- This is outrageous! - The voice of the Herald of Andraste cut through the usual morning sounds as, furious, she confronted the Inquisition's commander and the Seeker of Truth.
The woman's expression said it all. She was livid, and she felt powerless.
- How could you let something like this happen? - she flung her arms down at her sides. Elentari watched Cullen turn toward her, his face drawn tight, the shadow of exhaustion sitting heavy on him; even so, the commander didn't hold back when he answered in a firm tone:
- But I didn't allow anything!
- Exactly! - she snapped, emphasizing every word as the helplessness climbed into her chest. - Your soldiers weren't here to prevent this disaster!
Elentari couldn't take her eyes off the blond shemlen. She knew that to them magic was a curse, the way to her people it was an enormous responsibility. Varric had told her that for the average villager, magic was something dangerous—something they neither understood nor wanted to—and that some saw all mages as the reason a farm burned down when one of the farmer's children showed signs of arcane power he couldn't control, or claimed apostate mages caused droughts in the fields, or blizzards… and that was why they committed acts as vile as the one from the night before.
They had attacked Solas. Solas!
Elentari felt her body tremble under fury, though in truth that emotion only hid the sadness (and fear) of realizing those soldiers had been able to hurt him… even him… a mage she was now noticing she had begun to admire a great deal. She didn't want anything bad to happen to him… what would she do if he didn't explain everything he knew about that damned Veil and all the other things? How was she supposed to be able to seal that green hole?
- Herald, please! - Cassandra intervened, her tone conciliatory. - We were all under shelter. Cullen couldn't...
- All of us, except Solas, apparently... - the shemlen cut in, brusque—and those words didn't help at all, because Elentari's rage boiled up again.
Maybe he hadn't meant to imply anything against Solas… Maybe his harsh reply was only because his ability to keep Haven safe had been compromised… or because dawn had barely broken and they'd been greeted with news that five templars were dead at the hands of the expert on the Fade and the Veil, who—by consequence—was badly wounded… while the village sank beneath inches and inches of snow. Maybe all of that was why Cullen had raised his voice, but Elentari couldn't tolerate it.
- How dare you imply anything against Solas? - was the only answer that rose up from inside her, and she lunged at the commander, planting her index finger on his chest to make the tension between them unmistakably clear.
He stepped back. Surprise flickered across his face, but an instant later his amber eyes looked as though they could pierce her skull with the fire of his fury as he faced her. A chill slithered down Elentari's spine as he scrutinized her that way.
She was furious, yes… but it was just as true that he was a templar.
The idea of Cullen attacking her the way those templars had attacked Solas during the storm made her hesitate. Her finger lost its firmness, but it stayed pressed to the commander's armor. Would he be capable of hitting her? Would he drive a sword through her, too?
In response, the blond shemlen exhaled, and with that simple gesture his face changed. Elentari wavered for a heartbeat—she wanted to step back, to look for cover—but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid. She gathered every shred of courage she could fake, forced her legs to hold their ground, and just when she believed she was ready to look unshaken, Cullen mastered himself and, as if nothing had happened, the fury vanished from his gaze.
- I'm sorry, Herald. - he yielded. - I didn't mean to imply anything against Solas. He's an exceptional mage, and he's proven his worth and his commitment. You're right.
Elentari felt herself disarmed by what sounded like sincere empathy. The finger on his chest became a full palm, bracing there as she lowered her eyes, shame rising fast.
- There will be an investigation. - she heard him add with determination. - I promise you.
Her legs trembled, though she managed to hide it. Only then did she realize she'd been frightened, too. She nodded, and that palm on the commander's chest suddenly became support against her shaking. She understood so little of the shemlens' world… of the world in general. She had spent too long sheltered among her own.
- I'll handle it, Herald. - Cassandra stepped in. Elentari nodded and raised her eyes to the warrior. - We won't allow our people to face something like this again. And we will not let our mages feel unsafe.
- As a former member of the Order... - Cullen said now, looking at her. - I want to apologize for last night's attack, carried out by men who were once my sworn brothers.
Elentari could only nod. He continued:
- What happened to Solas is unacceptable. We won't let something like this happen again. Not here. I can assure you of that. Please—let us handle this, and go help him.
Could they really protect them? Protect mages? But hadn't she been told terrifying stories about templars all her life? Wasn't it precisely because of them that Deshanna had never let her wander far from the clan? Because if they found her, they'd lie about her magic, and take her prisoner to torture her?
- He needs healing magic, Herald… - Cassandra cut through her spiraling fears again, gentler this time, stepping closer.
Elentari looked at her, incredulous.
- His wound is deep. He's inside my tent, still asleep. Go to him…
Elentari heard the sensible words and froze before them, suddenly aware of the ill-timed outburst she'd just had. Cullen and Cassandra seemed willing to protect them…
She stared at the snow swallowing her boots, overwhelmed by emotions she could barely name, and only then did the murmuring of the onlookers reach her ears. Only then did she realize she'd made a spectacle of herself—one she should never have allowed anyone to see. She hadn't controlled the impulse to blame Cullen for the disaster and condemn the templars without even speaking to Solas.
Once again, she was faced with how huge all of this was, and how she kept making mistakes—just as she had back in her own clan.
She felt utterly stupid.
- I'm sorry. - she whispered, ashamed, yielding for the first time before the soldiers.
She felt the commander's hand settle on her forearm in a conciliatory gesture and understood she hadn't stopped bracing her weight through that hand against his chest. Elentari lifted her eyes and looked almost desperately at Cassandra, silently begging her to fix this mess. She wanted to say she was sorry, that she was an idiot, but she didn't know whether Cassandra could read it in her gaze.
In answer, the Seeker of Truth smiled warmly and placed a hand on Elentari's arm. She pulled her hand away from Cullen, and he released her as well. Then Cassandra gave a small bow and added:
- Go to Solas. He's gravely wounded. Use your magic to heal him.
- We'll take care of all of this, Herald. - the commander assured her. - You can rest easy.
Elentari was ashamed of herself. She couldn't even meet his eyes; it felt like too much right now. She only nodded and left them.
Without realizing it, her steps sped up into something nearly desperate, fists clenched, breath held. A flood of images hit her all at once—every time Deshanna had told her she was too passionate to cultivate the serenity expected of her as First of the Clan. That old reproach, one that had always irritated her, returned with force now, because she truly was loud where she should be quiet, quick to speak but slow to obey, too intense for someone meant to be the "guide" of her people. Only now, after the humiliating scene she'd made in front of everyone, she was beginning to understand what Deshanna had tried to explain… that she would never be granted the right to tremble, or doubt… that too much would always be expected of her, as it had been in her clan, and as it was now in the Inquisition. And that, apparently, she would never do it right…
"Just like me, you are not allowed to tremble, my daughter. We must guide, contain, listen to our own. Sometimes a Keeper must yield to duty, to hold our people upright. Remember: you must always be like the Moon—serene guide of the People. Master your impulses. You must do better. Trust in the guidance of the gods."
Her mother had always told her she wasn't allowed to tremble or be afraid… and she had secretly felt ashamed, because she had always been too prone to both. Where Deshanna guided, she doubted…
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even notice when she reached Cassandra's tent. She was so overwhelmed that she went in without thinking, only wanting to escape everyone's scrutiny and find a quiet place to let the grief swallow her.
But the shock of reality was brutal.
Solas lay collapsed on an improvised bed, his torso bare, a bandage that should have been white stained through with far too much crimson. Solas—the self-assured, distant apostate mage; the wise counselor and guide—was wrapped in red that stood out violently against the terrifying pallor of his skin.
A shiver raced down her spine and made her tremble. How was it possible to wound him like this?
Almost on instinct (another instinctive rush today), Elentari dropped to her knees beside him and took his face in her hands, shaking him.
- Solas!
She saw him frown, and that small gesture soothed her. Immediately, the urge to cry surged through her, but she held it back. She'd made a fool of herself only minutes ago—she wasn't going to do it again now.
- Solas… - she shook him once more.
Then the apostate's eyes opened with difficulty, the bluish hue of his gaze meeting hers. Relief hit her at once.
- Solas… wake up, please.
She watched him grimace in pain, blink a few times, and finally focus on her. She thought she saw surprise when their eyes met.
- Herald?
The rasp of his voice made her want to cry (one damn time more), but she held it in.
- What happened? How did they hurt you? We have to heal you.
She wasn't a healer; her healing skills were mediocre. She thought of the apothecary—surely he had something that could help.
- I'll go get Adan... - she said, gently laying the apostate's head back on the pillow and starting to move, but just as she turned, she felt his weak grip on her wrist.
- Bring me lyrium. I'll heal myself.
Elentari looked at him—so pale, his hold on her wrist barely firm, brow drawn tight as he slowly fought through the fog of sleep.
- It's not sensible… You're too weak, Solas.
- That's why I asked you for lyrium... - he insisted, a thread of stubbornness in his voice even in the state he was in.
Elentari watched him for a few seconds, and then—unable to contradict him—reached into the pouches on her belt and pulled out the precious vial, lifting it to his lips. Solas tried to sit up, and pain tore through him the moment he moved. He tried to brace his stomach, but the attempt died as a fine tremor ran through his body, forcing a restrained growl from his throat. Color flooded his pale skin, rising into his temples.
Creators! That had to hurt.
- You'll have to drink lying down - Elentari warned softly as she saw him shudder. But the mage tried to shift again as if she hadn't spoken. He growled, clutching his abdomen, and now a thin sheen of sweat covered his bare skin.
She stared, still stunned by everything that had happened.
She'd woken to the news that templars had attacked Solas in the night. She'd been told he was gravely wounded; she'd felt as if the insult were against her—and now… now that he was alive, he was stubborn as a mule, trying to sit up.
It was madness to sit up with an abdominal wound. A sword had likely gone through him—or Mythal knew what—and he wanted to sit up just to drink from a blasted vial of lyrium.
- If you don't listen to me, I won't give you the lyrium, Solas. - she said, pulling the vial back just a little.
Solas lifted his gaze—defiant, as if he weren't the one at a terrible disadvantage—and in the blue of his eyes she saw deep, burning anger.
What in the Void... ?
She didn't flinch. She withdrew her arm entirely.
- Choose. Either you drink lying down, or I go get Adan.
The battle was clearly lost. He wasn't a contender.
He narrowed his eyes; she couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she imagined a string of silent curses aimed at her, because he was looking at her with fury. Then, a moment later, he yielded to logic: he closed his eyes, exhaled, and when he opened them again he still didn't look away, but he extended his arm to take the vial and drink without help. Even so, Elentari thought it would be difficult to do while lying down and tried to assist, but he didn't cooperate at all. Solas challenged her in silence and didn't even part his lips when she brought the vial to his mouth; with a sigh of defeat, she placed it in his hand so he could drink himself.
Solas took it with more difficulty than he wanted to show—and drank.
- Better?
- Yes. A little. - he answered, controlling his discomfort. - But… thank you.
She caught the frustration on his face, as if the effect had been far too little… but it was a full vial of lyrium. That restored any mage's reserves.
And then, at last, Solas placed a hand over his bandage and the air trembled with the subtlety of magic. It was obvious he was drawing on the mana the lyrium had returned. Elentari felt how little magic came—saw him close his eyes in clear frustration, saw his fist tighten.
- What is it, Solas? - she murmured at his side.
- I need more lyrium…
Elentari fell silent. That was strange. Usually a full vial restored far more than what she'd felt from his magic… it was as if his reserves were… larger than everyone else's, perhaps?
He opened his eyes.
Stubbornly, he tried again to settle back against the corner of the tent—this time he managed it, not without difficulty.
- I haven't felt any healing spirit nearby. - she confessed.
Solas shook his head softly.
- No. I healed myself… I used the mana the lyrium restored. The narcotic effects could interfere with spirits, and I don't want to disturb them.
- Do you think they might try to attack you?
He looked at her, mildly confused, and shook his head.
- On the contrary. I would affect them—not the other way around.
- How?
- With my emotions, Herald…
"Herald". He'd called her by her title again after asking her not to. She saw him sigh, but he didn't correct himself; maybe he hadn't even noticed. Instead, he explained:
- Healing spirits are difficult to sway from their purpose, but my emotions could unsettle them—and, eager to embody their gift, they would amplify the echo of their nature in the Fade. That could draw more of them, with other purposes. And those would be far easier to affect.
She grimaced at the explanation, and it drew a small laugh from him.
- What I mean is: it isn't wise to interact with spirits while our consciousness is under sedative effects. Emotions can slip out of control, and that will affect them.
And thank the Creators he clarified, because she'd gotten lost in the first explanation.
- How do you know all that?
- Because I have heightened sensitivity when it comes to spirits. All my life I've interacted with them. I know them, and they know me.
- Are you a healer? Or a medium?
- I'm a somniari. - he confessed, just like that.
Elentari stared at him, stunned. She didn't even notice her lips parting; her eyes lit up and she blinked twice before the words finally left her mouth with a thin tremor.
Had he said somniari?
- Are you truly a Dreamer?
Once again Solas couldn't help the subtle curve of a smile, but Elentari still couldn't climb out of her astonishment. She blinked again and dropped down beside him with abrupt heaviness, deeply shaken.
- Well, Solas… - she whispered, pressing a hand to her lips as she spoke. - It's been two ages since we've seen one of your kind… I mean—no one's known of one still alive… - She let her hand fall to the tent floor and pushed herself into sitting beside him.
Solas watched her with curiosity, but said nothing.
Elentari looked at him with vivid excitement. More than two hundred years without a Dreamer—and she'd had one at her side this whole time. It didn't even matter anymore that she'd come here because he was badly wounded… A Dreamer. No wonder he knew so much about the Fade.
- You know… - she blurted, carried by impulse. - There was a rumor, years ago… - She smiled, exhilarated, and lowered her voice so no one else could hear, leaning closer to him. - …a rumor about a Dreamer in Clan Sabrae, but we never managed to confirm whether it was true.
- We?
- My clan.
Solas looked curious at that, as if he hadn't known the Dalish shared information between clans. But of course—that was expected, because he was a city elf.
- Well… this is astonishing! - Elentari exclaimed, unable to hide her grin, her voice lifting. - Solas, you're astonishing! Tell me—how do you even know you're a Dreamer? Did you visit a Dalish clan and have a Keeper tell you?
- Actually… the spirits told me, Elentari. - he said, pausing. - I haven't had much contact with Dalish clans in the past. I couldn't tell you many things about them… You know far more than I do.
She only heard "blah blah blah" when he spoke about anything that wasn't his Dreamer magic.
- The spirits?! - she cut him off. - You can really talk to them without danger?
- I always take the necessary precautions. I'm not sure there's any situation where the danger is truly zero…
- Oh! I can't believe it, Solas! They say Dreamers can control the Fade—can you?
- That's assuming too much.
Elentari tipped her head back and laughed freely, thanking Dirthamen himself for placing Solas in her path. No one better to teach her the secrets of magic.
Solas looked at her, a little confused.
- Why is it so… peculiar… to you, that I'm a Dreamer?"
- You don't understand? - Elentari looked back at him and explained without losing her smile. - They say Dreamers are exceptional mages, with great power over the Fade… and because of that, there's a strong tendency to attract demons and end up… well… you know…
- Possessed?
She nodded.
- I see…
Solas fell silent for a moment. He seemed to weigh her words, and instead of looking proud of what she'd told him, his expression dimmed under the shadow of worry.
- Elentari… could I ask you to be discreet about what I've shared with you? - Now her smile faded and she looked at him attentively. I'm already an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion, and I've… killed templars during the night… you understand why caution is necessary.
He had a point. But she would never allow anyone to abuse Solas's efforts—especially now that she understood he was a living relic.
- Solas… you came here to help. I won't let them use that against you.
She sounded so determined that he looked at her—almost moved—and then he smiled.
- I wonder how you plan to do that… However, there's no need to answer. I only thank you for the enthusiasm you show in wanting to protect me. Though it isn't necessary.
A small silence tried to settle between them, but Elentari shattered it immediately.
- And your wound? How is it?
Solas turned toward her just as Elentari's eyes drifted to his bandage. The wrap was soaked through with blood, most of it still wet, as if he'd been bleeding up until moments ago—until he used his magic. For the first time she truly grasped how much blood he'd lost, and the urgent need to change the dressing. Her gaze flicked around the tent: the spot where he'd been lying was stained with congealed blood; nearby sat a bowl of red water and soiled cloths neatly set aside. Five empty bottles of healing potion stood arranged with order in front of the cloths.
- They ran you through with a sword, didn't they?
- Perhaps.
She lifted her eyes and held them on him, affronted by an answer so… evasive.
- But I feel much better now. - he hurried to add.
- You should… - she hesitated, then corrected herself. She wasn't going to give him a choice, because if she did he'd insist on doing it alone, and it was obvious he needed help. So she chose her words carefully. - We should change that bandage, Solas.
- If you want to help me, I'd prefer lyrium.
She let out a small laugh that sounded almost forced. More lyrium? Really?
- I don't have any on me.
They looked at each other. Something flickered in Solas's eyes—something she couldn't name—but it pulled his lips into a half, mischievous smile. Elentari watched him closely. That wicked little smile was a side of him she hadn't seen before.
- We could do this... - she heard him bargain. - If you bring me another vial… I'll show you how to contact healing spirits…
Elentari lifted an eyebrow, amused.
- That sounds like blackmail, Solas.
By Fen'Harel! He was the only person in the state he was in who still felt entitled to keep directing the pace of the narrative. The thought tore a laugh out of her.
And yet… she was willing to make a deal with him…
- In truth... - Solas said. - It's simply opportunism, Elentari.