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“Do you have a problem with me?”
Solas frowned at the abruptness of the question, peering over his shoulder as he tucked a handful of spindleweed into his pack. The elf studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed, the interwoven boughs marking her brow twisting with scrutiny. He could not determine what he could have done or said to inspire the remark. In fact, he’d made the conscious decision to say very little as they went about their work, foraging for herbs while Cassandra and Varric saw to the establishment of their camp.
“What would give you that impression?” he asked.
“Maybe the fact that you rarely ever have anything to say to me.” Isii Lavellan adjusted her satchel’s strap against her shoulder, visibly uncomfortable. “You barely spoke to me the whole time we were in Haven. Not to mention the time it took us to get here.”
“So my silence is to be judged as animosity?” he asked. He slipped his pack on, using his staff to push himself to his feet. “It seems I have not had to do much for you to form a poor opinion of me.”
“I don’t… I mean…” She huffed slightly, lips pursed as she clearly struggled to explain herself. “After we stabilized the Breach… when they started calling me Herald… It was as if suddenly everyone wanted to know everything about me. But not you. And we’ve been travelling for days now, just the four of us, and you still don’t seem to have any interest in speaking to me any longer than absolutely necessary. Did I do something to offend you?”
“Do you expect me to worship you as the others do?” he asked, brushing the dirt from his knees.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. Varric doesn’t worship me and he speaks to me all the time.”
“I am under the impression that Master Tethras enjoys listening to himself talk,” Solas said flatly.
Isii’s lips tensed, annoyed. “I’m only saying that I don’t know anything about you. Who you are, where you came from-”
“There is little to tell,” he said, his posture straightening. “What I learned in my studies may help you. My childhood in a village to the north will not. It is as simple as that.”
“But-”
“The fate of this world depends upon you,” he said, continuing down the path ahead of them. “To that end, I offer my aid. But my life before now is my own and should be of no interest to you.”
He could hear her frustration, the sharp breath being pushed slowly through her nose as she closed the distance between them, matching her pace to his own. “You don't really do this much, do you?”
“I'm afraid you will have to be more specific,” Solas replied.
“This,” Isii stressed. “Talking. With people. Outside of the Fade.”
“I prefer to spend my time beyond the Veil, when able. This place is…” He paused, considering how to describe it. “Heavier. Slower. As though everything has become somewhat muted. Those I encounter here do not feel quite…” A glance toward her puzzled expression was enough to make him end the attempt. There was no use in explaining what she could not possibly conceive of. It would be like asking her to see spectrums of light that her eyes were never shaped to perceive. “If you were to view the Fade as I do, you would begin to feel differently about the waking realm. But that is beside the point.” He looked forward once more, scanning the treeline for more herbs. “I have no problem remaining awake as long as my obligations demand it.”
“Obligations?”
“To the Inquisition,” Solas explained. “And to you, of course.”
“To me? Why?”
He glanced over to her. “Is it not obvious?”
He watched the smirk spread across her lips, a single brow arching high as her head tilted. “Is this the part where you confess your undying love and devotion to me, Solas?” she teased. “Cause I may want to sit down first.”
Solas frowned. “No,” he said firmly. “Joke if you like, but you are an important asset, Lavellan. You may be the only weapon we have against the forces that threaten us.”
“Hmm. An asset,” she echoed. “How romantic. You really know how to charm a girl, don't you?”
“I am not attempting to…” He paused as she stifled a laugh. “Ah,” he muttered. “That was sarcasm.”
She did nothing to stifle the laughter that followed, shaking her head. “Again, you don’t really do this much, huh?” Solas remained silent, unwilling to encourage her teasing. “I’m just trying to play nice. You know. Make conversation. If we’re going to be working together, don’t you think we should at least try to make things less…”
“Less what?”
“Awkward.”
He considered this for a moment, studying her features. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Lavellan?”
“No. Not… it’s not that. Not precisely. It’s just…” She struggled for a moment, either uncertain or unwilling to say the words that were clearly waiting on her tongue. “You’re the only other elf I get to spend any time with.”
“Ah. Considering your Dalish upbringing, that must make you feel out of place.”
She shifted the weight of her satchel, shrugging as her gaze lowered. “It’s…. uncomfortable, I will admit.”
“Normally I would apologize for not living up to your expectations. Yet I cannot express any surprise that I do not act in a way befitting your people.”
She looked up at him skeptically. “We’re not that different, Solas.”
“Aren’t we?” he asked, his head tilting. “You are Dalish. I am not.”
“It’s not as if we don’t share common blood,” she reasoned. “Your kind are cousins to my own.”
“A bit more distantly related, I assure you.”
“Oh! There’s a good find,” she hummed as she wandered off of the path. He followed her gaze to an outcropping of royal elfroot growing high overhead, clinging to the side of a steep rise.
Isii dropped her staff, pulling her satchel from her shoulder. “Care to give me a boost?”
“I would not recommend it.”
“Oh come on,” she urged him. “It’s not that far up.”
“The earth here is dry, prone to crumbling. Most likely it will not sustain your weight.”
“I used to climb terrain like this all the time back home,” she said, stretching her fingers. “Just help me up, alright? It will take me all of a few seconds.”
Solas let out an impatient breath, setting his staff aside before he stooped down, lowering his hands. Isii braced herself with a hand on his shoulder, placing her heel into the space between his palms. He lifted her up, his gaze decidedly cast elsewhere as her hips rose to eye-level. It did not take her long to find a solid grip, pulling away from him as she found her footing against the scarp. It was difficult, at this angle, not to notice certain aspects of her body. The tightness of her breeches did little to hide the athletic musculature of her legs, her calves taut where she strained against the incline, thick thighs meeting a set of wide hips, filled out with the generous curves of her-
Solas quickly looked away, staring pointedly at his feet.
***
“You are going to injure yourself, Lavellan.”
Isii spared a glance downward. Solas was clearly displeased, growing impatient, his arms crossed against his chest. So perhaps her original estimation was a bit overconfident. It was taking more than a few seconds to make the climb. But he could wait. Royal elfroot was valued for a reason. It was as rare as it was useful. And this was what they were wandering around for, right? It certainly wasn’t to enjoy each other’s company, as he had already made abundantly clear.
She didn’t know why it bothered her. It shouldn’t. So what if some city elf didn’t want to get chummy with her? That was fairly typical, really. City elves tended to look at the Dalish as if they were savage heathens or magical creatures living in some idealistic utopia. They had no real concept of what her people were like - their beliefs, their sense of community, the hardships of nomadic life. So what if Solas was no different? Why should she care at all?
Yet each night she shared a tent with him, lying beside him, overanalyzing their conversations. Each day that passed she saw her other companions warming up to her. Even Cassandra seemed to enjoy her company and that woman thought she was a mass murderer only a few days before they set out on this trip. Yet Solas remained strangely aloof. There would be moments, brief moments, when she could get him to crack a smile or even, gods forbid, laugh. In those moments he seemed amicable, even charming, in a subdued sort of way. But then other times…
She didn’t know how to describe it, exactly. But there were times when he looked at her where it seemed like he didn’t see anything at all.
Isii braced herself, reaching one hand out toward the twisted cluster of leaves. Her fingers barely brushed it before the dirt beneath her foot shifted, pieces of dry earth tumbling downward as her body jerked reflexively. She adjusted quickly, gripping the scarp once more as she stabilized.
“Lavellan-”
“Hush,” she chided, frustrated. She found new footing, starting to reach out once more.
“You need to be more careful.”
Her fingers closed around a handful of the herb. “Don’t be such a-”
The shift this time was too quick, a large chunk of the dry dirt coming free from the incline, the foot bearing most of her weight suddenly sliding out from under her. Her body slammed into the slope as she skidded, rolling, the vines snapping free from around her fist. She landed hard on her back, yelping as a rock jutted roughly into her tailbone.
Isii winced as Solas helped her up, trying to rub the pain from the base of her spine. She could tell that was going to leave a nasty bruise. “Fen’Harel palas ara masa,” she cursed, muttering under her breath.
Solas blinked a few times, his brow furrowing as he stared back at her. “Pardon?”
Isii waved dismissively. “It’s Elvhen,” she said, her discomfort souring her mood as she groped for her satchel. “Just forget it. It’s really not worth me translating it for you.” She shook loose dirt free from the crumpled fistful of royal elfroot. “And if you say I told you so, I swear to the Creators-”
“Pala,” he muttered harshly.
Isii frowned. “What?”
“The conjugation you want is pala,” Solas repeated, sounding increasingly irritated as he continued. “Not palas. You are presumably commanding the Dread Wolf to enact the verb, therefore you should use the infinitive. Unless you intended to state that this is something he has already done, which would be unpal, or something he is currently doing - pal. You used the second person, present tense. And unless you are addressing Fen’Harel directly, which is highly unlikely, it is the incorrect form.” The string of words that passed his lips next had Isii scrambling for a translation. They were Elvhen but nearly all of them were foreign to her. Dirth’ala… a lesson… something about talking in mud?
“You speak Elvhen?” Isii asked, baffled.
“More capably than you, it would appear,” he said humorlessly, adjusting the pack on his back. “If you are not injured, we should return to camp.”
With that, he turned and began to walk away. No pause. No explanation. Isii stuffed the royal elfroot into her bag, hurrying to catch up with him.
“How do you know Elvhen?”
“There is much to be learned in the Fade, through careful observation.” His eyes remained fixed forward, his lips pursed in annoyance. “It is not as though you haven’t heard me speak it.”
“You’ve said goodnight,” she muttered, “right after I said goodnight. I thought you were just parroting me.”
“I should find it insulting that you would make such an assumption. At the very least, I should find it surprising. But considering your background, I cannot.”
“What you said, just now - what did all that mean?”
He spared her a glance. “I said, Do not assume I need a lesson in comprehension. If you did not mumble, I would have understood you without difficulty.” His gaze returned to the path ahead, his brows lifting. “Might I also add that if the Dread Wolf is truly everything your people claim him to be, I do not think you'd want to make such a lewd suggestion to him.”
“It’s not meant to be taken literally,” she said, her cheeks feeling hot. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Solas might understand her when she let out that particular expletive. Having it lead to a lecture on how to properly conjugate the verb to fuck wasn’t helping her embarrassment. “It’s just a curse. A bit of colorful language.”
“Colorful,” he echoed. “I suppose that is what the language has been reduced to? Allowing you to feel more creative with your profanity?”
“What do you expect? It’s not like I can sit down and have a conversation with anyone,” Isii defended. “I know more Elvhen than most in my clan because I took the time to memorize my Keeper’s notes. And even those aren’t a complete record.”
“I would imagine not.”
“Some of my clanmates know a few words and phrases here and there. It’s mostly passed down orally. So we repeat the sounds, we know what they mean, but we aren’t really fluent enough to speak at length.”
“I suppose that is to be expected,” he said plainly. “The Dalish echo what they think they know, however warped it may be through each repeating. It is only appropriate that your relationship to the language is the same.”
“And what exactly is your problem with the Dalish, then?” she asked pointedly, her arms crossing against her chest as she stopped walking. “Allergic to halla?”
“They are children, acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times,” Solas said, turning to face her. “While your kin pass on tales, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not.”
“You’re a Dreamer, Solas. Of course you can see things in the Fade that others can’t. If you’re so worried about the Dalish getting things wrong then why don’t you tell them what you’ve seen?”
“You assume I have not tried?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “I have crossed paths with your people before. When I offered to share knowledge, I was attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.”
“So you judge all of the Dalish by the actions of a few?”
“They already consider themselves perfect. The sole keepers of elven lore,” he added mockingly. “I might reach a few, at most. As for the city elves - what would it benefit some poor man in an alienage to learn that his ancestors strode the land like gods while he scrapes by a meager living? It would only make him bitter.”
Isii cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds to me like you’re the one feeling bitter.” His expression tightened and she paused, taking a slow breath. She wasn’t trying to pick a fight with him. She had to share a tent with the man in a few hours and didn’t relish the idea of sleeping next to him with an argument lingering over their heads. “I could understand how it might be difficult for you, in the Fade, witnessing the privileges our ancestors had that we do not-”
“All due respect, Herald, but do not assume you have any insight into my perspective,” he said sharply.
“Why?” she asked, throwing her hands up. “You’ve clearly made up your mind about my own.”
The furrow in his brow deepened. “Meaning?”
“I would love to hear about what you’ve seen in your dreams, Solas. You don’t know how jealous I am that you can go to sleep and suddenly have thousands of years of history at your fingertips. I would listen to what you have to say, if only you’d say it, rather than just assuming that my vallaslin means I’m not worth the trouble.” Solas stared back at her wordlessly, his eyes shifting over her face with a level of confusion that baffled her. Isii clenched her jaw, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, you don’t have to like me. We don’t have to be friends. But…I just...”
Isii sighed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t know what to do to fix whatever problem he seemed to have with her. She wanted more of those moments, the ones where he smiled or joked, or found some amusement in something she said, instead of this uncomfortable distance he seemed intent to maintain. Yet she had no idea how to do that.
Solas peered at her, studying her features as if he was trying to piece together some sort of puzzle. The silence between them grew stiff on her skin until she adjusted her pack, shaking her head. “Just forget it,” she muttered, continuing along the path. She walked a few paces before the sound of his voice stopped her.
“Lavellan, wait.”
By the time she turned, his features had softened, his gaze lowered to the ground. “You are right,” he admitted quietly. “The problem does not lie with you. I should not assume to know your mind any more than you know mine. And the actions of others, despite your shared associations, should not reflect upon you.” His eyes lifted as he bowed his head. “For that, I offer my apologies. I… I was unaware that my behavior would affect you on a personal level.”
“Why?” she asked, her arms crossed tightly. “Did it really not even occur to you that I might care about your opinion of me?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “It did not.” Isii’s frown deepened. “I suppose from your perspective, I should make more of an effort to reach out to the elves, rather than complain about their shortcomings,” he continued. “To me, it seems a pointless exercise, considering where this all leads. That, and I suppose I am simply tired of fighting.”
“Fighting what?”
A sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Do you think I honed my magical skills merely to impress spirits?” he asked. “I have joined my share of causes. But when I offered lessons learned in the Fade, I was derided by my enemies… and sometimes my allies. Liar. Fool. Madman. There are endless ways to say someone isn’t worth listening to. Over time, it grinds away at you.”
Isii stared back at him, her head tilting. Before, she saw Solas as a source of frustration, someone who couldn’t be bothered to get to know her, who saw himself as above her, better than her. But now- she saw a man who was guarded. Protecting himself. Keeping people away because it was safer that way. Because it hurt less.
She was surprised to find that they had that in common.
“I don’t think you’re mad,” she said softly, closing the distance between them. “Or a fool. Or a liar.” His eyes narrowed skeptically. “You’re worth listening to, Solas. If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t be asking you to talk to me.” She let a coy smile curve her lips. “I just might surprise you.”
His brow creased thoughtfully as he held her gaze. “I will try to be better.”
“You could start by teaching me more Elvhen,” she suggested.
He laughed - a small huff of a thing, but a laugh nonetheless. “I suppose I could, if you so wish it,” he said as they walked together toward camp. “It would be a shame to have an eager student and leave their vocabulary limited to vulgarities.”
“E! Eolasan’el ra,” she objected.
That earned her a small smile. “La brith,” he replied. She frowned. “As it would seem,” he translated.
“Right,” she muttered, nodding as she quietly repeated it to herself. “Brith. Britha, to seem. How is my pronunciation, by the way?”
He grimaced slightly. “Do you want that answered truthfully or kindly?”
Isii scoffed. “Forget I asked.”
“It is clear enough to be understood,” he said. “Most of the time.”
“And you just never bothered to mention until now that you actually knew what I was saying?”
“It did not feel appropriate to barge into discussions you were clearly having with yourself.”
“Until I start muttering embarrassing blasphemy, that is.”
The corner of his lips pulled into a smirk. “I will admit, your choice of exclamation today was difficult not to comment on.”
“Ugh.”
“I know the Dalish are partial to ushering commands to the Dread Wolf, but that was not one I expected to hear.”
She shoved her shoulder into his own, frowning. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
Solas’s smile broadened. “I am pleased to see you noticed.”
And just like that, the awkward weight between them started to lift. Isii was certain it would take time to get to know him, to let him grow comfortable with the idea of it. It wasn’t something that was going to change overnight.
But it was a start.