Helena is the (lionessrises) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-04-01 09:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dragon age, *log, helena wayne, solas |
Log: Helena and Solas
Who: Solas and Helena (or Valentine and Cupid)
What: A lot of talking
Where: Thedas
When: ~ Fuzzy timelined, but currentish
Warnings/Rating: A brief conversation about sex, some feels, nothing too much.
There was definitely a bounce in Helena's steps when she exited DC and headed for the stairs. Up, up, up she went to the ninth floor and true to Solas' word, she found the door 37 doors down, words and dragons carved into the wood. And true to her word, she was in her boots. Not the heavy ones that usually wore, but ones that she'd found on some medieval website, the soles thick and the leather supple.
She'd already altered them a bit, adding blades in the heels and tucking two more in along her calves. She had others on her person, hidden beneath the jeans and knit sweater she intended to change out of, along with her folded up cross bow.
Her hair, pulled up into a ponytail, bounced against the top of her shoulders with every step. One last look back, habit to make sure she wasn't followed, and she pushed open the door to step into Thedas.
Solas was waiting for her by the ruined bridge of Calenhad’s Foothold, near to the place a rift would one day form. Before him, the ruined tower crumbled, an errant breeze knocking some rubble free from the building’s dessicated corpse. To his left, beyond the entrance to the world, stretched a verdant forest. One filled with bears. A fennec, a fox-like creature, scampered over the hill, chased by a nug. He sat with his legs folded, his staff across his knees. Eyes closed, ears lifted and alert, he stretched his senses as far as he could. For the first time, he’d be able to feel the changes in the Fade when someone passed from the hotel to Thedas.
It was a curious sensation, like someone was drawing the Veil tight across his skin, and not entirely unlike the way he twisted the Veil on occasion. His skin prickled with awareness of the world, of the curious spirits that pressed against the Veil, trying to peer into the physical world and see what was happening. He pushed back against them, a quiet urging for them to stay where they were. The last thing Faust needed was demons on her first visit. They could save that for another day.
He opened his eyes as a figure stepped through the hole in the world. Small and lithe. Female. And completely separated from the Fade. It was as if the very air peeled away from her, curling back from her skin as though she were anathema. Not even the dwarves elicited such a reaction from the world, but he supposed that was because they still belonged.
She was alien. Apart.
“Faust, I presume,” he said, hiding his surprise at her age. She was younger than he expected, though in all fairness he hadn’t formed many expectations. She had been much like a spirit to him: genderless, featureless, ageless. Now she was all three, and the reality of it struck him as strange. He rose from where he sat and took a step forward, through the Fade, vanishing from the edge of the bridge and reappearing an arm’s length away from her.
He smiled, though the expression was smile, and inclined her head. “Welcome to Thedas.”
The world itself wasn't that different. It was like the old ruins of castles, far from civilization, maybe what the world had been like a few hundred years ago, but not as different as Silent Hill or Mass Effect had been.
She blinked and rocked back on her heels when he went from being over there to right here. He was definitely very - shiny. With ears. It was different from seeing the pictures on Wikipedia to seeing him here, living and breathing like she was. But it was good too, and now she finally had a face to go with the name; a presence to accompany the long conversations they'd had on the journals. "You presume correctly, Coyote," she replied, grinning.
With the things she knew about him, maybe she should have been afraid. Maybe she should have known better, but knowing better and following that knowledge were never her strong suits. She rocked up onto her toes, then back, then up again, thighs and calves tensing, a glint in her eye as the only real warning that she was up to something before she claimed that distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.
Some people were harder to touch, some required her to force herself, but this? This was easy. She didn't even give him any threatened ear nibbles, just held on for a handful of seconds before releasing him entirely. "So, clothes?" She looked at his clothes and then hers and yeah, she stuck out a sore, black thumb, but she had expected that before she came in the door. "And you can tell me about Arlathan, since I think that's where the story starts, right? Before Tevinter?"
He saw the tension in her a moment too late. Had this been a battle, he’d be dead. Though to be fair, had this been a battle, Cassandra or Bull or Blackwall would have been between him and Faust - which, he reflected as she threw her arms around his neck and he stood there, stiff and awkward, could not be her real name.
Slowly, tense and a bit awkward, he wrapped his arms around her waist. But then she was moving away, and he released her, not willing to trap her. Those brief seconds had been oddly relieving. It was one thing to climb into Evelyn’s bed at night, but quite another to offer a friend a hug as a greeting.
A friend.
His lips quirked. He actually had a friend who was flesh and blood. How novel.
“Clothes, yes,” he said, shaking himself and slinging his pack from his shoulder. “You’ll find a tunic and trousers in here, with a belt, should you need it.” He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “I wouldn’t want to bore you. Elven history is…” Painful. Arduous. Unbearable. “Rather dull, truthfully. When a people took twenty years to eat a dinner and fifty to agree on where to go dancing…” He shrugged and trailed off as he turned away from her to give her privacy. “You’re welcome to change in the ruin, there, should you like.” He indicated the crumbling remains of Calenhad’s Foothold.
She took the bag from him, shouldering it easily as she prepared for a story that didn't come. Hmm. He was a dodgy one and she gave him a glance that said she didn't believe that it was dull at all, but given how stiff he was during their hug, she didn't push for the moment. No need to put him more on edge.
"Yeah, there should be fine. There isn't anyone in there, right?" For all the things that had changed, she still wasn't the type to strip down in the middle of wherever they were to change clothes, no matter how much she trusted him.
Trust.
She hadn't trusted him initially, but whatever questions she had about his motives and the things he hid, she knew he wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't lead her into a trap. "We are going to walk though, right? No teleportation?" That was one of the few things she'd never experienced, and she wasn't really sure she wanted to try it now. "You can tell me if you made up with Evelyn yet while we walk."
“No. The nearest village is approximately ten minutes away, and few venture into this part of the Hinterlands,” he said easily. A quiet snort escaped him. “Bears, remember.”
He scratched the butt of his staff into the dirt as she went about changing, drawing runes idly. They wouldn’t do any good in a fight unless someone came directly at them, but, as he said, this particular part of the Hinterlands wasn’t populated. Bandits, templars, and mages would fill it in three years, but for now it was peaceful. Beautiful. Punctuated by the occasional scream from the Ferelden Frostback in Lady Shana’s Valley.
“Fadewalking is difficult even with another mage,” he said. “Since you have no connection to the Fade, it would be nearly impossible to do with you.” He supposed if they were attacked, he could probably manage it, but the toll would be a kind of exhaustion he didn’t want to deal with. “As for Evelyn, there isn’t too terribly much to say. I brought her flowers.”
And seduced her. But he wasn’t about to tell Faust that. “Am I to call you Faust, or have you an actual name?”
"Fade - the dreamlands?" She changed quickly, stripping out of her own clothes one by one and slipping into the ones he'd gotten for her. They fit decently, but she had to use the belt or risk ending up with her pants down around her ankles. The pony tail didn't seem to fit here either, at least not where she had it, and she tugged the band out of her hair.
"I remember. Big, nasty, unfriendly bears." She wondered how big they actually were and if they'd be bigger than her in her other form.
But there was something far more important than bears. Moving to stand behind him, she began braiding her hair back to keep it out of her face. It probably fit better with the world anyway. "And? Don't keep me out of the loop. I'm cheering for you. Especially if you've decided to take a breath from the possessiveness." That was the only thing that had really disturbed her. She didn't know Evelyn, but the other woman deserved better from Solas and Solas owed it to himself to be better than that.
"It's the same name I gave my father. I'll tell you about that once you tell me about the lovely Evelyn. Did the clothes fit? I had to guess at her size."
Having to describe the Fade was baffling to him, so he simply didn’t. Perhaps the longer she spent in Thedas, the more the Fade would touch her; if she dreamed, as all but the dwarves did, she would inevitably end up there. It was much easier to explain the Fade that way, and Solas didn’t see stepping into her dreams as a particularly inappropriate thing.
Turning to her, he lifted a brow. She was a child by comparison to him (though that didn’t mean much; everyone was younger than him). Now that he’d seen her face, he wasn’t sure how much older she was than Evelyn, either. He canted his head to the side. “It is my nature to be somewhat possessive.” The obsession had faded, for which he was grateful, but his possessive nature would never vanish. Evelyn was his, and he would keep her as long as she wanted him. “And I expect that discussing what she and I do in private would be inappropriate.” Even if she did look young, Solas was terrible at guessing human ages.
“But I do owe you thanks,” he said, casually reaching out to settle her tunic more naturally on her body. The gesture was paternal at worst, teacherly at best. “The clothes did fit, yes.” A feral smile flickered across his face. “They were a delight. Ma serannas, my thanks.”
"I do not want details," she said, both hands held out, palms flat and fingers upright to stop him. Youth didn't have anything to do with it so much as Helena didn't want to be privy to that information. Sex was natural and good; but it was still something she found incredibly personal and whether they did or didn't see it the same way, discretion would have been her preference.
"You were way too possessive last time. Obsessive maybe. It wasn't anything good." What he said after made her smile. "So you did make up. I'm glad." Her back when stiff when he reached for her, but she didn't brush his hands away or step out of his reach - though it was a near thing. "Better now?"
“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed, quite content to leave out the details. “And, yes, much better. On all counts.” He studied her, taking in the whole of her from head to toe, and while the boots weren’t quite right, they would do well enough. They didn’t have the time to take her cobbler and find her a pair of boots that would be comfortable and sturdy.
Stepping back, he reached over his shoulder to take his staff in hand. “We shouldn’t meet with any trouble on the road to the Crossroads, but it would be best to have a hand on a weapon. Even in the best of times, Thedas is not a safe place to wander.”
He gestured down the hill before them, toward the path that curved into a slight gorge. “And don’t wander into the bushes.” His lips quirked. “There’s itchweed everywhere here.”
"Also good to know." Her weapons were where she needed them most, but she preferred to have her hands free. In a fight, her greatest strengths lay in her body, in reflex and muscle memory; weapons were only tools to make her job easier.
That didn't stop her from strapping her folded up crossbow back to her thigh or checking on the trio of throwing knives that she had in quick holsters strapped to her forearms.
Itchweed was self-explanatory. "Do you think I pick a lot of safe places to wander, Coyote?" She teased, the edges of her mouth curling upwards. "Just let me know what we're likely to run into."
And, because she had said she would. "Helena. Calls me Hels though, or Faust. I'm finding I like that nickname a lot more than I thought I would." Perhaps because it offered exactly what he thought of her before they met: it took away gender, age, features. She simply was. It was a name tied to an act, rather than a family.
With a quiet snort, he took her down the path, reaching out through the Fade to feel the ripple of creatures as they lived. It was a trick he didn’t employ often, mostly because it was an ancient skill from Arlathan. It would draw too much notice. “No, I imagine you prefer the dangerous places,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll go looking for danger, then.” He paused for a moment. “Faust.”
He put a strange, subtle emphasis on the name - an acknowledgement that who she chose to be was more important to him than what others thought she should be, perhaps. He understood too well how chosen names mattered far more than given ones.
“Would you prefer bears or dragons?” he asked, tone flippant and light. Teasing, almost.
"The nice places are a respite." They were a place to mend after the awful places, but they weren't home and they weren't the places she tended to go when she wanted to go somewhere.
But if he wanted to tease - she smirked as she stepped lightly past him, her clothes pulling tight and then into her skin as it hardened into granite, and the long line of her tail twitched behind her. "Definitely a bear, I think the dragons are a little much for a first time," she replied just as flippantly, and with a grin over her shoulder before she smacked his cheek lightly with the plumed ending of said tail.
The transformation caught him off guard. There were shapeshifting magics, of course; the ancient elves could become dragons, and modern mages could shift their forms if they studied enough. But this was different. It didn’t pull from the Fade, didn’t rub against the Veil. It was magic without the piece Solas understood as the most integral part, and he was left staring after her.
He barely reacted when her tail slapped his face. He simply stood, watching her, jaw working. Hundreds of questions burned through him, each more ridiculous and technically demanding than the last. Swallowing them all, he finally managed nothing more than, “You’re magnificent.”
His tone was awed. His expression one of utter captivation. Without thinking, he looped one finger around her tail, marveling at the impossibly hard flesh. This kind of magic, this kind of power…
Fear soured his delight. “Change back, Faust,” he said, the awe gone. He spoke like a man who expected to be obeyed, and he tugged lightly on her tail. “This is not the place for such magic.” He spoke like a man deeply concerned for his friend.
There weren’t as many templars and mages roaming the Hinterlands as there one day would be, but he saw no reason to be foolish. If they rounded a corner and came across either, they would be attacked. Powerful though he suspected she was, he didn’t want to risk a templar’s smiting power destroying her.
"That's just my tail," she said, a little prideful, a little happy. Most people did stare, but no one had ever called her magnificent, not upon seeing her tail. Erik might have once, if he'd ever seen it, but might have's weren't did, and did left warmth blooming under her ribcage. The plumed end pressed against his palm in a warm, affectionate rub before his tone caught her attention.
Gone was the awe and warmth beating against her heart turned chill. There was a warning in his tone, not anger towards her, not fear of her, but something else. It put her at odds with getting her tail to recede, her brows drawing into a point above her nose. "It's not magic," she said quietly. It wasn't. "Not anymore than the rest of me is."
Which she sometimes said - hadn't she called herself magic in a bottle to Steve all those months ago? But those were the walls of confidence she built up around herself and she'd never let him see past them, not even a glimpse like she had with Solas. The very tip of her tail gave an agitated twitch as it drew back up, leaving her skin and clothes as they had been prior to its emergence.
"What are you afraid of?" The question was edged in curiosity, in a lack of understanding. As sure as she was that she could handle herself and whatever might come her way, this was his world. He knew it better than she likely ever would.
Solas made a noncommittal sound as he moved to her side, keeping pace with her easily. “Anyone here will see the transformation and assume it is,” he said easily, but concern had drawn his brows together. His gaze flickered over the forested landscape, every line of him tense and wary.
“Templars. The Hinterlands are largely ignored, and… certain events have yet to come to pass that will make this place truly dangerous, but it is always wise to be wary.” He reached out to a tree as they passed it, touching a leaf. In an instant, ice covered the entire tree, leaving it glittering in the afternoon light.
He gave Helena a wry look. “Though we are far from any Circles, templars occasionally come through the Hinterlands looking for apostates. Ah, mages, like myself and Evelyn, who are not… affiliated with a Circle.” His tone dripped with disdain as he spoke. “Whether or not what fuels your transformation is magic, they are too narrow-minded to consider it could be anything else. They will seek to cage you.”
She listened as he spoke, filing away the information. He'd mentioned the Templars before, but his words on the page had missed his fear and derision for them. They were to be avoided and if they couldn't be - "What are their weaknesses?"
Everyone had them. Solas. Herself. Even her father had them, but they were hidden and tucked close to his heart. "You're from a time before now. The changes, they've already happened for you." She stopped with him and ran a fingertip along the edge of the iced leaf until a single drop of water hovered on the whorls; otherwise she left it alone. Some things belonged just where they were.
"Every few months or so, the hotel likes to throw parties," she started, seemingly out of nowhere. "Once we were all children, thrust into one another's memories, and we played them out anew. I met a boy in a cage. They called him a monster. Beat him, put him on display for everyone to see. They would watch as he was beaten, humiliated, called names and -" she gave a little shake of her head at the memory. "But they left the cage door open when I was there, because he never tried to escape. He just hid in the corner and took it." Another shake. "Well, I couldn't watch. I ran in and we ran out together." A slower smile and then she looked up at Solas and not the glare of the sun off his bald head. "I'd be terrible in a cage."
He was quiet for a moment, considering. Templars were men like any other, augmented through the use of lyrium to be able to twist magic back on its user. “The same as any man,” he said, finally. “They can be struck down with a weapon. They can fall ill and succumb. What makes them dangerous to those with magic is that they can strip that magic away, cut a mage off from the Fade.”
Solas extended his hand, weaving his fingers through the strong mesh of the Veil. He yanked, and for a second, the world distorted around them, bent toward them both. “They sever a mage from the source of his power, leaving him vulnerable to attack. Defenseless. Weaponless.”
He released the magic, and the world returned to normal, the air popping in their ears as it rushed back into place. “A mage has little defense except to run. They are not kind to those they catch. You, at least, have more protection.” He lifted his brow, giving her a slight smile. “Should they throw you in one of their cages, I imagine whatever the final stage of your transformation is, it would allow you to break free.”
She sucked in a breath, automatic, reflexive when the world began to distort. It wasn't accompanied with a boom, and she pushed it back out through her nose. Of all the things that had happened to her, boom tubes were still the one thing that stole her breath, that garnered a reaction she couldn't control.
Her jaw clenched and she dug her nails into the tender skin of her palms. Pain still drove her focus, brought the world into sharp clarity. They weren't in a place where Darkseid could reach and she was going to have to learn to control her reaction to the bending of time and space.
And when it snapped back, she swallowed hard to help ease the popping in her ears. "But I'm not a mage. I don't have magic." To separate her from her power, they'd have to decapitate her, divide head and body, but she wasn't going to tell that to anyone else she met here. It seemed rather like a challenge that was going to have a very bad ending for her or someone else or both.
Her hands relaxed slowly, fingers forcibly spreading out. "And yes, I would imagine it does. If I don't pick the lock first." A little smile, mostly teasing, slightly forced, but it was still there. "Unless they magic those too."
He only noticed her reaction belatedly, and when he did, he wondered what kind of people existed in her world that rift magic might upset her as it did. Even in Thedas, it was an obscure art at best.
Lips quirking in a small smile, he inclined his head. “Sometimes, the locks are magic as well. And we can hope that your lack of magic would protect you, but I’d rather not take the risks required to find out. Should templar magic prove ineffective against you, the fear and fury that would bring out would be staggering.”
Pausing on the path, he frowned, glancing around. “Ah, here, this way,” he said, taking them rather abruptly in the opposite direction. “There’s something I’d like you to see.” He led her under a rocky arch, covered in vines and moss and green things of all sorts, and then up a slight hill. They came around an open area, and his expression turned wistful.
One day, an Inquisition camp would be here. His gaze flicked briefly to the edge of one cliff. One day, an ocularum would be there, too. A testament to human sadism.
As they crossed the clearing, he bent to pluck a few leaves from an elfroot plant. Old habits died hard. Tucking those in his pockets, he took her to the edge of a shallow lake. “Here,” he said, pausing to uproot a blood lotus plant. He shook it dry as he stepped across the rocks at the edge of a waterfall. The water was even shallower, barely covering his naked feet, and there he paused. In the center of the waterfall, he gestured to the valley spread out before them. Farmhouses dotted the valley, tucked between rolling hills covered in trees so tall they pierced the heavens. A ruin crumbled to their left, a massive remains of what might have been a church at some point.
“There,” he said, indicating one hill. “The Crossroads is on the other side of that. I thought you might like to see a bit of Thedas first, however.”
"I'd rather not take the risk of getting hurt either, but if I'm going to spend any time here, it would probably be better to know than to not." Getting injured was a fact of her life and while she wasn't looking forward to it, she knew better than expect that it wasn't coming.
But, it was also something that could be handled later. She watched the plants he picked up, what he did with them, stripping the leaves from one and pulling another from the water and locked it away. It might be useful one day, even if she didn't know what they were or what they were used for; they were obviously important to him.
As was what he showed her. It was a lot like she had previously thought about the world, untouched as Europe would have been in the late Dark to Early Middle Ages. Her gaze followed his indication of the hill, adding that to her mental map of what they'd seen thus far and then returned to him. "I'd love to see more, but," her smile turned wry, "That's not the only reason I'm here."
“No?” he asked, curious. “Why else?”
That she might actually care for him and want to spend time with him wasn’t something that actually occurred to him. Oh, he’d called her friend, true, but the real meaning of that hadn’t sunk in. It had been so long since he’d had a friend in any capacity that he didn’t truly understand it.
With a sudden sense of clarity, his lips twisted into an amused smile. “Ah, I nearly forgot. If you’d like to touch my ears, perhaps we shouldn’t do so standing on the top of a waterfall.” The water wasn’t deep and the current wasn’t strong, but the drop in front of them was long and far and the water at the bottom was shallow.
She blinked at his second question, head tilting slowly to the side, confused amusement written across the twitch of her lips. But then he brought up the ears and she made a horribly undignified, unladylike snort-giggle and promptly clamped her hands over her mouth.
"I didn't- you didn't hear that." She said as soon as she could manage without giggling. Deep breath, inhale, don't giggle; she was fine. "But I think we might need to wait on the ears, considering how it affects you and your current relationship status with Evelyn." Flirting was one thing, fondling someone's romantic partner was another thing entirely. And that wasn't even touching on the fact that Solas was, among other things, extremely male and the last time she'd had any sexual involvement with a male, it hadn't even been her in her own body.
The memory of it no longer made her shudder, but there was a twitch, a flattening of her expression, and the air around her took on that charged feeling before something went truly, magnificently wrong. Helena wasn't there again though. She wasn't on the bridge, she didn't have her feet up in stirrups, she wasn't at the mercy of a good samaritan and their blanket. Slow breath in. Forced breath out.
She wasn't there. It was behind her. Solas wouldn't harm her. She blinked and the mask slipped away, but something haunted remained in her eyes. "Um. No." She shook her head and reached up to run her fingertips over her brow line. "No, not the - ears." A little laugh. "God. Baggage. No. Well, not just the ears. But-" Her hand fell down as she finally looked up at him again, her expressions shifting between dawning realization and outright wry amusement. "You. I wanted to meet you, instead of talking to you on the journals." The amusement faded into something honest and raw offering a glimpse behind carefully constructed walls.
For all that Solas could be dispassionate and cruel, he wasn’t oblivious to suffering. He’d spent years of his life devoted to ending the suffering of others; he knew when someone was upset.
He was still and silent when her expression blanked, and he was grateful that they weren’t near any of the places where the Veil was thin. She was upset - deeply so. And he wasn’t entirely certain what he could do to help her. His usual methods - eliminating the source of the upset - likely wouldn’t help her. He couldn’t take memories. Cole could, but Cole was not with them.
Then she was back with him, mostly, and the tension that limned his body eased. He gave her a generous smile, catching his hands behind his back as the water rolled slowly over his toes. “No ears, then,” he agreed. “I admit, speaking with you using the journals was much like speaking with a spirit. Sometimes, I wondered if you were one and were simply toying with me. They do that, from time to time. They are simple, confined to a single aspect, but are often playful and mischievous when it suits them.” His expression softened. “I am glad you are… you.”
It was strange to him that he didn’t attach labels to her. She was human, yes, and female, but those things were irrelevant because she was Faust. Much like Evelyn was the sum of her parts, so, too, was Helena. It was impossible to break her down into anything less. Varric would have been proud of him. Blessedly, Varric was not there, either.
Once, she had wanted that memory scoured from her brain. If he had said then that he knew someone that could take memories, if he had offered, she would have said yes. Now she couldn't. Those memories made her who she was today, and it had taken a long damned time for her to become comfortable in her skin.
"I'm not sure that description is entirely far off," she said, her grin coming easier. Being playful and mischievous was better than some of her other acquired traits.
Her grin softened into something else, something more like a smile. "I'm glad you're you, too." Which seemed to be a high compliment from him, given how he spoken about humans in general. "I don't have many friends."
“Neither do I,” he said easily. Admitting his lack of friends had never been difficult for him. He found companionship with the spirits of the Fade far easier than dealing with flesh and blood people. People were fickle, changeable, and endlessly irritating. Spirits were constant, only changing when they were corrupted. “But I am glad to count you as one.”
He swung his gaze over the edge of the waterfall, inhaling the sweet, fresh air of the Hinterlands. It wasn’t as chilly here as it was further south. Already, the humidity of spring was creeping across the land, making the air wet and heavy.
“Would you like to stand at the top of a waterfall and chat until the sun sets, or should I show you a dragon?” he asked, turning back to her with a single upraised brow.
"Hmm." She held out one hand, palm up. "Waterfall and chatting or," her other hand extended, also palm up, "dragon." One hand went up, the other down as if weighing the options. Dragons could be fun, but most likely dangerous; chatting wouldn't be dangerous, but would definitely be enjoyable. Either way, it meant staying for a little while longer and enjoying the super clean air here that didn't make her chest feel tight.
"Since I have to keep my tail hidden -" and by extension the rest of her that came with the tail - "Better not tempt fate and save the dragon for later. Besides, I like talking to you." She grinned, all cheeky like at him, and stepped forward. This time she did have to push herself, one foot in front of the other, water streaming around the toes of her boots as she slid her arm into his and linked them at the elbows. "Let's find somewhere comfortable to sit."
“Then we would be best served by going to the Crossroads,” he said, indicating she should turn and start back across the rocks of the waterfall. “If you would like, we can go to the tavern there. Or we can pick up meat pies from the tavern and take them back to the hut where Evelyn and I are living.”
His expression softened and turned fond. “When I left, she was rather furiously cleaning in case you stopped by. But as a forewarning, the hut is small.” He tried to come up with an adequate comparison and floundered. “I believe you’d compare it to a closet? There is room enough, but not much.” He shrugged slightly. “Only the very rich can afford a home the size of a small apartment in your world.”
"That sounds delicious," she said with just a hint of wistfulness. "Just as long as the meat isn't fish." Which left a question as to what the meat was, but she decided she'd rather not know. "I was in Japan for a long time, do you know geography? Well, it's an island. Lots of fish. Fish all the time. Fish for breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Dessert." She sighed. As much as she loved seafood, it had worn on her. The only good thing about being in Gotham (besides the fact that no one knew she was there) was there was a wide variety of foods other than those that came from the sea.
Her head tilted slightly, her wry smile turning warmer at the look on his face when he spoke of Evelyn. "If she's been working so hard, I'd hate to have it all go to waste." Evelyn knowing of her and even going so far as to clean in the possibility that she might show up wasn't something she had expected. "It must make for very cozy surroundings then," she said, trying for optimism. While she'd been raised to have the best of most things, Helena knew most people didn't. No biggie. "And I'd like to meet her too." There was a little shrug of her shoulders, an action that spoke of a much younger girl before they straightened again. "Did I even tell you about where I come from?"
He didn’t know what Japan was; he hadn’t gone out of his way to learn too much of the geopolitical issues in Marvel. His interests fell mostly in the study of mutants and their politics. He knew what countries thought of those with powers, knew how those with power were treated, if they were abused or not, but he had little interest in human culture at large. So he shook his head and allowed her to continue speaking, listening in silence as he led her along a sloping hill and toward a valley.
“You did not, no,” he said easily, pausing to sweep the fields before them with a narrowed gaze. There was no trouble in this part of the Hinterlands yet, but old habits died hard.
He lifted his hand when a farmer waved to him, and then he set off again, threading through the fields, watching his step to ensure they remained on the narrow path. “Are you not from Gotham?”
She observed the slowing of his steps, the way he looked over the fields before deciding to keep moving. Whatever he was wary of, he didn't find it. Helena had been ambushed once though and it had ended with her on life support; she had no desire to repeat that again. She kept looking as they walked, head turning in minute increments to gauge sounds better.
"Yes, but not this one. My home Gotham was destroyed. The one here is the third Gotham I've been through." Which was really all she was willing to say about it.
"We should get you a map. There are small changes between the worlds, but for the main part, they all seem to be shaped the same if they have a basis in re- Earth," she said, stumbling over the words a bit. This was his reality, and DC was hers, and undoubtedly someone from Wonderland would find their world to be their reality. Discounting someone else's reality wasn't a path she wanted to trek down. "Speaking of, you don't have one of here, do you?"
“Three?” Solas sounded surprised, and he was. The idea of there being multiple worlds was still one he grappled with; he found it disconcerting to think that, soon, he and Evelyn would return to vastly different versions of Thedas, and that they’d leave this one entirely. “That must be…” He trailed off for a moment. “Lonely.”
Then he chuckled. “A map is unnecessary. I have my phone when I’m in your world and worlds like yours. As for Thedas, you’ll find the bulk of the maps largely useless. Conflict reshapes the borders too regularly for them to be of any use, and modern cartographers are mediocre at best. Still, if you would like one, I can try to find something of middling use.”
When the Inquisition formed in a few years, it would have reasonable maps, but he hadn’t the slightest where Cullen and Cassandra had acquired those. He felt the pulse of the world beneath his feet. He had no need for maps.
Though thinking on it… “I could try making one from magic,” he murmured, cresting a rise and pause. “Ah, and here we are. The very small village of the Crossroads.”
There wasn’t much to the village. A handful of huts, the tavern to their left, a massive statue of Andraste. The butcher’s, of course, but the tanner and crofter worked from their homes. A plump young woman came hurrying up to them with a broad smile. “Begging yer pardon, messere,” she said to Solas, her floury hands clutching at her apron. “But--” She noticed Helena and she scowled. “You’ve brought a stranger?”
Solas inclined his head slightly. “This is Helena, Evelyn’s sister. Helena, this is Agatha, the baker’s wife.”
Agatha gave Helena a final, suspicious sweep, but clearly saw nothing to cause her any alarm. She told Solas that she had bread baking for his lovely wife, for a bit of luck, she added with a wink. “You’ll have nieces and nephews soon, Messere Helena, with this bread, you mark my words.” Then she bustled off.
Solas was faintly scarlet.
"It's horrible," she said quietly. She used to have Kara from her world and that made it - okay. Better than if she'd been alone, but when she lost Kara, she lost her one tie back to her real home. Kara had been her dam. With that gone, the waters had crashed through and she'd been so miserable, without Tim, without her, that it had all gone down hill.
It wasn't something she wanted to revisit and she was almost welcome for the interruption of Agatha. The woman was suspicious yes, and she gave her a half smile, friendly without being overly so and she didn't startle when Solas gave an explanation for her. These people weren't wealthy; every coin would help them. "If you'd do that for me, Messere Agatha, I'd be happy to put your name in the ear of every couple I meet."
It was her turn to wink before the woman left. "You know, I think if you get any redder, she might be able to bake her bread on your head," she teased. "But I have to ask. Am I going to be an auntie soon or are you two taking precautions?"
He choked. Sputtered a bit. Snapped something off in Elvish that meant something to the extent of “I am cursed, my family line is cursed, we are all cursed and the gods despise us.” It had been a common enough saying once, though it was ridiculous for him to use it. He didn’t even believe in the gods, as they were.
“Of course we are,” he said, exasperated. His expression turned somber. “Thedas isn’t kind to half-breeds. Any children an elf has with a human will be human, but word always gets out. Everyone always learns.” He wouldn’t wish that kind of ostracism on anyone.
And the idea of having a child with the very human Evelyn… He blinked, rather surprised. It wasn’t as abhorrent to him as it should have been.
It was one thing to read his words and know they were Elvish on the journals, another entirely to hear them, the syllables going by too fast for her to differentiate, or even to understand so she could look the words up later when she got home. "Nope, missed that entirely." But he didn't look pissed and so she grinned at him.
Only that smile fell a little at his next words. "So, it's not just you then, but everyone. Race is a big deal." Her lips went into a tense little line. "You know in Marvel, I'm not even considered human. Sub-human. So who's business is it if you have a little pudgy child with Evelyn? Or does she still think you're an elf and not a -" Her words dropped off. "You have told her, right? The truth?"
He stiffened, indignation making his spine straight and his muscles tense. How could he possibly explain the thousands of years of conflict and oppression that existed between the races of Thedas? Part of him didn’t even want to. It was just so complex and intricate, problems compounding problems.
“I am an elf,” he said, tone stiff. “Nothing more. And while it’s no one’s business if Evelyn and I were to have a child, the stigma of being a half-breed would follow the child all his life. Even worse, given that she and I are both mages of superlative power and ability, the child would likely be one as well. To be the half-breed child of two apostate mages would be reviled.”
He turned away from her. “Let us collect the bread and the pies,” he continued softly, “and make our way home.”
The stiffness - he'd done the same things a few times on the journals and made it abundantly clear on those same pages that he didn't like humans, but she only had a vague sense of why.
The why could wait. She'd touched on a tender spot by accident, but she wasn't actually looking to hurt him. "You want it so bad it makes your teeth hurt and it scares you so badly it steals your breath." A quiet guess as she swung her arm around his shoulders and started in the direction of Agatha's shop. She gave him a little squeeze, meant to be comforting before her hand dropped back down to her side. If it was her world, she would have told him to say fuck it and do what he and Evelyn wanted. Any children they had were their business; she was only being nosy in the hopes of getting to babysit. If she couldn't have children of her own - and she was sure that those weren't ever going to be in her future cards - babysitting was the next best thing.
But this wasn't her world and there were things here that Solas was frightened of. Prudence was necessary; and so was changing the subject. "Am I going to need armor, eventually, do you think?"
In the privacy of his own mind, he could admit he hated how she seemed to see right through him. He’d done a good enough job of hiding who he was from the whole of the Inquisition, and though she’d needed an internet search to tell her, she could still peel back the layers of his protections and see the truth of him. It galled.
He led her to the shop, frowning as they went. “Armor? If you intend to stay here, yes. We can find a blacksmith at Redcliffe, though if you want decent armor it would be best to venture to Denerim.” His frown deepened. “It would be an… extensive journey. A week, perhaps two? I’m not sure of the distance.”
Agatha winked at them both as he handed her a gold coin and she passed him two fresh loaves of bread. “For twins,” she said, and Solas died a bit inside.
All she had needed was an internet search to tell her what he truly was; everything else had come from their long conversations on the journals. Knowing who (and not what) he was made it easier to see through him.
She grinned at Agatha as she passed over the two loaves of bread. "A boy and a girl, I hope. I think that'd be a nice beginning to a family, having one of each," she said, returning Agatha's wink before steering Solas out of the shop with a "We better get back. Those babies aren't going to make themselves!" So maybe she couldn't help teasing him a little bit.
Once they were safely out of earshot though, she returned to the matter of armor. "Are you two headed that way? I can wait if you aren't. And I'll need your help figuring out what I can bring over in exchange for currency. Coins." That last part was a guess based on what he'd used to pay for the bread. "I have no idea how much a decent set is going to cost either."
Solas made a strangled sound at Helena’s words, wondering what he’d done (aside from everything) to deserve this.
“Denerim? I suppose we could make our way there.” He frowned, thoughtful, as they entered the tavern and he purchased the meat pies. “The entrance to Thedas from the hotel is a place where the Veil is thin. In the future, a Fade rift will form there. I’ve found that one can travel to the hotel from any of the rifts in Thedas, and it may be possible, using Evelyn’s connection to the Anchor, to use these places as a means to travel within Thedas.”
Then he chuckled, giving Helena an amused look. “Forgive me. I forget you know the truth of me. We could travel through the Fade, physically, by means of the places the Veil is thin, yes, and that would significantly decrease the travel time. Perhaps down to less than a day.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll have to find a plausible explanation for knowing that for Evelyn, however.”
Which told her the answer to her earlier question. "You still haven't told her," she said, displeasure evident in her tone.
"You really need to do that. Sooner, rather than later. Later she's going to be pissed. You're still in the learning stage of your relationship now; you can tell her without it being nearly as bad as if you wait." At least, that's what she guessed. If she had a lover that had a secret like that and they waited too long to tell her; yeah, she was going to be pissed. Might even end the relationship, depending on the secret. And without knowing Evelyn, Helena could only guess how she might react.
"If you just told her, then you wouldn't have to make up an excuse, you wouldn't have to lie, and your relationship would be stronger because of it." She stopped as her belly rumbled; those meat pies smelled really good.
And so did the bread. Mmmm, food.
"Is it going to be terribly rude for me to nibble on this bread before we get there?"
“The bread, I wouldn’t touch. Agatha knows a bit of magic. Until I’ve looked at it, it’s impossible to know what enchantments she tried to weave into it.” He passed her one of the meat pies and, once she had taken it, handed her one of the daggers he wore on his belt. “Cut with that, stab it, and eat.”
He led her from the tavern, shaking his head. “It’s not… It’s not something I can simply tell her. I…” Solas fell silent, unsure. He didn’t know how to explain this to Helena.
There was a gulf between who he had been and who he was, and admitting to being that person would just shrink that gulf. He had no desire to be that arrogant fool. No desire to be that freedom fighter. He’d tried, briefly, when he woke, and look where that got them.
“Soon,” he said. “I’ll tell her soon.”
"I'm not worried about getting pregnant." She'd have to be having sex for that, and having sex with a man no less. The last time she'd had sex with a man - of her own volition - had been years ago.
"Unless her bread can make me immaculately conceive." She eyed it as she passed it over to him and took the pie and knife instead. Maybe it was better not to chance it. She sighed, then did as he told her, cutting into the pie and stabbing the meat with the tip. "Mmm, smells good." Another little sigh before she lifted a piece up and ate it happily, listening to him all the while.
"Tastes good too, almost distracts me from the taste of that line you just gave me." It was a compromise that really wasn't a compromise and it smacked of fear. There was only so much of that she could take. "You're afraid. But you also love her. And you can either trust her to love you for who you are, or you can't trust her and think she's going to stop once she learns what you are. One of these is not good for a relationship. And you got past her being human, why not allow her the chance to do the same to you?"
Solas chuckled softly. “I’m more worried that it’s laced with an aphrodisiac, truthfully.” Not that he and Evelyn needed the help. But the entire village had rallied around their apostate hedge mages and seemed quite pleased to not only support them damning the establishment with their relationship but to encourage it as well.
Maybe Helena was right. Maybe there was place for halflings in Thedas. Odd, he thought, that it would be the most rural and conservative of people that would welcome such creatures. Then again, perhaps not so odd at all. The Crossroads could only benefit from hedge mages. At least until one became possessed and killed everyone.
“Yes, because everyone wants to learn they’re sleeping with a five thousand year old maybe god who inadvertently committed genocide against an entire race of people and caused the few survivors to be enslaved.” At least Evelyn hadn’t gone to the Temple of Mythal. At least--
He froze, an idea slowly occurring to him. “Helena. How do you feel about a vacation in southern Thedas? There is a temple dedicated to one of the other… gods.” He hated calling them that. “Mythal. It would be an appropriate place to tell Evelyn. Perhaps to ease her into the notion.” If they didn’t get slaughtered by Abelas and his sentinels. They’d need a fourth body, of course.
Definitely not the bread then. She'd just had the everything-laced-with-aphrodisiac in Gotham and repeating history wasn't on the books for today. "You keep the bread. Not that I think you'll need it, but I prefer working under my own steam."
She turned toward him at the mention of his history. Blinked. Blinked again. Rolled her shoulders into a shrug. "We all make mistakes. You made a big one. You're not planning on doing it again, right? That's not something I, or she, have to worry about?" If it was, well, she had his knife. If she had to, she'd stab him with it.
"Who is Mythal?" Another rolling shrug of her shoulders. "I traveled to a completely different world just to get here. Going south, north, east, west? Not a big deal. Are we walking for this excursion? Riding? Or doing your little here then there thing." What had he called it earlier? "Fadewalking. If we're going by foot, I can fly at night, but I don't think I'll be able to carry both of you if we do that. Unless the people here can see then." They did have magic after all, and Helena had no idea what they were actually capable of.
That was something that was going to have to be rectified at some point.
That was the question, wasn’t it? Was he planning on doing it again? He had a duty to the people, to see their race salvaged from the dregs of the world, and he was willing to accomplish that whatever the cost. He simply hadn’t ever considered the cost before. So he ignored the question.
“Mythal was the Great Protector, the moon, the mother of the elven pantheon. When you wanted justice, to went to her. When you wanted vengeance, you went to her husband, Elgar’nan,” Solas explained, a faint smile on his face.
He detested Elgar’nan, but with such distance between him and the last time he’d tangled with the All-Father, he could almost remember the man fondly.
“We would ride. It would be easiest. And we would want one other companion. It’s safest to travel in groups of four. Keeps the party well-balanced.”
Did he think she'd miss how he didn't answer? "No genocide, Solas. Not even of humans. And no enslaving whole races. Any race. That never ends well." A few years ago, his non answer would have had her slowly stepping back and possibly never returning, but she'd gotten more comfortable with the darkest areas of her life. And Solas, even with his hatred of humans, was still her friend.
"Because she could judge fairly?" Justice and vengeance. Justice was like her father - and she shook her head before she thought on him too much. No, she left him behind for a reason.
"Do you have an idea for a fourth? What kind of skills do they need to have?" Another party member was an easier thing to think about.
His lips curled back from his teeth in a definite snarl. “Do not speak to me of slavery, Faust,” he hissed, his rage making his magic a heavy weight in the air. “Do not dare presume you could ever know.”
The shrieking giggle of a child threw him off stride enough that his magic dissipated. His rage vanished, and he reached out one hand to catch a ball. The child that had thrown it looked at him with wide, bright eyes, and Solas softened. With a small smile, he tossed the ball back.
“Mythal was as petty as the rest of them at times, but she was better than most,” he said, leading her up the path that wound behind the village and toward the East Road. “She saw the shades of gray between black and white. And as for a party.” The transition was abrupt. He made no attempt to ease it. “Two mages are best supported by a rogue of some kind and a warrior that can hold the enemy’s attention.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the sudden rise of his anger, but out of surprise and not fear. "You said it caused them to be enslaved," she said quietly, as if to explain why she'd said anything at all. "But I spoke too hastily, I think, and I am sorry. You're much too against slavery to let it happen again."
Helena was quiet through the explanation on Mythal and the following explanation on the party. "I think you might need a flashier type for a warrior than I am. I'm better when I don't have anyone's attention on me." There was a thread of something else in her voice, something that spoke of a bitter history. Too bitter for her to keep eating for the moment. She slid the knife into the pie so it laid flat.
Solas sighed as they passed under an arch and turned north. This road would take them, inevitably, toward Redcliffe, but the old watch tower and windmill stood guard over the small home he shares with Evelyn. They were nearly home.
“Then we’ll have to find someone. A shame it’s a few years too early for the Iron Bull to be on the Storm Coast.” He snorted, as if this were funny. “But Bull wasn’t ever much good at keeping the rest of us from getting hit. He was too busy doing the hitting.”
There was only one person she thought of when he spoke about Bull. Another man, not at all like a Bull though he had wide shoulders and likewise kept her from getting hit. At least when she was young. He wouldn't come and she would never ask. Her gaze drifted upward, following the gentle crest of the arch.
"What is the possibility that we might find someone on the road between here and there to join us? Or is this one of those times where we need everyone before we leave?"
Solas barked out a laugh, giving her a look that said she was ridiculous. “Da’len, would you trust a man you found on the side of the road not to be a thief or a murderer or worse? Traveling in Thedas is hard enough when you don’t have to constantly watch your own camp for trouble. No, it would be best to find someone.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose we could always find someone in Redcliffe willing to take coin.”
But there wasn’t anything else between here and there except the Avvar, and Solas wouldn’t trust an Avvar not to slip a knife between his ribs while he slept.
Finally a laugh, a temporary ease of the tension that had sprung up. She grinned, ignoring the look that he was giving her. "You trusted some girl you met on a magical journal. You even called me a desire demon when we first spoke. You thought I was a spirit before I showed up here. You'd probably have equal luck with someone you just met off the side of the road. And if you're worried about what they might do at night while you're sleeping, if I'm with you, you really don't. I can't sleep at night." Not when it was dark out; that had been another gift from Silent Hill. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you and Evelyn. Not if I could help it."
While her smile didn't falter, the look in her eyes went from one of happiness to one of sadness. Too many people she'd been close to had been lost already; she'd do everything she could to avoid losing any others.
His expression softened. “I can ease that for you,” he said softly. “It is no hard thing for a mage like me to ensure pleasant dreams.”
The happiness waned further. "Thank you, but I think that would only help if I could manage to get to sleep. I can't." She shrugged. "It's fine, but if you're worried about what might happen when you're asleep, you don't have to be." Maybe she should take him up on his offer when she could get some sleep.
Maybe.
"It wouldn't keep me from waking up, would it?"
He shook his head, guiding her under the ruins of an old wall. “It wouldn’t. It would likely make it easier for you to wake up.” The windmill stood on the high hill to their right, and he paused for a moment, glancing at the crumbling tower behind him. He’d found a book for Vivienne there while Ellana was too busy slaughtering demons and laughing about the death to care.
“And, if you found the experience to your liking, I believe I could make an amulet to be of assistance when I am not nearby.” He turned them toward a well tended path, stones set into the dirt and grass that led to a small, thatched hut.
Smoke rose above the roof, and Solas smiled faintly, genuine pleasure taking years off his face. “Here,” he breathed, and he turned to Helena. “Aneth ara, da’len. This is my home. Be welcome.”
Waking up wasn't the hard part, not really, but the more she was concerned about not being able to wake up the lighter she slept until it was barely sleep at all and more just lying somewhere with her eyes closed.
"I'll let you know when I'm ready to try." It was as close to a promise as she was going to give. And as much as she wanted to say as she followed him up the path to the small hut and the woman that they'd already spoken so much about.
Her smile was as honest as his, curiosity lighting her eyes. She should say something, anything, his pronouncement having a sort of weight that she didn't quite know how to respond to in this place that was so different from her own time. "Thank you," was all she could manage before she followed him inside.