Chapter 6
She’d wrapped it in a sweater. She’d shoved under a pillow. She'd tried to trap it under the mattress.
Nothing dimmed the bright green light emitting from her hand.
Emma groaned and threw her pillow at the wall. They were leaving in a few hours for the Hinterlands. She couldn’t help this damned whatever it was if she couldn’t sleep.
Tossing the covers aside, she pulled herself upright in the edge of the simple bed. She was glad they’d given her a cottage to herself. If nothing else so her spectacle of an appendage didn’t bother another. Her pack sat curing by the dim fire. She'd finish with the enchantment in the morning before they left.
She quickly dressed in warmer attire than the sleeping smock she’d been given. A small box containing medical supplies still sat on her floor. She grabbed bandages and wrapped her hand to try and muffle the light before she left the warmth of the cabin.
* * *
The camp was quiet.
Those up tending to their nighttime duties bowed as she passed. She had to curtail to urge to snarl or run. They weren’t laughing at her. They weren’t being cruel. She was an ambassador of Andraste. Emma'lah was holy to all these shems, now their Herald. Unfortunately, many of the elves treated her the same way.
She doubted she’d ever get used to it.
Wandering up the steps, she saw the little tavern was still open. She stared at it, the smells of cooked meat still wafting from within. Still, she had no interest in being around others. She didn't want the stares and whispers.
Doing her best to mimic the foxes, she made her way to the dock resting next to the frozen lake.
“I didn’t expect to find you out here,” a familiar voice called to her. She jumped at the sudden sound, turning to see the commander in simple leathers and a cloak, his fur still around his neck. “Is something bothering you, Herald?” he asked, eyes kind and concerned.
She held up her hand, the light a beacon in the darkness. “It’s hard to sleep with a bonfire on your palm.”
“That is very true.” He chuckled, continuing to move forward.
“Yourself?” she asked, making room for him on the dock.
He pulled his cloak tighter, “Just insomnia. It’s been plaguing me for a while.” He moved to sit next to her.
She caught the slight tremor in his hand that he was trying to hide. “Prone to nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
They gazed at the breach.
“Why Haven?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you all choose Haven?”
“I don't know if I would call it a choice. We were using the Chantry as a base for the Conclave within the Temple. When the explosion happened, it made sense to stay.”
“Fair enough.”
The silence that swan between them was calm, kind. She could feel him peeking at her.
“Are you prepared to head out tomorrow, Herald?” He asked.
“As much as I can be.”
“Have you been to the Hinterlands before?”
“Technically? When I was really little. Our clan moved more up and down the coast near Gwaren.”
“In the Brecilian forest?”
“Some of the time. My keeper is far traveled, to say the least. We had many places to stay safely.”
“How far north would you travel?”
The clan? To my knowledge, they've gone as far as Seere.”
“I will admit my ignorance, Herald. I don't know if that is far traveled for a nomadic people?”
“In less than a year? Yes.” She laughed at the shock on his face.
“Less than a year?”
“He knows shortcuts. Has high powered contacts on Brandel's Reach.”
“Raiders?” She nodded. “How?”
“I don't know. That's just Keeper Tcha'gal for ya.” She peaks back at him. A blush rises to his cheeks as he looks away. “Is there anything you miss about being a Templar?”
“Is lyrium too serious of an answer, dear Herald?” she barks a laugh at his candor.
“If that's the truth, then no.”
He sighed a tired sigh far too old for the man sitting next to her. “I miss what I thought the Templars were supposed to be. The structure, the help it was supposed to give. The protection. Those solid boundaries of right and wrong.”
“Keeping the mages caged.” She couldn't help herself.
“Yes, Herald. That was a part of it. But,” another deep sigh, his chin now resting in his hands. “Everything was less gray then. But I was twelve years younger. Barely an adult. I'd been raised with this fear of magic and what it could do. It wasn't until the older Hawke twins that my opinion began to shift. Then I truly saw it, the order, for what it wasn't. And when Meredith… Forgive me, Herald. I don't think I can speak more on this at the moment.” The shaking in his hands had returned with a vigor.
“Commander?”
“Yes, Herald?” his eyes met hers, a sorrow swirling deep within.
She fought the flinch. “Could I ask… Would you please not address me as Herald?” A furrow grew in his brow. “At least when we’re alone?” she amended.
“I... Of course. How would you like to be referred to?”
“Just Emma.”
“Of course, Just Emma,” she let out a laugh, resting back on her hands.
“Shall still call you Commander?”
“Simply Cullen is fine.”
“As you say, Simply Cullen” His laugh mixed with hers.
They continued talking late into the morning, only parting when both were fighting tired eyelids. He offered to walk her to her cabin, a sadness touching his smile at her refusal. His dreams that night, for the first time in years, were soft and sweet and kind.
* * *
Solas watched the prisoner turned Herald the next morning. He'd been discussing acquiring a particular type of bristle with Harritt as he watched Emma'lah dart out the gates, her fixed pack in hand.
Solas and the blacksmith watched her surmount a rocky hill, lie her pack on the ground and blast it with fire. They watched her body tense with excitement before she snuck upon the pack and opened it. They heard her shout of joy as she pulled out a snowball and danced around with it.
“Well if that isn't fucking adorable.” Harritt muttered.
Solas bit his tongue with more force than intended. The taste of iron with hints of lyrium followed his small cry of pain.
“You alright?” Harritt's raised eyebrow said more than his words could.
“Yes, just, forgot where I put my tongue.”
A gruff noise was the man's only reply before he went back to his forge.
Solas continued to watch as he made his own way to the open gates. A sharp pang went through him as Commander Cullen caught her attention. Watched as he gestured to the pack. Watched her light up as she explained about it, as she released that excitement Solas saw her smother when they'd spoken a day before. He watched as Cullen subtly moved closer, as his arm touched hers, as—
“'Scuse me, ser. I can't get passed.” It was one of the tavern boys with water.
Solas was standing smack dab in the middle of the gate's opening. “My apologies,” he gave a small bow as he stepped aside. One more glance at her flirting with the lion and he'd… she had spotted him. While she was still engaged with the human, her brows had pulled a small crease of concern, her eyes on him.
Solas—Fen'Harel: The Dread Wolf: the god of trickery, treachery, and rebellion—bolted.
She shouldn't look at him like that. He shouldn't be jealous of Cullen for reaching out to her. He shouldn't be concerned with anything but the anchor within her hand. The coming fights ahead. Restoring. Fixing what he'd broken.
Her look had pierced him to his core.
“I'll just stay away.” Solas promised himself. Again. “Make sure the anchor doesn't kill her. That's it.”
Adan met him outside his cabin. “Ingredients for more potions,” Adan handed the mage a wrapped bundle of vegetation. “Well, the hardest to get a hold of, mostly. Anything else I can get before you all head out?”
Fenehedis. That's right. They were heading out for the Hinterlands in a few hours. Fuck. “No, thank you, Master Adan.”
“Just, Adan. Please.”
“Of course.” Solas' placating smile and nod ushered the man away.
It had been four days since they'd left camp. Emma'lah felt every piece of dirt on her skin. Every streak of grease in her hair. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a bath. Even just a quick splash of water in important areas.
“Can we stop for the night?” she asked, knowing full well they had another four hours of walking to do.
“Are you alright, Herald?” Cassandra asked.
“I'm, yes, I'm fine. I just,” A small blush came to her cheeks. Now was not the time to be embarrassed. It wasn't her fault she smelled. She'd been unconscious. The seeker was still looking worriedly at her. “I need a bath. In the worst way. There's a river not too far from here that I can heat without harming the wildlife.”
“How are you going to do that?” Varric asked. “Heat a whole river.”
“I'm not heating the whole river, just a small section. Enough for me to be warmish.”
“Again, how?”
She lifted her and with a flame dancing in her palm. “I'm a mage, remember? They also have runes that can do it, but those are less reliable and expensive.”
“Can you do more than one spot?”
“You want in on the soap too?”
“If you don't mind sharing with a shifty-smuggler.” Varric's eyebrows danced as Cassandra let out a disgusted noise, signaling to the others to make camp.
* * *
Solas fought with every fiber of his being to not join the Herald and the Bard. He glanced at Cassandra, who was fighting for a different reason. He watched her touch her scalp, the dirt upon her called to the forefront.
“You can join them, Seeker.” He mused.
“It would be improper.
“According to whom? I see no one here who would judge you.” Cassandra gave pause, her resolve at it's breaking as she took off to where the others had gone.
He'd been able to keep his distance, even in such a small group.
She'd returned the ground rabbitbrush a day after they'd left. So fine it was dust, perfect for what he'd intended. He didn't tell her so, though. He'd thanked her then quickly picked a conversation with one of the scouts, dissuading her from staying nearby, from asking questions.
Not that she'd been hammering him or anything.
The mage shook his head as he helped set up that night's camp.
He was being silly. She wasn't interested in him! Just like he wasn't actually interested in her. The were just, new, to one another. That was it! He didn't need to worry.
Still, better to wait until they returned before he left to bathe.
* * *
The trio returned a few hours later, shining and grinning.
“You should have joined us, Chuckles.” Varric gave him a passing smack on the shoulder. “Stimulating conversation was had all around.”
“I'm sure it was, Master Tethras.” He looked to Emma, “Feeling better?”
“Much.” She gushed as she crossed to her pack. “We found a perfect spot to stand too! Shallow enough to not be swept away, deep enough to be submerged. Poor Cass had to chase off wildlife.”
The breeze had picked up, carrying the scents of amaryllis and forget-me-nots to him. He kept his mind, his senses, from shifting to get at that tone of her that laid underneath it all.
The chatter of the group floated above him as he worked to get a grip. He couldn’t stop thinking of dragging his nose up her neck. Breathing her in. Letting his mouth trail behind, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin while he held her hips.
“I need to meditate.” The sentence rushed as he stood, halting all other conversation.
“Are you alright? Have you eaten?” Emma called from the fire.
He didn't dare look over his shoulder, “I am fine. Ma serannas.” With that he disappeared into his tent, Emma's eyes following the closing of the flap.
“Don’t worry about him, Herald.” Varric had a sense about people, could see the furrow in her brow. “He’s a moody bastard. Much like another elf I know.”
“Know a lot of elves do you?” She welcomed the distraction.
“I know a few. Daisy, a Dalish like you. Eh. A little more... flowy. And then there's Broody, elf from Tevinter. Would glow and rip your heart out if you crossed him or his wife.”
“That’s enough, Varric.” Cassandra all but snarled.
Emma stifled her chuckle at Varric's rolling eyes. “It’s just a story Seeker.”
“Yes. One you’ve told many times.”
“I haven’t heard it.” Emma’lah tried to sound innocent.
“I'm going to check the perimeter,” The seeker grumbled her concession, and the bard and mage settled back into their conversation.
Thus Varric Tethras spun a tale of Genora Hawke, one of the Champions of Kirkwall, to the Herald of Andraste.
* * *
The fade was not much of a refuge to Solas' disappointment.
Her hand was a shimmering beacon. A constant reminder of her existence. Many spirits came to her, to see what the light was. That's why he was drawn to her! He was a spirit from the start. Surely the draw was the same? The magic concentrated in her palm pulling at this attention.
He watched as she fought for sleep. Up and out of the tent. Stretching and going back. Pacing and helping out. Then back to her tent. Over and over. Once she finally seemed to settle, he roused himself.
The sound of a bathe has eaten at him much like it had Cassandra. He grabbed his whole pack, not wanting to wake Varric with his riffling. He ducked under the canvas and hit his shin on a small stool that had been placed just outside. He could see a faint green glow from a corner of the tent across the way. The tent Cassandra shared with the woman who carried his anchor. Solas had no doubt this was her work.
A bar of soap sat neatly on a small cloth, regal in comparison to the squished and cracked mess he'd been using for months now. A ripped piece of parchment rested underneath, quick script detailing the location they trio had found, asking him to look for a stolen sock.
He sniffed at the pretty lye bar. It smelled of… was that hibiscus?
A smarter man would pay no attention to the kindness, the care shown towards him.
Oh, how he strove to be a smarter man.
* * *
Emma'lah helped to tear down and pack the tents in the morning. The faster they set out the quicker that'd catch up to their original pace.
“Seeker, I believe I found something of yours.” Solas crossed in front of her, neither paying any mind.
The delicate flower's scent hits her nose. She couldn't stop the rush of joy, the pink that flooded her neck, her cheeks, even the tips of her ears. Such a small, stupid thing to be overjoyed about. Cassandra and Varric used her soaps, too.
But…
She hid the small joy in her heart, this moment to be cherished alone.