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Solas knew that he slipped up too many times already, yet he still couldn’t control the direction of his wandering gaze.
Mevera Lavellan was right there - so real, so warm, so tantalizing. She was tiny, even more willowy than an average Elven woman, yet she always found a way to be the center of attention. She was the life of the party, a bright light shining wherever she went. It never made much sense to him why she took to these people so much after being their prisoner for weeks, but it was good to see her enjoy herself at last.
When she first got to Haven, she was all skin and bones. At first, he took it as a sign of extreme exhaustion and stress. What happened at Conclave would mess up anybody, let alone a young Dalish woman. But the more he learned about the true cause of her suffering, the more compassion he felt towards her.
Mevera has been exiled from her clan and had to fend for herself for far too long. He recalled hearing her tale for the first time and shivered. He never liked the Dalish, but her story stirred a different kind of emotion in him. He couldn’t comprehend how this poor excuse for elves managed to survive at all being this clueless and cruel in their ignorance.
Noone in clan Lavellan suspected that Mevera was a mage, not even herself. Her abilities manifested at an older age, when she was 24. Until then, she was a valuable member, a beloved daughter and sister, a skillful huntress, and an adept butcher and cook. However, once her magic manifested itself, none of that had any importance. The rules were rules no matter the sacrifice.
And so Mevera’s exile began. Solas remembered how desperately she was trying to explain and rationalize the clan’s decision to limit the number of mages within the settlement. After all, the reason was meant to be practical. Resources were tight, and the Dalish needed hunters to supply everyone with food and pelts. The most bizarre thing about the whole situation was that Mevera was a hunter first, with barely any magical skill developed. Yet she still got exiled, and something did not add up there. She could certainly pull her own weight and she still could hunt with ease; her magic would be of help rather than a hazard. But she was ordered to leave regardless, and he could never fathom the motive behind that decision. Did they know that they have given up the best of them?
Hardly , Solas thought with a dark chuckle. The Dalish he encountered shortly after waking up saw him and did not recognize him for anything other than a delirious elf who resorted to crime and deception to supplement himself. In an attempt to make them see , he even tried revealing who he really was, offering to remove the Keeper’s slave markings as proof. His passionate speech was met with ridicule and an unfortunately placed punch.
Solas shook off the unpleasant memory. That was the first time when he realized what these modern elves had become after the passage of time, and that experience wasn’t an easy one. That was one of the lowest points of his life, a close second to learning of Mythal’s death. He recalled feeling sick and lightheaded, still not sure if the sensation came from the blacksmith’s punch or the sudden awareness that the clan knew nothing of Elvhenan’s history. They had no knowledge of what really took place many millennia ago. They once again wore slave markings proudly. They lived like savages, digging in the dirt for sustenance. They hunted animals for food, not for the glory of the hunt. They knew nothing and were capable of less than most Arlathan’s children.
Solas frowned and pushed the gripping feeling of guilt away. After all, he himself wasn’t much more capable himself. He was still weak and tired. His slumber lasted for thousands of years, yet he did not feel rested. Right after waking up, he couldn’t even defend himself against the Dalish fool’s fists! Almost a year has passed since then, and he was objectively in a better shape now, able to weave spells with ease when awake and mold the Fade at will in his sleep. However, his true power remained locked away, and he did it to himself. First, when he put up a Veil to separate the waking world from the Fade. And later, when he voluntarily gave away his orb, a key to his true might, to Corypheus. It was all his fault. It was his mistakes, time and time again, that lead him to where he was.
Solas gave Mevera another careful side glance. There she was, chatting with Adan outside of his hut, so bubbly and full of life. He couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but she was gesturing towards the Frostback mountains and giggling. Adan, a miserable grump even by Solas’ standards, couldn’t help but smile at her comments.
Solas had so many reservations about her personality and behavior. She’s met the alchemist two weeks ago, yet she was already so unguarded in her interactions with him. Solas wondered if she was so naive to think that no servant in the camp would betray her, or if she was so trusting of Lady Nightingale’s ability to vet the recruits. He smirked to himself and turned in the direction of Leliana’s tent.
His move caught Mevera’s attention. Solas hid his surprise under a subtle greeting nod and made a note to himself to be even less conspicuous from now on. He grew too comfortable around humans, their eyesight and hearing being inferior to those of elves. And in any case, Mevera wasn’t a regular elf. She was a skilled huntress, a creature guided by intuition and gut feeling. Oh how Andruil would have loved to get her hands on her! Mevera’s name would have been known to all elves in Arlathan, her skills praised, and her aptitude for making a quick work of any enemy unsurpassed. Even now, exhausted and battered by her long solitary travels, she was able to devise better fight plans than the Seeker or Commander themselves. She took her knowledge of the Hunt and used it against her enemies, her instinct telling her exactly when and how to strike.
They’ve been talking a lot in the past weeks, and Solas wasn’t sure if he liked that newfound friendship. It felt too… easy , too smooth. To be fair, Mevera was reasonably friendly with everyone unless they’ve wronged her somehow. Sympathetic to the Circle rebellion, she was even trying to reason with the mages in the wilds of Hinterlands. To no avail, of course, those fools were beyond help or salvation in their lust for not only freedom but power. However, Mevera was restless trying to convert anyone who would listen to her cause of unification.
So it made perfect sense that she was acting as a peacemaker. Surrounded by humans and templars, she chose the safest path available. The Seeker wanted an Anchor-wielding Herald, and she got one.
But this bizarre friendship with the spymaster? Leliana must be still testing Mevera to see if she slips and says too much. But how could she hide anything to begin with? The girl seemed like an open book, Solas was convinced of that. Sure, this 25-year-old’s life wasn’t easy; she was capable of violence and deception if it meant her survival. She did what she needed to endure with her life posing one challenge after another since the exile. In the past year, she hiked from Wycome to Kirkwall until securing a passage across the Waking Sea and Lake Calenhad. Solas often wondered how she managed to get by and pay for the fair but decided against drawing too much attention by asking personal questions. It was too soon. Maybe, he’d ask in several weeks if she got more comfortable around him.
He glanced at her again and couldn’t help but admire her stance and ease with which she carried herself around people. He also couldn’t resist noticing the shape of her body in her tight-fitted pants and vest. She had simple clothes on, opting out of wearing armor around Haven. A silly, naive choice of a young and trusting soul. She could’ve been killed so easily, damaged so quickly if anybody tried to harm her. Sure, she was an expert huntress and had a good awareness of her surroundings, but she didn’t even have her daggers to protect herself!
Solas sighed and turned around, aiming to walk away from the scene he was fixated on for too long. But as he was just about to touch the door, he heard his name as she called for him with her sweet, excited voice. Feeling the pinch of exhilaration for no damn reason, he made an effort to still his expression before turning around. He faced her wearing nothing but the most polite and neutral expression. “Good afternoon, Herald. How may I be of service?”
“I need your help, Solas,” she blurted out. “It’s the freezing spell I’ve been practicing. I can’t seem to calibrate it no matter how hard I try. I’ve seen you use it with such ease, I wondered if you had a few tips to share...”
Solas registered the tips of her ears reddening. She must have been freezing, wearing thin fabric and not enough layers in this chilly weather.
“As you wish, Herald,” Solas answered pleasantly. Not wanting to subject her to anymore cold, he gestured towards the hut.
She hesitated but for a second and entered the cabin with a shy smile on her face. Solas suddenly felt much, much warmer.