Haven
"Let me go!!!"
Lira arched her back, straining impotently against the hands pinning her wrists to the tree behind her. His arms didn't move an inch for all of her struggling, and she tried not to let her panic show as she met his steely blue gaze.
"You must think me a fool," he said calmly. "If I release you then you'll only try to kill me again." Deftly maneuvering his fingers, he twisted the bones in her left hand until she gasped and dropped the dagger she'd been clutching.
"Damn you!" The panic was there now, tremulous in Lira's voice as tears sprung to her eyes at the pain radiating down her arm. "Just get it over with already!"
Cocking his head to the side, he addressed her with an almost indifferent air. "I am afraid that I haven't the slightest idea what you're babbling about. You're the one who came after me like some hysterical mad-woman. Just what, exactly, is it that am I supposed to be doing?"
"I know who you are, Solas," she hissed through gritted teeth. He stilled. The anchor flared in her palm, casting his face in the green glow of the void, and Lira didn't miss the way his gaze flickered hungrily towards her hand, his fingers curling slightly tighter around her.
"And I know what you want."
His face was inches from her own, body pressed against hers, and she knew that he must feel her frantic heartbeat through the thin layers of cloth between them. A rivulet of blood from the shallow cut on his throat made its way down his pale flesh, and she watched as it met the fabric and disappeared into it, a small explosive bloom of red against cream.
He shook his head, clearly unwilling to give up the façade. "All I want is to continue on my way unimpeded. If I let you go do you promise not to attack me again? I must warn you, I will not be gentle with you next time."
For a split second she almost believed his words, and she found herself searching his eyes for a hint of honesty; some subtle sign that she could trust him. Fool, she thought to herself, of course he's deceiving you. That's what he DOES.
Nodding her acquiescence, she willed her muscles to relax as he released her. They scrutinized each other warily, his eyes never leaving hers as he put his hands up in a pacifying motion, stepping backwards away from her. It was only as he moved to turn away that she saw what approached behind him- a massive wolf, head coming to Solas's chest, legs a blur as it barreled towards him. The wolf lunged, catching the elf before he had a chance to reach for his staff, and Lira only had time to scream.
"FEN'HAREL!!!"
Three days earlier…
Solas followed the human woman, her short dark hair bobbing in and out of the frenzied crowd ahead of him. Haven was in chaos. The explosion at the Conclave had thrown the small village into total disarray, with people pushing and shoving to get by. Makeshift pallets had been erected in any available space to tend to the wounded, and it was here that Solas caught up to the Seeker as she stopped to speak to one of the injured men.
"There are...too many…" His voice rattled weakly from the cot and Cassandra knelt down to hear him better.
"How far have they spread? Is the forward camp still holding?"
"The…camp…still stands. I don't know…how long..."
Cassandra turned to Solas. "See if you can find some water for him." He did as she bade, filling a skin from his own pack at one of the water barrels nearby before returning to help lift the man's head to drink as the Seeker held the skin to the soldier's lips. He gulped down the water too eagerly, body shaking as he sputtered and choked. After a few moments he was able to breathe again, and Cassandra gently lowered him back onto the furs. Cassandra thanked him for his service, murmuring encouraging words before briefly squeezing his hand and continuing on.
Solas followed her into the chantry and through a door hidden in the recesses of the room. Down dark stairs and towards the dungeons, musty with disuse. It was hard for him to imagine a time when the chantry would have had need of cells in this small mountain community. From what he could tell, travelers to this region had mostly been pilgrims, on their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A journey that no one would ever be able to make again, considering the fact that it had practically been blasted off the face of Thedas and the ruins were currently besieged by demons. Cassandra strode into the dungeon and stopped outside of a small cell guarded by two humans.
"She is in here," Cassandra told Solas tersely. "A healer was brought in to see her, but she has been unresponsive to any efforts to wake her so far." She then addressed the taller of the two guards. "Take his staff. Report to me if he finds anything."
When she caught Solas's expression she arched an eyebrow. "You do not need a staff to study her mark," she said bluntly. "Do not give me a reason to think I have misplaced my trust in you, apostate." And with that she walked out the door.
Solas was all too aware of his standing among the humans who had taken charge here. His usefulness had yet to be proven, and that usefulness was the only thing preventing him from occupying the cell next to the one before him. The guard opened the door, its hinges squeaking from rust and disuse. It was an ominous screech that echoed throughout the empty chamber. Solas stepped inside, then turned and asked for a torch before the guard had shut him in. The human, to his credit, readily allowed him one. His partner was a different story. He leaned against the bars of a nearby cell, arms folded and eyes narrowed suspiciously as though he expected the elf to set the dungeon ablaze with it.
As the lock clicked into place, Solas turned towards the woman he had come to see. For a moment when he raised his torch he wondered if there had been some mistake. She seemed so small…could this wisp of a woman really be the great menace the villagers had painted her to be? Her limbs were at odd angles, as though whoever brought her here had dumped her unceremoniously onto the floor. He knelt, wondering how much attention the healer could have really given her. Reaching out to roll her towards him, he discovered that her wrists were enclosed within a set of heavy manacles attached to the wall. He called to the guards to release her from her shackles, and after a few minutes' argument was able to persuade them that she was in no state to escape the cell, bound or not. As one guard released her from her bindings, the shorter guard stood at the door with his sword to Solas's throat.
"I'm watching you, elf. Try anything funny and I'll kill you both on the spot."
Solas bit back a retort and nodded his acquiescence. A familiar rage filled him, quickly stifled. Once, he had power enough to make nations quake. Now, though…now he was made impotent, with scarcely more power at his disposal than the average mage of this time. It was almost comical. Recent events, however, had put him in no mood for laughter. When both guards had left the cell he deposited the torch into a brazier in the wall. He knelt down, guiding her onto her back. Lifting her arm, he confirmed what he had learned from Cassandra. There in her palm stretched a green glowing scar. It shined just a little brighter as it neared him. He could feel the tug of his power there, and felt it surge as he caressed the line with his fingertips. Long, pale fingers reflexively curled around his, and he glanced up to the woman's face for the first time.
Grime obscured much of her features, though he could see that her cheekbones were high and prominent. Pale lips exhaled shallow breaths, cracked and bloodless around her mouth. Her nose was broken, dried blood fanning out from her nostrils across one cheek, and her large eyes shifted back and forth beneath her lids, one of them swollen shut and bruised. Bruises marred the rest of her face as well, causing her skin to protrude in odd places with swelling. Beneath the dirt and filth he could make out the dark lines of Dirthamen's vallaslin curled upon her forehead and arching across her cheeks and chin. Her ears were hidden within the hood around her head, but her markings identified her as one of the Dalish, the only one of her kind that he had seen since coming to Haven.
He couldn't help but wonder if the bruises on her face were caused before or after she fell from the rift. She hadn't been formally accused of anything yet, probably because she wasn't conscious to hear any such implications, but he couldn't put it past the humans to have roughed her up a little in their own feeble attempts at retribution. The thought made him bristle, and he had to tamp down the unfounded rage that rose within him.
Solas felt for a pulse on the thin wrist he was holding. Fast but weak. He gently lowered her hand onto her stomach and reached for her shoulder, shaking it lightly. No reaction.
"Can you hear me?" he asked softly, giving her shoulder another slight shake. She remained impassive, her eyes no longer moving beneath her eyelids. Solas asked the guards for some warm water and a cloth to clean her face with. Without waiting for a response, he returned his attention to the mark upon her hand.
Placing his thumb upon the center of the scar, he tried pouring his magic into it. The mark flared violently, the veins in her arms standing out a sickly glowing green against her skin as her back arched and her head slammed against the floor. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her eyes shot wide open, the green brightness of his power shining out of her sockets. Solas dropped her hand like a hot stone, his heart pounding. Her body rested on the floor once again, the mark no longer glowing. Her breaths were heavy, panting.
"Maker's breath!" exclaimed the guard. "What in the bloody hell just happened?!"
"I tested the mark upon her hand with my magic. The effect was….unexpected."
"You better not do anything like that again, elf," sputtered the guard, his bravado belied by the sword wavering in one hand.
"I am only doing what I was brought here to do. If you have a problem with that then I suggest you take it up with the Seeker." Solas's patience was starting to fray. He should have been in total control of the power residing within this woman. Questions chased each other in his mind. Why? And perhaps more importantly, how? Only one thing was sure- he had to get to the bottom of this mystery while he still had time.
Solas spent the rest of that day and the next trying every conceivable method he could come up with to withdraw his mark from the mysterious woman's palm. Nothing resulted in the same display that had occurred when he first attempted to activate it, but he had since adopted a somewhat…gentler approach. The results were the same, however. Nothing he tried seemed to make the mark move or lessen its grip upon her. It was, for all intents and purposes, attached. That it would kill her was unquestionable. He informed the Seeker of this, and of his suspicions that the mark was significantly linked to the breach.
As the day wore on he grew more and more melancholy. This elven woman had come to stand as a physical embodiment of all of his mistakes, of the world which would invariably come crashing to an end due to his own foolishness. She would perish, and with her the last real hope he had of closing the hole in the sky. What will happen to my power if she dies? Would I have time to seek out alternate sources of energy? Where would I even begin to look?
The world had changed so much since he created the Veil. Who knows how much of what I knew has been lost to time. The mark was useless to him. Unlocked only to attach itself to someone who may as well be a living corpse, if her continued state was any indication. Solas had convinced the Seeker to allow the prisoner a cot and him a chair, claiming (not untruthfully) that he would have an easier time in his study of her if she wasn't crumpled upon the floor. He had tended to her wounds as best as he could with his magic, and cleaned her face and arms with the cold water the guards allowed him. She wasn't awake to complain. She now lay upon the hard, meager bench in her cell, face clean of dirt and bruises but deathly pale under her vallaslin. He had made her as comfortable as possible. It wouldn't be long now.
Sometime later Cassandra found him sitting there, head in his hands. Worry and exhaustion had taken their toll on him. He had no other options, no other avenues to explore. With reluctance he let the Seeker lead him out of the cell and away from the chantry to a modest yet cozy cabin nearby. He did not ask to whom it belonged, the thick layer of dust over everything gave it the air of a place long abandoned. Still, it was a much better accommodation than he had been expecting.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for as she opened the door Cassandra said, "This cabin is rumored to be haunted. The locals refuse to enter the place. I assumed that with your…background in these matters, you would not have the same objections." She cleared her throat. "And...I do appreciate the help you have extended to us. It was either this or sharing a tent with Varric." The look on her face as she said the dwarf's name made it clear which option she found superior.
"No…I mean, yes- thank you. This will do quite well. Forgive me, the last few days have been quite trying," Solas said wearily. "Has any progress yet been made in stopping the spread of demons pouring from the Breach?"
"We are doing all that we are able," said Cassandra, "though our forces are spread thin and without relief. It seems that for every demon we strike down two more take its place."
Solas nodded, resigned. "Then tomorrow I shall set out to the temple and offer whatever help I can."
The Seeker seemed startled for a moment. "Thank you. We are in need of all the forces we can muster. But are you sure? It will be quite dangerous, especially for one with no proper military training."
He gave her a small, hard smile.
"I shall try my best."