Hero of Ferelden

It’s done! Cyrion & Adaia on their wedding day :3 

Once she speaks, Solas takes the time to observe the old ruins around them. It looked relatively well kept, except for the chatter deeper within, the laughter and rough tones. Bandits? It is quite possible they managed knock down some of the weaker walls to invade the temple, but what little they could find in here and understand would not be worth much to their kind.

         “Patience, falon. I suspect there will be a conflict soon enough,”          he points to some recently excavated tombs to the right of them.          There’s a look on his face, far different than his neutral facade, full          of anger. “They are fumbling with things they do not understand.” He avoids telling her what it is they’re looking for, too irked to find the words, and at a loss on how to truly tell her.

          “Come. You will put your daggers to use yet.”

He wastes no time. While Solas was mostly patient and calculating in his battles, it is in this moment he shows his once reckless abandon, that youthful fiery in a riot. He wishes for it to be over quickly, but these raiders care not for his wounded pride, his anger at their defiling of a sacred tomb, and more on the fact that only two elves were going up against a small army of bandits. To anger Solas, however, is one terrible mistake they will not live long to regret. While streneous, it does not last long, and Solas hardly spares the bodies on the ground a second glance. A quick emotion, perhaps something he’ll regret later. Did these men have families, children? Did they have people waiting for them?

But for now, something else has captured his attention, the glinting dagger in his companion’s hand.

The bandits obviously weren’t expecting company, and even though the elves were outnumbered, the small hoard was no match for the little ambush. It was almost disappointing; there were so many of them, and it was over so quickly... Still, she checks their pulses when they’re finished - no point in leaving one alive to surprise them later - and the temptation to pick their pockets is overwhelming. She hasn’t wanted for gold in a long time, but still. Old habits and all that. 

Maybe she can give them a second look on the way out? Solas doesn’t seem interested in lingering, and this is his quest, after all.

He would have gone alone, if it were not for the Inquisitor insisting he bring along another hand. What he looks for is ancient and hurtful, old memories locked away, powerful tools he would come to use in the future to bring an end to this one. Another elven artifact, he told the Inquisitor with a clipped tone; the Inquisitor understood of course, just as Solas expected from such a thoughtful being. It did not ease his guilt any less.

       “Thank you.”

His voice is softer than normal, but there is a sincerity that gives it warmth. The trek has been long so far, but he keeps them guarded from the cold with a simple enchantment spell. Elodie had come all this way just for his sake, and it would not please him to see her ill on his behalf.

       “It will not be long now, ma’ falon,” he informs.

With little warning, he braces the palm of his left hand against a sigil on an old, withering stone gnarled by vines. At his touch, it burns like fire and lights up, old words of their people long forgotten whispering around them like a quiet breeze.

Shit, magic. She hopes (but also, sincerely doubts) that he doesn’t notice the way she flinches. She’s traveled with mages before; befriended them, even, for better or for worse. And while her old prejudice had long since melted away, Elodie knew she would never get used to seeing magic used so casually.