had wanted her for themselves, and she just… couldn't pick. Hawke loved them both. So she told Fenris months before the Chantry explosion that he was the one and just kept them away from each other. Blondie even quietly moved into her mansion. When they finally faced each other and Anders confessed his undying love no matter what fate she asked of him, Fenris realized Hawke had lied to him about cutting it off.  Blondie seemed to know she was still with Fenris the whole time and I think Hawke had told him to keep quiet. It was Ander’s  final ‘ fuck you ’ to Fenris.”

“And they’re still together, Hawke and Fenris?” Leena blinked, “Wasn’t that a huge betrayal?”

“Shit, he about ran off right there. I am surprised he didn’t. I honestly don’t know why he stayed, but he and Hawke must have had some conversation because when they left, they left together. She can be quite convincing. ” He sighed, “She never told me what happened, and naturally I haven’t been in contact so I haven’t gotten closure on it.”

“Well let me know if you do,” Leena turned to face Varric, “I hate cliffhangers!”

“Yes, Varric, let us know if you hear from Hawke.” Cassandra’s voice had moderately more venom than normal.