Valo-Kas Karasten
Your evening goes precisely as planned. You bathe, a long, soaking affair with the assistance of another of Solas’s fire runes. He is spoiling you, and you tell him as much. You’re very much going to miss this when you return to Skyhold. You already suspect that you’ll become distracted often thinking of the baths in Solas’s and Iron Bull’s rooms.
Emboldened by Solas’s good manners, you leave the bathroom door cracked just the tiniest bit, so that you can easily hear him through it. He reads to you from that dry, dull tome on the Fourth Blight, and you think that you’ve never heard anything quite so interesting. You have just enough presence of mind to berate yourself. You should be distancing yourself from Solas, now that he knows your less-than-pure feelings about him. But he’s acting so much the same that you can almost forget he knows.
After your bath, you change into a nightgown, simply to demonstrate to Solas that you’re in for the night. He doesn’t take you up on your offer to read to him right away, but you wind up sitting next to him on the couch, reading the tome alongside him, just to give his voice a rest. It is perhaps less interesting without his narration, but you enjoy it nonetheless. You’ve long maintained that there’s no such thing as a useless book. There is something to be gained from even the most obvious work of fiction or propaganda. The tome may be dry, but it is educational.
You find, to your frustration, that Solas actually reads faster than you do. And you’re no slow reader! After a half dozen pages turned before you’ve finished them, you take to holding the side of the book yourself, moving your thumb of the page only when you’re ready for him to turn it. The positioning has you pressed close to him, thigh against thigh, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and you find some small comfort in the contact. You don’t believe you’ve ever touched a person this much and not had them come after you sexually. It’s… strangely freeing. That he allows it despite his knowledge of your attraction to him is very kind.
You actually struggle to remain awake. You don’t think Solas is working any magic on you—none that you can detect in any case—but you feel the subtle pulls of the Fade on your mind. It’s a shame you can’t sleep tonight, really. You allow yourself to recline on the couch away from the book, however, if only to encourage Solas to go to sleep. You rest your head on the soft armrest of the couch, your feet snaking closer to Solas as you relax. Tentatively, you allow one foot to rest against his thigh. He doesn’t protest, and you allow the contact to soothe you even as you fight the pull of sleep.
You’re half-asleep yourself by the time Solas puts up his book and heads to bed. You watch through a half-lidded eye as he strips by the bed. You see him put a hand on his trousers and suddenly you are wide awake. He glances over towards you and you quickly close your eyes the rest of the way. Slowly, you peek out between your lashes, but he seems to have thought better of removing his pants. It’s just as well. You wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from watching, and you really don’t need that on your conscience. Instead, you watch as he pulls a blanket off the bed and walks back towards you.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you shut your eyes once again. You feel a blanket settle of you, and then Solas’s soft hands as he tucks it around you. Unnecessary… He doesn’t need to do that. But the fact that he does sets your chest to a painful ache. Who was the last person to tuck you into bed like this? Aimée? Leah? Your mother?
You open your eyes only when you hear the bed creak as Solas climbs into it. You have emotions you’re not entirely equipped to deal with. You wish he’d stop being so kind. It would make things easier. And yet, you know you would miss it achingly if he did stop. You’re in a hell of your own making.
You give it perhaps a half hour, then stir from the couch, shifting the blanket off of you with regret. You would have been quite happy to stay there the whole night through. But tonight, you really can’t. You slip out of your nightclothes and into something more reasonable, and then out the window you climb, careful to leave it open so that you can sneak back in. Hopefully Solas doesn’t wake in the evening and find you gone… or worse, close the window without realizing.
Banal’ras came through for you, as he always does. It’s costing you an extra tome from the White Spire, one you had really wanted… but the Qunari’s freedom is more important than your lust for knowledge. There will be other opportunities to learn.
You climb down the side of the building cautiously, and then you’re out onto the streets of Val Royeaux. You swing by one of your oldest stash spots. Banal’ras has been by. An old black cloak and a very familiar mask lie within a tied up bag. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Any mask and cape would have done, but of course Banal’ras would have brought your old gear. He’s trying to goad you out of retirement.
The six-eyed mask is familiar and comfortable on your face. You let your aura out just past your skin; the lyrium in the mask picks up on it immediately. He really had given you the real mask. Idiot. You’re amazed he’d part with it, really. But you suppose it’s important, if Banal’ras is to be taking responsibility for tonight.
You sweep your way to the Baron’s estate by rooftop. Banal’ras, likely in a matching mask, will be making a distraction. You sneak in the back entrance he detailed to you, six gleaming red eyes lighting your way. It’s amazing to you how easily it is for you to become reaccustomed to the quirks of the enchanted mask—as if you’d never ceased to wear it. Your vision through it is hazed over with red, but you barely notice it. And it’s worth the odd tint. You could have used this mask breaking into the White Spire, for its ability to see enchantments and runes. Unfortunately, Solas being there had prevented its use.
You break into the Baron’s basement with a muttered spell, slide into the darkness as if it were home to you. But what you see has you nauseated despite the fact you were expecting it.
The “Saarebas” is caged and bound. A brief brush of your aura confirms what you’d suspected; there’s no hint of magic in his bindings. This poor creature is simply a Qunari—Tal-Vashoth, most likely—captured and sold for the pleasure of those who should know better. Its eyes meet yours—or the six glinting lights that represent your eyes—but rather than struggle, it lets out a low, tired grumble.
You sweep across the basement towards it, your aura swirling around you, fat with your rage. The basement fills with the cracks and pops of barely-suppressed power; the air around you grows humid with the tingling sensation of the storm just before lightning strikes. Your pride aches in the place of this Qunari’s. Its arms are bound behind its back, chains are hooked to a brutal, thick collar that is embedded around its neck and chest. The air smells of blood. No living creature should be subjected to this.
“Ashkost, saarebas-saam,1” you say, voice low and quiet. The Qunari shifts in its bindings, lets out a grunt of pain. “Do not be frightened,” you inform it firmly. You place a small rune on the lock of the cage, give it a little burst of mana for charge, and then step backwards. It blows the lock open with a burst of power, looking very much like it had been smashed from inside. The Qunari flinches backwards, lets out a cry of alarm. You swing the door open, step in next to the creature.
“Be calm.” you say again. You place a gentle hand on its mask, undoing the straps around its horns and pulling it off. You resist the urge to gag when you see what lies beneath. Its eyes have not been sewn shut. That is your one blessing, for its mouth has. Only a small, metal straw indicates the way they keep it fed.
A crack in the air behind you shows that you’re quickly losing control of your own temper. You’ll frighten the Qunari more than is necessary this way. You force yourself to be calm, wrap your aura back against your skin as a way to control it. “Be still,” you order the Qunari, sliding a small knife out of a pocket in your cloak. You expect it to panic when it sees the knife, but instead you see yourself reflected in black eyes. You fight back a surge of fear and place a hand on the Qunari’s face, tilting its head back slightly.
You run the knife carefully along the Qunari’s lips, slicing neatly through the sinew keeping its mouth shut. Its eyes remain on yours for a moment, then it opens its mouth.
“You are not of the Qun, bas saarebas2.” Its voice is low, accusing. Hoarse and cracked. Too long without being used.
“I am neither Qun nor bas saarebas,” you reply evenly. “Have you been away from Par Vollen for so long that you’ve forgotten there is more than one way to make a thing explode, saarebas-saam?” You remind yourself you have nothing to fear. The Qunari is still bound.
“No.”
“Good. Do you still want to be free?”
“Yes. I will kill the man who did this to me.”
You shake your head. “I cannot have you rampaging.”
“This cannot go unpunished!” the Qunari snaps, lunging forward against its bonds.
“It will not. Calm yourself, saarebas-saam. I’ve already begun your vengeance. If you will allow me, I will free you, and I will be your valo-kas karasten3. But you must trust me.”
The Qunari glares at you. “You are an elf, and not of the Qun, yet you speak it. How?”
“I was like you. A man captured me and bound me for his own delight. I was pet to a Tevinter master. But I wanted freedom.”
“And you took it. I should take my own.”
“A qunari helped me then. I will help you now,” you say firmly. “Let me do this; do not fight me. Ebasit kata maraas shokra.4”
“Stop that,” the Qunari snaps. “It is disturbing.”
“I am not made of time and patience, vashoth5.”
He is silent for a time, then nods. “Very well. You will be my valo-kas karasten… if a basra6 even knows what that means.”
“I don’t want to hear that from a vashoth,” you grumble, but you sidle around beside him and place a hand on the chains binding him in place. “This will hurt.” It’s the only warning you give him before placing more small runes on the chains and activating them. The chains burst as if shattered by a powerful blow. The Qunari falls forward, hands still bound behind his back. You take a dagger to the thick ropes, hacking your way through them brutally as a way to work out your anger and fear both. You do not look forward to being alone with an unbound Qunari. Grey skin and sweeping horns. You grit your teeth.
Finally, its arms are free. It moves to push itself off the ground, crawling out of the cage before standing up to its full height. Panic flutters in your chest, your aura constricts defensively around you. You’d thought perhaps Bull had done you some good in regards to being able to tolerate the presence of Qunari, but the sight of the beast sends pure terror knotting into your stomach. And you’d taken this thing on as your charge?
“If you do not wish me to take my own vengeance, Valo-kas, remove me from this place,” the Qunari growls. You scramble out of the cage. It’s difficult to maintain your air of command when you’re so clearly intimidated by the Qunari’s size, but the mask helps.
“We’ll escape this way,” you say, leading him to the way you’d snuck in. “I have a cloak to help me get you as far as my room. From there, we’ll see about removing the rest of those bindings… I’m sure you’re eager to be rid of them.”
Banal’ras had doubtlessly given you the largest cloak he had access to, and yet the Qunari still sticks out like a sore thumb. You sneak him along back alleys, moving slowly and cautiously to avoid sight. His horns may be covered, but there aren’t a lot of eight-foot-tall Orlesians.
You make it back to the inn, somehow. You hide the mask in a nearby stash, knowing Banal’ras will be back for it. Wrapped up alongside it, you leave Banal’ras’s present. It’s easier than trying to tie it to a bird. Banal’ras may not have a proper birthday, but every year you celebrate the day you met. He’ll be sour that you’re missing it this year… a present is the least you can do, as it’s in a few days’ time.
Now for the hard part… getting a Qunari in a third story window. Fortunately, the thing can climb. You climb up first, scrambling silently in the open window and tiptoeing to your room, where you retrieve the rope from your travel bag. With help from the rope, the Qunari manages to scale the building. It gets stuck in the window somewhat, but you manage to pull it in.
Unfortunately, it seems Solas can only sleep through so much. He awakens to you dragging a Saarebas in the window.
Honestly, you’re amazed he doesn’t freak out more than he does.
“Fenedhis!” he swears, rolling out of bed. You’d be amused if you weren’t in such serious trouble. You’ve never heard him swear like that. He lets out a long, loud, angry stream of Elven that you’ve no hope of keeping up with. It’s quite clear he’s talking to you, but he’s not pausing long enough to give you time to reply, or even to inform him you’ve no idea what he’s saying.
You take a nervous step between him and the Qunari as Solas takes angry strides towards you, his blue eyes flashing furiously in the dark room. He gesticulates angrily at the Qunari behind you, then bats at your chest, or perhaps your cloak. He turns around, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. It’s almost mystifying… You’ve never seen him like this.
His stream of enraged Elven finally slows. You stare, hypnotized, at the rise and fall of his bare shoulders. He turns, slowly, and fixes you with a steely glare. “Emma,” he says, his voice dark and low. That’s enough to snap you out of your reverie.
“I didn’t understand a word you just said,” you blurt out. It was the entirely wrong thing to say.
“Should I repeat myself?” he snaps, closing the space between the two of you with angry strides. “In which language must I call you an idiot for you to comprehend? All of your contacts, and your brilliant plan is to bring a Qunari into our inn room? You could have been killed! You still could! He must be the only such creature in Val Royeaux! How do you intend to get him out of here?”
You flinch, putting up your hands as if in supplication. “It’s not as stupid as it seems, I swear, Solas. Please, hear me out.”
“That would be worth something if you had told me before you did this, as I asked!”
“You might have stopped me!” you protest. “And this needed to be done.”
“Perhaps, but not by you!” Solas exclaims. “What precisely do you intend to do with him?”
“Free him,” you say firmly. At the irritation in Solas’s eyes, you rush onwards. “I do have a plan. Banal’ras is causing quite the upset at the Baron’s estate even as we speak. The Baron will not notice his pet’s escape until the morning, at the earliest. Even then, he will be hard pressed to come after him. When he does see the escape, it will look very much as though the Qunari did it himself.”
Solas crosses his arms, but at least he’s waiting for your explanation. “His best bet of escaping is with us. One Qunari is very suspicious. But one of the Inquisition agents arriving here tomorrow is a Tal-Vashoth mercenary. Two Qunari are not so odd as one.
“I can disguise his face,” you rush on. “With your help, I could remove his bindings. We can slip him out of the city before anyone even notices he’s missing.”
Solas is taking deep breaths, clearly trying to keep himself from losing his temper with you again. You know you should be more scared, but he’s very shirtless and you’re very distracted by that fact. He looks like he wants to grab you and shake, and Maker spare your soul, you wouldn’t mind one bit if he got a little violent with you right then. You swallow, hard, trying to control yourself and struggling with it as clearly as Solas is. Although, you know, for very different reasons.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Emma?”
“You might have stopped me,” you repeat. “I couldn’t risk that. He needed to be freed, Solas.”
“I did not stop you last night,” he points out. You bite your lip. You cannot tell him you needed to do things you couldn’t do in front of him.
“Emma ir abelas, Solas,” you say finally. “Perhaps I misjudged you.”
Solas eyes the Qunari behind you sullenly. “Will this creature even obey you? Can it speak?”
“It can,” the Qunari grumbles. “She is valo-kas karasten. I must trust her.”
“What did you do, Emma?” Solas says irritably.
“I’m his… sword,” you say, wondering how best to explain this to one who might be unfamiliar with the intricacies of the Qun. “A sword safeguards your life. It’s your defense and offense. Valo-kas karasten means sword of vengeance. I must protect him until I’ve unleashed his vengeance.”
Solas lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. He rubs a hand over his brow, and you can see the tension in his muscles. He’s still angry, and you’ve denied him a means of getting it out. Your mind comes up with several not-so-helpful suggestions of ways you could help him release that frustration. You try to push those thoughts out of your mind.
“It’s done,” Solas says shortly. “Now all that remains is… damage control.”
“I want to get the bindings off of him,” you explain. “But if they’re anything like Saarebas bindings, they may be… embedded.” Solas sighs.
“Very well. Have your charge strip. I will see what I can do for him.” He moves to fetch his staff from the bedstand.
“He does speak Common,” you grumble, but you turn to the Qunari nonetheless.
“I do not wish to suffer the ministrations of your saarebas,” the Qunari growls, and you scowl.
“Too bad, vashoth. Those bindings need to come off, and I cannot hope to remove them myself. He can dull your pain and prevent serious injury. Strip, please.”
The Qunari glares, and inside, you’re trembling, but you hold your ground. You cannot appear weak in front of this thing. Too much is at stake. Once you’re out of the city, you can… release him into the wild, or whatever, and spend a full day shaking and puking in sheer terror. For now, you have to hold it in.
Of course, then he strips off his cloak. The panic rises in your chest. The collar is heavy on his neck, chains and rope and dried blood. His hands go to the half-robe wrapped around his waist and legs, and you lose your confidence, looking away. You cannot watch him strip. You’re not even thinking about Iron Bull. Your mind is firmly rooted in Seheron. You taste the tang of iron in your mouth—you must have bitten your cheek so hard it bled. You can’t panic, you remind yourself. You can’t. You don’t have that luxury.
“Who did this to you? Was it the Baron?” Solas is asking. He’s approaching the Qunari as if the creature isn’t half-naked and bound in rope and chains and that horrid iron collar.
“It was done to me on his behalf,” the Qunari says shortly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to steel yourself.
“Lie on the floor,” you order. As he does so, you examine the damage. “We’re in luck,” you murmur. “I think the only part embedded is the collar. This part around the chest is just straps.”
“Was his mouth sewn shut?” Solas demands, examining the Qunari’s face.
“Yes,” you say shortly. “Solas, we may have to cut this section off…”
The two of you work the Qunari over with knives and magic. To his credit, he’s quiet, gritting his teeth through what has to be excruciating pain as you work embedded metal out of his flesh before Solas soothes the wounds with tender magic. The Qunari is in rough shape… He’s thinner than a Qunari should be, probably due to Maker knows how long on a liquid diet.
“Tomorrow, I can craft an illusion to disguise these,” Solas says, tapping on one of the Qunari’s horns. The Qunari lets out a displeased grunt, but is otherwise submissive to it. “Many people identify Qunari by their horns. Give him a different set, and that may be enough to elude detection.”
“Ma serannas, Solas,” you say, pleased that you didn’t have to suggest the idea yourself. You’d been trying to figure out a way to do just that without seeming overly knowledgeable.
After magic has done all it can for the Qunari, you turn to Solas. “Solas, you should rest. You can’t do anything more for him, and we have a long journey tomorrow.”
Solas sighs. “I fear for what you might get up to while I sleep.”
“I’ll remain in this room until you wake, Solas. You have my word.”
Solas does, eventually, go back to bed, although it’s with a lot of fussing and glaring. You don’t know how he can sleep in these circumstances, but you’re glad he can. You stay up tending to the Qunari. His hair is a knotted mess, but he consents to sit on the floor while you sit on the couch and work your comb slowly through it, taking a knife to it when a comb won’t do.
“Simply cut it off,” the Qunari says with an irritated grunt as you savage yet another knot of tangled hair.
“With my knife? You’ll look like a half-plucked chicken,” you say with a scoff. The Qunari’s hair is a dirty off-white, but you suspect that once cleaned, it will gleam like snow reflecting sunlight. His horns sweep back from his head, but the dramatic curl of them keeps them from reminding you of any Qunari you used to know.
“Why did you take it upon yourself to free me, Valo-kas?” the Qunari asks after a while.
“I saw you at the Baron’s little auction,” you reply.
“That is not an answer.”
You sigh. “Is it not enough that I did? Qunari should not be curious.”
“I’m no Qunari,” he spits.
“Fair enough, vashoth. Your imprisonment angered me. I had the means to end it, so I did.”
“Why enact my vengeance, Valo-kas?”
You smile. “That, I do because it brings me great joy, saarebas-saam. I barely need an excuse to bring pain to a man like your Baron.” You remove chains from his body and decorative hoops from his horns, and the Qunari peppers you with quiet questions the whole time. Occasionally, his voice rises and you shush him. When you’ve cleaned him as best you can, you fetch your bag of food from your room and feed him from it—slowly. You don’t wish to make him ill, and it’s likely his stomach will have difficulty with solid food for some time.
While he eats, you busy yourself with his garments. The half-robe of a saarebas would be way too telling, but you can’t bring him to the harbor nude, either. You shred it in several places with your knife, and then fetch needle and thread from your bag to craft it into rudimentary pants. He won’t look good, but no one really expects a Qunari to look good. With a bared chest and bold horns, there’s a good chance no one will be looking at his pants at all.
The Qunari is perhaps the most talkative Qunari you’ve ever come across. He’s full of questions, not only about you, but about Solas, why you’re in the city, who you work for, and then, as the night wears on, why you’re not sleeping, why you’ve crafted him pants, why, why, why, why. It’s more amusing than it is annoying. He reminds you of a child, somewhat, despite being easily twice your size. If nothing else, it serves to relax you. His sitting on the floor assists as well… for a short time, you can forget how huge he is.
He sleeps for a few hours sometime before dawn, and you send out a last few messages… farewells and thanks to Jean and Banal’ras and a few other contacts you managed to reach while in Val Royeaux. You also send Vivienne’s letter to Jean, with details on who to deliver it to and the firm message to do it tomorrow after you’ve left Val Royeaux. No use in giving Vivienne’s “friend” any spare time to track you down.
Solas stirs around dawn, and the look on his face when he awakens to see you reclining on the couch and the Qunari passed out on the floor is… terrifying. You wish you had something to bribe him with to help assuage his temper.
“Are you certain your charge will behave, Emma?” Solas asks, eyeing the sleeping beast on the floor.
“I believe so. He seems rather adrift. So recently freed from slavery, I doubt he’ll know what to do with himself at first, and Vashoth are often a little… aimless. He’ll follow me, for now, and he’s already shown he’s willing to do what I tell him to. For now, anyway. I believe we’ll be able to get him out of the city. After that?” You shrug. “We’ll see.”
You’ve changed into travel clothes and your thick, strong leather boots in preparation for the journey. All of your things are packed, and you assist Solas in packing the last of his. “Solas,” you say, after being silent for some time. “I want to apologize.”
“It’s quite telling that you could be apologizing for one of many things,” Solas says sourly.
“For not telling you about my plan to free the Vashoth. I was concerned you’d stop me, but… You’re right. I should have trusted you.” You’re lying, of course. You believe your decision was the right one. But a little bending and scraping never hurt.
Solas is quiet for some time, then sighs slightly. “Thank you.”