Chapter Text
“These tents are only temporary.” Cassandra explained as she finished securing the canvas into place. Isii assisted her as best she could, unfamiliar with the assembly. “We should be receiving better equipment for our travels in the coming weeks.”
Varric didn’t look impressed. “A bit cozy for sleeping two to a tent, don’t you think?”
“We should decide our sleeping arrangements.” The Seeker shot an expectant glance to Isii. “What is your preference, Herald?”
Isii hesitated. Part of her wanted to refuse the shelter and offer to sleep out in the open, but she could smell the distinct scent of ozone— a storm was coming. The chill of night was falling over the Hinterlands, a thick wet mist already collecting on her skin. She wouldn’t want to pass up on the relative warmth of a tent in weather like this. Her eyes briefly scanned over the three strangers in her party. It was only their first day travelling together and she did not feel particularly comfortable with any of them. The shem seemed cold and humorless and had accused her of mass murder mere days ago. The dwarf was friendly but unpredictably so. She couldn’t quite tell what his intentions might be if they were alone together. The elf had barely spoken to her all day.
Still, he was an elf.
“I’ll share with Solas.” Isii said, not quite hiding her uncertainty as her eyes darted to him. His reaction was minimal.
Varric laughed as Cassandra’s jaw clenched. Clearly that was not the answer she wanted to hear. “Very well.” She grumbled, turning on her heel and snatching up her bedroll.
“Hope you don’t get handsy in your sleep, Seeker.” Varric jeered, though he did sound genuinely hopeful. Cassandra let out a grunt, huffing as she ducked into the tent. The dwarf begrudgingly followed.
Isii watched Solas, trying to gauge his reaction. She saw nothing but passive acceptance in his features, his eyes not lifting to meet hers as he wordlessly gathered his things, dipping his head low to enter the unoccupied enclosure. She felt an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach and took a slow breath, trying to settle. It was silly to feel nervous. It’s just sleeping. The fact that she did not know him made her uncomfortable, but he had done nothing to earn her suspicion. If anything, he seemed far too disinterested to expect anything untoward would happen in his presence.
The tent looked even smaller once she stuck her head in past the canvas flap. Solas rested on his knees, unfastening his belt before slipping off his vest. He tucked these items into a neat pile with his other possessions. She wondered how much he intended on taking off. The image that passed through her mind brought an embarrassed warmth to her ears, filling her with a strange and tangled mess of curiosity and apprehension. She turned her gaze away, awkwardly spreading her bedroll out next to his, trying not to elbow him in the process. He silently shifted in an attempt to give her more room. It made things a little easier if she did not look at him, but she was no less aware of his presence. Undressing was a bit of a problem in the cramped space and she regretted not starting the process outside of the tent. “I hope you don’t mind me volunteering you like that.” She said with a small laugh, unfastening toggles as she spoke. “I would have asked you first but I was kind of put on the spot.”
“I do not mind.” He said quietly, slipping the jawbone necklace over his head. “I have slept in far more perilous conditions than sharing a tent with the famed Herald of Andraste.”
She peered at him as she slipped off her jacket, her lip curling slightly. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Solas?”
His laugh was soft. Subdued. He flashed a brief smile. “Merely a hint? I did not think I was being that subtle.”
Her grin widened, some of her tension leaving her as she loosened the lacings on her boots. “I take it you don’t believe in the Maker?”
“No. I do not.”
“Well that’s a relief.” She said, shaking her head as she gripped her heel, trying to peel her foot away from the sole. Shemlen shoes were tricky for her. She could never tell quite how to shift her ankle in order to free herself from them. “It’s good to know I am not entirely surrounded by Andrastians. This whole Herald business is starting to get on my nerves.”
“You do not believe you were chosen, then?”
“Maybe I was. Something helped me survive the Fade. Perhaps there was even a bit of divine intervention in keeping this damn mark from killing me. But if it was a god, it certainly wasn’t the Maker.” He responded with little more than a low hum as she glanced over. There was something to his look she could not place. “Do you follow the gods of our people?”
He eyed her cautiously. “Would you think less of me if I said no?”
She fell silent as she peeled off her second boot. “No.” She said after a time. “You are free to believe what you will. Just as I am.”
He did not seem displeased with her response, yet the silence that fell between them slowly chased away the small amount of ease she had gained through speaking with him. Somehow the quiet made the space feel smaller. Cramped. It reminded her of the stranger that he was. Polite though he may be, there was little she truly knew about him.
She stripped down until only her leggings and loose linen undershirt remained. She decided to keep her breast band on, despite the discomfort she felt sleeping in it. It seemed inappropriate to do otherwise. Solas stretched out on his bedroll, his hands gently folded against his stomach as he closed his eyes. She suspected his deep rhythmic breaths were some form of practiced meditation to slip into the Fade rather than the languid breaths of sleep. With his eyes closed, she allowed her gaze to linger on him. He was broad-shouldered for an elf, though his body was still lean in shape. Kneeling this close to him, she saw details she had not noticed before. The small scar above his brow. A faint vein that trailed across his temple. His lips appeared thicker when his face was relaxed. She could not deny that he was attractive, though she suddenly felt uncomfortable making such an observation in this context.
She shook her hair from its twist, pulling it into a loose braid to save her neck from aching the coming morning. As she worked the strands between her fingers, she felt a sudden tight flare in her palm, nerve endings firing, a bizarre heat coming from the anchor. She hissed, cursing softly under her breath, letting go of her hair as she massaged her hand.
Solas’s eyes drifted open, peering at her curiously. “Trouble with the anchor?”
She pressed her thumb hard against the mark, trying to ease the sensation. “It happens sometimes when I grip things.” She muttered as he sat up. “It’s not pain, exactly. Just a really uncomfortable pressure. I’m still not used to it.”
“May I?” He asked, indicating the mark with a gesture. She eyed him for a moment before moving her hand forward. He cupped it in his palm, gazing intently as the low gleam of green light shone through her skin, already fading now from whatever had triggered its spark. He gently ran his finger over it, the glow brightening under his touch and she hissed.
“My apologies,” he said, pulling his finger away. “I would like to try something, with your permission. I believe it might help.”
She nodded hesitantly. He placed his hand over hers, pressed as if to lace his fingers with her own but not completing the motion. She felt a cool tingle, a strange sensation she was not familiar with. She could tell he was imbuing his touch with magic, but she could not identify the spell. There was a sudden soothing rush that flowed into her, like dipping her hand into a cool stream. Within seconds he pulled away, dropping her hand and disconnecting her from that feeling.
She glanced at her palm. The glow was still there, but she could no longer feel the discomfort. “What did you do?”
“I simply numbed the sensation in the skin around the anchor.” He said, lying down once more. “It should keep you from feeling any pain until whatever triggered the mark dissipates.”
“Thank you.” She murmured.
He closed his eyes again. “It was of no consequence.”
She shifted, lying down beside him. Even as she slid her body to the farthest edge of her bedroll, there was no way to position herself on her back without her arm pressing against his. She cleared her throat, her hands nervously trying to find a comfortable place to rest as she tried to relax. “I hope you don’t snore.” She said quietly.
That purchased her another small laugh. His eyes remained closed, though his lips did slip into an amused grin. “It has been a very long time since I have had someone to confirm such a trait. The last I heard, the answer was no. I do not.”
“Ah. Well. Lucky me.” She rolled onto her side, placing her back to him. Perhaps this could be more comfortable this way. Just act as if he wasn’t there. “Hamin atisha.”
“Hamin atisha.” He murmured back to her. There was something strangely comforting in hearing her speak the language of the People. It reminded him of home, of some small piece of the familiar, however half-remembered it was by the Dalish.
Though he lay in repose, attempting to release himself into sleep, his mind was persistently active. He did not know what to make of this elf. So far, he saw signs of promise. She had yet to show an unwillingness to cooperate with those around her – something that honestly surprised him, given his interactions with the Dalish. She was clearly not as closed-minded as he knew her people to be. Either that or she was tactful enough to not show her true opinion. But these were only vague impressions, small fragments taken from brief observations. He would need to know more of her, to watch her in the coming days, to judge her character. He needed to know if the mark was safe with her.
The thought of a mortal channeling the power of his orb formed a pit in his stomach, a lingering worry that would not leave him. That kind of power could be easily abused. To suddenly find it lashed to the whims of some mortal elf was more than concerning. It was a potential disaster waiting to happen. He did not fear that she would not be able to control it. Quite the opposite. He feared what she may do once she learned how to bend it to her will. She had been given a powerful and dangerous gift, one she knew nothing of. Ignorance and power do not make good bedfellows and often lead to abuses that could not easily be undone. This he knew well.
It was why he had to study her closely.
He watched over her in those first days after she stumbled from the Fade. Curiosity tore at him, his mind racing to make sense of this new discovery. He tried to manipulate the anchor, to see if he could tap into the energy of his orb that had become inexplicably connected to her. Perhaps such a connection could prove useful in reacquiring the object. He dropped that angle of exploration quickly, discovering that it was dangerously simple to cause pain with only the slightest pull against the power that lay within her skin. He abandoned all further attempts to complete the task, focusing fully on easing her discomfort and keeping her alive. It was clear that she was a vessel now, no matter what either one of them thought of the predicament. She would be as necessary to his ends as he would be to hers.
He finally felt the weight of sleep take him away from his worries, the slow tug allowing him to sink into the Fade. He could feel her presence beside him even there. It was not the physical awareness of her body, but rather the closeness of her mind that drew his attention now. She was sleeping, already dreaming. The temptation to peer into her thoughts lingered, but he decided against it, instead forcing himself to move on, to drift away, to delve into the history the Hinterlands had to offer him.
***
The first thing he was aware of was the feeling of warmth.
His consciousness pulled from the Fade slowly, pooling into his physical form. His breaths deepened gradually, taking in a soothing yet unfamiliar scent. Honey and fresh herbs and skin. He could feel a weight against him, nestled around his side, pressing down on his chest; yet it did not leave him feeling pinned. It was reassuring. Enveloping.
And confusing.
His eyes drifted open, frowning in the warm glow as sunlight peeked through the edges of the tent. Isii lay against him, her cheek against his chest, her knee wedged between his own, one of her hands clutching his tunic. Her hair fell loosely from the half-finished braid, spilling over his shoulder, collecting against the side of his throat. He found he had returned the embrace in his unconscious state. Where her hand clutched at his clothing, his own rested over it, fingers curled against the curve of her loose fist. His other pressed against the bare skin of her lower back, pushed under the hem of her shirt.
This was an unexpected development.
He suspected from her breathing that she was asleep. That was probably for the best. He slowly tilted his head, looking into her face for confirmation. Her features remained still, save for the small twitching of her lashes as her eyes moved beneath closed lids. He slowly removed his hand from her back, setting her shirt into its proper place. She stirred slightly. He was close enough he could hear her lips as they parted and she let out a soft, sleepy whimper.
His first instinct was to wake her and yet something stopped him. He wondered if he should allow her to stay like this for a time. There was nothing lurid in this desire. He had simply forgotten what such contact felt like. It was tempting to allow it to remain for a few more moments. He watched her, studied how her face looked in repose. The straight edge of her nose. The way her vallaslin dipped along her cheekbones. The way the morning light caught her amber skin, so dark against the waves of cream colored hair that fell over her brow. With a hesitant hand, he brushed the strands away, tucking them behind the crest of her ear. She stirred again, murmuring, tightening her grip on his tunic. He could not make out most of what she said, though he could distinctly hear the words don’t go as she buried her face against him.
He wondered briefly who those words were intended for.
He held his hands away awkwardly as she continued to shift against him, her leg moving higher until he could feel the firm press of her thigh. He tensed. He suddenly questioned his decision not to wake her. “Lavellan,” he muttered, his voice halting and throaty from disuse. He cleared his throat, repeating her name more forcefully. His hand moved to her shoulder, giving it a small shake.
Sleep fell from her slowly at his gentle prodding. She took in a deep breath, her brow tightening into a scowl before her eyes opened. She looked around, puzzled as she slowly released her grip on his tunic. Her gaze followed a path along his chest, slowly lifting to meet his eyes. “Solas?” He watched her sleepy confusion become swiftly replaced by mortified embarrassment. “Emm’abelas. I… I didn’t mean…” She stammered, pressing her hand hard against his chest, pushing herself back. The movement was inelegant, her leg still trapped between his as she rolled, but soon enough they were parted. She paused a moment, looking at him before assaulting the disorderly pile she’d made of her clothing the night before. “Sorry.” She said quickly, keeping her eyes on the corner of the tent as she threw on her jacket. “I wasn’t… I mean, I wasn’t trying to…”
He suppressed a smile. He had not seen her flustered before. It did not appear to be a state she was used to. He opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated. It was a welcomed surprise. No. That wouldn’t come across the way he intended.
He wasn’t really certain what he intended.
“Think nothing of it.” He said coolly, slowly lifting himself to his knees, picking through his belongings.
They were silent as they dressed themselves. He noted a rushed quality to her movements as she pulled on the outer layers of her clothing. Once, he caught her looking over at him, but her eyes quickly darted away, not to return. “I took no offense.” He said quietly. “You do not need to concern yourself with it.”
“I’m not.” She said, throwing her boots on. She rose, quickly ducking out of the tent, leaving a number of her belongings behind.
In her absence, he allowed himself to grin, amused by the lack of subtlety in her attempt to flee. He could hear Cassandra greeting her, her voice lacking in warmth. “Herald. Good, you are awake. I was about to check on you.” He shook his head as he finished readying himself. That would have been unnecessarily awkward if Cassandra had chosen to seek them out before they had detached themselves. It probably would have earned him a lecture about taking advantage of the Herald.
Such reprimands were as unnecessary as they were unfounded. He had no interest in the elf beyond her connection to his foci.
Still, it had been a pleasant moment. A welcomed way to wake up, however unexpected.