(Syl)aise

Haleira barely heard it. Her ears rang. Her knees buckled, and she hit the ground hard, one arm still pressed over the wound. Somewhere in the chaos, Viago screamed her name, and the sheer desperation in it nearly broke her. Then her head was in his lap, his hands on hers, trying to stop the bleeding, and his other hand stroking her cheek. Gentle. Frantic. “Press harder. You’re losing too much blood. Help is coming. I swear it’s coming. Just—just hold on, Haleira. You're okay. You're going to be okay." She blinked up at him, vision going hazy around the edges, but managed a weak, wobbly smile. “You don’t… have to panic like that, Viago…” Her voice was a rasp. “Although… it’s kind of a nice sight.” She tried to laugh. It hurt. Gods, it *hurt*. Viago looked horrified. His expression twisted into something raw. “*Mierda*, Haleira! You absolute—fucking *idiot*! Why the hell would you come here? Why fight? You’re a fledgling! You have no experience! What kind of suicidal lunatic throws herself into this madness—and for *me*?” Something warm splashed onto her cheek. Wet. She blinked again, more slowly this time. Viago was crying. Viago. The brother who never cried. Who mocked her for crying. She tried to lift her hand, wanted to touch his face, but her fingers were heavy. Too heavy. “I *did* kill some Crows before coming here,” she whispered, her voice thin, eyes fluttering. He blinked, something like pride flickering across his face—but it was quickly drowned by the grief in his eyes, like it broke him further. “And look where that got you.” Another tear fell. “Viago…” Her lips quirked. “Crying… doesn’t suit you.” “Shut up," he snapped, but his voice cracked, and the tears kept falling. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna fix this. Just stay with me.” She nodded, though it felt like lifting a mountain.

Damn rereading this makes me sad

I love those young idios ngl, it's so fun to write Illario and Lucanis together

That elven child clinging to your back?” he said with a scoff. “Throw her out and be done with it.” “*Illario*,” Lucanis warned, a reprimand soft but firm. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d had to pull his cousin back from going too far. A muscle ticked in Viago’s jaw. His whole body was coiled, like he was holding back a *lot*. “That *child* is a member of House De Riva,” he ground out, each word dipped in poison. “And my *little sister.* You’d do well to remember that, Dellamorte, or I *will* throw you out and be done with it.” The silence that followed was charged. Both men looked stunned. “*Little sister*?” Illario blinked, then broke out into a laugh. “That *pretty* child? You’re making her a Crow?” Haleira felt his gaze fall on her. He leaned down slightly, eyes scanning her like she was suddenly worth inspecting. She gripped Viago’s clothes tighter. She hated the way Illario looked at her. Like she was some kind of exotic pet. “*Illario*,” Viago bit out, low and deadly. “I’m warning you.” Illario raised his brows. “Not exactly fond of anyone but *you*, huh?” “With all due respect,” Viago said through clenched teeth, “she doesn’t *know* you.” Illario stood tall again and crossed his arms. “Hmm. I’ve always been told I have a likable face.” “*Illario*.” Lucanis’ voice was stern now, no humor left. “Leave the poor girl alone. Look how wary she is.” His eyes—dark, warm, and steady—met Haleira’s. And for some reason, her chest fluttered. He didn’t feel like danger. Not like Illario. “We’re sorry for scaring you,” Lucanis said gently. “We’ll be out of your sight soon enough.” He smiled. And something in Haleira just… *melted.* She smiled back before she could stop herself—soft and shy. Lucanis looked genuinely taken aback. Even Viago looked thrown.

A sound that was too damn close to a *snort* came from the Councilor. “You’re still claiming that? Your only proof is a lazy human who slept through his shift. You have *nothing* to present as evidence. Do you?” His tone dripped with condescension. Her fingers twitched. This bastard. He was *talking down* to her. She forced a slow breath, keeping her temper in check. Letting Sparatus get under her skin wouldn’t help anything. “I know what I saw, *Councilor*,” she said evenly. His green eyes narrowed at her, and she swore she saw a flicker of annoyance at her tone. A small, small victory. She lifted her chin. “I’ve been a Marine for years. I learned to trust my instincts. It’s what kept me alive on Akuze. I’m sure, as a former general, you understand that.” “That may be the case in other situations, but this—” “No,” she interrupted, voice sharpening. “I *know* I’m right. And I won’t be lectured by a Turian who clearly hates humans and can’t see past his own damn prejudices.” His gaze turned glacial. “If you think I’m accusing Saren out of *hate—you’re* mistaken.” Her voice dropped, steely and unyielding. “This conversation is over. I’ll speak to the entire Council. Not just you. *Sir*.” She spat the last word like a curse. Sparatus finally *reacted*. Shock flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a burning heat. Fury rolled off him in thick waves, and the tension between them turned sharp. *Let him be mad.* She turned, making her way to the door, but she *had* to get one last hit in. “And I sure as hell won’t argue with someone who can’t even satisfy a woman,” she threw over her shoulder. “Ridiculous. Are all Turian soldiers like—” The air changed. A warning hum pulsed behind her, and she *moved.* She pivoted just in time to dodge the strike aimed at her, her body responding on instinct. Her knee shot out, slamming into his side. A grunt of pain escaped him. Not hard enough. She turned to sprint for the door, but he was *faster*. A clawed hand gripped her wrist, twisting her momentum against her. Before she could react, she was slammed against the wall, the impact rattling her spine. Air left her lungs in a harsh gasp. Her vision refocused just as a solid arm pressed beside her head, caging her in.

In time, the frightened, helpless girl learned that if she wished to live, she couldn’t afford to weep and sulk. She began to do whatever was necessary—stealing, scavenging for food, creeping through dark alleyways, even fighting other children or wild animals. Eventually, she carved out a little hideout in one of the abandoned boats docked along the canal. No one used the boat anymore, and Haleira’s newfound skills in stealth made her almost invisible. For two long years, she eked out a meager existence. It wasn’t a good life—nor a healthy one. She grew thin and dirty; her once-silver hair dulled to a lifeless gray, and her eyes stared back at her hollowly when she caught her reflection in the canal’s water. Most of her belongings were gone—sold, stolen, or lost along the way. Even the magic book Amatisha had given her had vanished. And her sister, who once promised to come for her, never did.

Finally, they reached the rotunda and the flight of stairs leading to his room. Solas pushed the door open just enough to let her slip inside first, clearly prioritizing her compromised state. Amatisha had barely ducked into the safety of his room when a familiar voice called out. “Hey, Chuckles! What’re you up to this late?” *Shit.* She froze mid-step, her heart lurching in her chest. *Varric. Perfect timing, as always.* Amatisha darted into the nearest corner of the room, practically throwing herself out of sight as she strained her ears. Solas, standing calmly in the doorway, didn’t miss a beat. “Varric. What can I do for you at this hour?” His voice was so smooth, so devoid of any tension, that it made her want to scream. How did he do that? How did he mask his emotions so perfectly? She pressed her back against the wall, praying Varric wouldn’t step inside. Whatever this conversation was, it needed to end quickly—because if the dwarf so much as glanced her way, she’d *never* hear the end of it. Amatisha inched closer to the door, careful to keep her breathing steady. Her pulse hammered in her ears, but finally, she was close enough to make out the conversation. “You know, I haven’t seen Sunshine around lately,” came Varric’s voice, his tone laced with suspicion. Amatisha froze. *Damn it.* “Why should that concern me?” Solas’s voice was calm—too calm, like he was trying too hard. “She is likely resting, or occupied with something of her own. It is hardly unusual." *Really? That’s the best you’ve got?* Amatisha rolled her eyes. She didn’t rest unless she was on the verge of collapsing, and everyone knew it. Varric let out a snort so loaded with disbelief that Amatisha almost lost it. “Come on, Chuckles. You really expect me to buy that? Nobody’s seen her since this afternoon. Not in her room, not anywhere. I just thought she might join me for a drink.” He paused, his voice softening. “Figured after the mess earlier, she could use one.” Amatisha’s chest tightened, warmth spreading through her. Varric, for all his rough edges, cared. And it wasn’t just him—Dorian, too. Somehow, she’d found a family here, among the Inquisition. But that didn’t mean she was about to reveal herself. She tugged her shirt tighter around her bare chest and stayed put. “I am afraid I am just as in the dark as you, Varric,” Solas replied smoothly. “I have not seen her either. She has been... avoiding me as well.” Amatisha bit her lip, swallowing a laugh. *Wow. That was terrible.* For someone as brilliant as Solas, he was absolute trash at lying when cornered. She’d caught him before, and the way he always stumbled through it was hilarious. But to her shock, Varric didn’t push. “Well, I tried. Figured she’d run to you, but I guess I was wrong. She’ll turn up when she’s ready. See you around, Chuckles.” His footsteps faded, and Amatisha let out a long breath. “He is gone,” Solas said as he stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. “Thank the Maker.” Amatisha slumped against the wall, the tension bleeding out of her. “That could’ve been a *real* pain in the ass—for me, at least.” Solas raised a brow. She shot him a look. “I can't believe he actually bought that. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?" His head snapped back, mock offense flashing across his face. “I am not.” “Uh, yeah, you are.” Her lips curved into a wicked grin. Was he…pouting? “Aww, poor Solas. Not used to being called out for something you actually suck at?” “I am not pouting.” His voice dipped, low and sharp, but she caught the way his nose wrinkled in irritation. “Oh, you totally are. And here I thought you had a handle on everything,” she teased, taking a step toward him. “Why must you always be so…” He waved a hand, his patience clearly slipping. “Charming? Adorable? Funny?” “Exhausting.” Amatisha gasped, clutching her chest in offense. “That was mean, Solas.”