Strays
You’ve awoken in the middle of an attack before, but never like this. Never screaming, never flailing. Solas struggles to hold you, but rather than force your arms down against your sides the way the Iron Bull would, he simply keeps you pressed against his chest until you begin to calm. You don’t even realize he’s speaking to you in a calming, gentle voice at first, but it does soothe you. Your mind is still hazy and terrified, but you find that you can cling to him and know that he, at least, is real. Even in a dream, he might well be real.
“She is fine,” you hear him saying, not to you. “She… suffers from night terrors.” Is he lying? For you? “Give us space, please.”
But you’re already coming down from your panic, the fog of the Fade leaving your mind. The more your mind sinks back to reality, however, the more mortified you become. You quickly push Solas off of you, and since your screaming has stopped, he lets you. Your eyes fall to the blanket. How had you…? You didn’t even remember coming to your tent.
“The… the last thing I remember is you reading,” you croak out. You taste blood… how much had you been fighting to scream in your sleep?
“It is my fault,” Solas says, and you realize he looks guilty. “You fell asleep. I brought you to your tent and… thought this the best way to ensure you rested properly.” He gestures towards the blanket. “I was concerned for your health and, I… I did not anticipate this sort of reaction.”
“I… couldn’t wake up,” you realize, pieces clicking together in your head. “Normally, when I’m having nightmares, I can make myself wake up, but I couldn’t… and then I was kind of awake, but still dreaming…”
“Ir abelas,” Solas says. His voice is mournful, and you’re torn between wanting to reassure him and wanting to scream at him for once again fooling with your sleeping mind without consulting you first.
“It didn’t do that before,” you mutter, letting your fingers slide across the blanket. It doesn’t look so appealing as it once did.
“If you were sharing it with others, its effect would have been muted,” Solas replies. Of course, he doesn’t know about all the times you used it before then. “I should have… It was unwise of me to use it on a… non-mage without thinking it through first, particularly without your knowledge. I apologize.”
You could scold him, perhaps, and ensure he never did anything like this in the future. And you do consider it. Looking at him, seeing the guilt clear on his face, you know exactly how to twist the knife. Act distressed, play on your supposed “fear” of certain forms of magic.
But you don’t have the strength, not after the misery you’ve put him through over the last few days. “I appreciate what you were trying to do, Solas,” you say instead. A shadow shifts over the side of the tent, and you flinch.
“It’s only Sataareth,” Solas informs you. “He’s frantic, I’m sure.”
“I should… what time is it?” you ask. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep, in any case.
“Dawn,” Solas informs you. “If any of our companions were still asleep, I assure you, they aren’t anymore.”
You wince. “That’s not a pleasant way to wake up.”
“No,” Solas agrees. “But yours was worse. They will understand. Combat can be a terrifying thing. They are soldiers; you are not. I believe they were all a bit… concerned for your well-being.”
You want very dearly to say that you doubt it, or even that they needn’t have been. But you had just woken everyone up screaming, so it doesn’t feel like there’s much you can really say. The shadow shifts over the tent again, and you call out.
“I am fine, Sataareth. I apologize for worrying you.”
You hear a grunt, but nothing else. You doubt he’d admit to being worried, anymore than you would confess to worry about him. The two of you make an odd pair, that much is certain.
You’re amazed you didn’t come out of sleep casting. You were certainly trying everything else. But the fact of the matter is, your instincts just don’t run that way. After years hiding yourself, your instinct upon being panicked or frightened is to tamp your aura down tighter, not attempt to cast. It’s a good habit. If you set things on fire every time you got scared, you would be dead by now.
Still, the more you sleep like this, the fatter with mana your aura will become. It won’t be too much longer before you have to drain yourself down again, something that will be increasingly difficult the more time you spend with Solas. You sigh inwardly. You certainly have made things impossible for yourself, haven’t you? This is what you get, for thinking with your goddamn libido. You should have run when you had the chance. But even now, the thought is appalling to you. Weak. Weak, weak, weak. Your mother had warned you about this sort of thing, and yet here you are.
Solas still looks concerned. You may have decided against purposefully hurting him, but you don’t particularly feel like comforting him, either. He really needs to stop doing this sort of thing. You shift back onto your knees, pushing against the ground with your hands. You wince at the sudden explosion of pain this causes. You look down at your hands… the bandages are red. Your flailing and punching had opened your wounds again.
“Please, let me help,” Solas says, reaching tentatively towards you, but not actually grabbing your hand.
“I don’t—”
“I understand, lethallan, but if we are not careful with your hand injuries, you could have permanent damage.” His voice isn’t threatening, but begging. He’s not trying to scare you. He doesn’t want to see you hurt when he could have helped.
You understand that instinct.
You give him your hand with a sigh.
After Solas has healed the new damage to your hands and soothed the pain of the old injuries, he re-bandages you with a warning to use your hands as little as possible. They won’t heal properly if you keep exacerbating them. Then the two of you head out towards the smells of breakfast.
You settle in by the fire, heating water for a cup of tea. Solas wrinkles his nose at the smell of the strong tea leaves, but says nothing, letting you drink the bitter brew in peace. With every sip you feel more alive. You find your aura is a bit more lively than it had been the night before, the result of full night in the Fade, no doubt. Shame that’s all but useless to you. Your magic is more of an inconvenience lately. With so many mages and Templars around, you can barely ever use it, and instead have to deal with the consequences of hiding it. There’s no helping it, however. You wouldn’t wish it away even if you could.
Revas is stronger this morning. Solas had assured you it would be the case, but it’s still such a relief to see. He still hassles you to feed him, but at least he doesn’t insist on having every single morsel hand-fed to him. The others begin preparing for another day of traveling, breaking camp and preparing breakfast. Kelsie surprises you by offering a few comforting words; she confesses that she had suffered from nightmares that woke her screaming after the fight two weeks earlier.
“Of course, I don’t necessarily recommend you recover the way I did,” she says, her eye glancing over towards Emilio. You can’t help smiling.
“I was wondering,” you confess. “But I wasn’t going to ask.”
Kelsie flushes. “It’s not what you think. We aren’t… We don’t… He just…” She drops her voice quieter. “I would wake up screaming. The first time, he held me to calm me down. But it would happen every night. So… we started sleeping together. Just… in the same bedroll, I mean. He…” She gets a look of wonder on her face. “He didn’t try anything.”
“I’m happy for you,” you say honestly. “Emilio is nicer than he lets on.”
Kelsie nods. “He really is. Anyway, I don’t know if that would work for you, but it seems like your apostate might be willing to fill the role.”
You laugh hollowly. “That’s the last thing I need.”
“Maybe that pretty elf girl back in Skyhold then,” Kelsie says, giving you a pat on the shoulder. “Tell her you’re a war veteran, all proper now,” she advises. “The ladies love it.”
Kelsie isn’t the only one to offer advice or support, to your surprise. You hadn’t believed him, but perhaps Solas had been right about some of your companions being concerned. Elaine advises crushed lavender under your pillow. Korbin recommends a pint of ale before bed. It seems many of your companions have issues with nightmares now and then. In truth, most of the time, your nightmares don’t bother you that much. Today was an exception only because you couldn’t escape them.
After camp is broken down, however, there’s one more issue to deal with… Revas can’t carry anything. That means his bags are split up amongst the other mounts; no big deal. But because you’d brought Sataareth along, there is no spare mount. Garrick suggests you could ride on the wagon, but Katari is having none of it.
“We are all but in the mountains. Soon, these horses will be pulling through snow and over rocks. I don’t want them pulling even a pound more than they have to,” the Qunari says firmly. “We have no spares.”
“She could ride with any of us, really,” Emilio points out.
“It’s true,” Korbin says with a chuckle. “You weigh, what? Eighty pounds?”
“Don’t ask a lady her weight,” you say dryly.
“You should ride with Sataareth,” Kelsie suggests.
“Are you kidding? I pity any horse that has to carry one of you giants,” Korbin says with a snort. “No offense, Katari.”
“I don’t know how to ride a horse,” you interject. Half a dozen eyes turn to you. “I learned how to ride on a hart. I’ve never ridden a horse.”
“Oh. Well, that makes it easy then,” says Garrick, pointing over towards Solas, who is tying the last of his bags onto Ashi’lana. You pale slightly.
“Oh, I don’t know if…”
“Don’t pretend to be modest now, we’ve seen you do it before,” teases Emilio.
“I don’t want to impose—” you begin.
“Hey! Solas!” calls out Elaine, making you jump slightly. “Can Emma ride with you?”
“Certainly,” Solas replies evenly. You rub a hand over your face. Maker… But it’s better than sharing a horse with just about anyone else, you admit. Solas leads Ashi’lana over, the barest hint of a smile on his lips–likely, he knows how this sort of thing embarrasses you.
“I’m sorry,” you begin, but he shakes his head.
“It’s necessary. I would hate to see you attempting to learn how to ride a horse while saddled with Katari or Adahlen, after all.”
You shudder. “Ugh, yeah. Thank you, Solas.”
He even helps you up onto Ashi’lana. One day, you will get the hang of mounting. Today is not that day. He boosts you up and then climbs up—behind you, this time. It’s simultaneously better and worse. It allows you to grip the saddlehorn, and he lets you use the stirrups, guaranteeing you won’t have as hard of a time as the last time you shared a hart with Solas. But it also makes it feel very much as if you’re sitting in his lap. The saddle is barely big enough for two; your ass is all but flush against his crotch. Perhaps that sort of thing is no large issue for him, but for you, it’s equal parts mortifying and uncomfortable.
It must be no concern for him; you don’t feel any unfortunate prodding the entire ride. In fact, Solas is the perfect gentleman. His arms are around your waist to allow him to hold the reins, but he sits up straight; he doesn’t lean against you unnecessarily. He doesn’t rest his arms on your thighs, but keeps them upright, even though it must certainly tire him after awhile.
He really is so kind. You find yourself less and less tense as time passes. And while he’s clearly not recovered fully, he’s much more amiable than he’s been for the past few days. He actually engages you in conversation! It’s a delight, and you’re more than happy to chat away once you get comfortable with the situation.
“The thing I’m looking forward to the most is getting back to work on the tome,” you confess. “It’s just sitting there, half finished… and now I have the materials to really dig in and get it done. …What about you, Solas? Are you looking forward to being back in Skyhold?”
Solas shrugs, a fluid motion you feel against your back. Have you ever before noticed the way a person’s chest moved when they shrugged? You’re certainly noticing now that you’re pressed against him. “I enjoyed myself in Val Royeaux. It will be gratifying to fall back into routine, but in truth, I’m partial to traveling.”
“I suppose you’re much more used to it than I am,” you agree, wondering again how he avoided Templars on the road. You suspect he just stayed further into the wilderness than you had ever dared to venture. There’s a ‘Witch of the Wilds’ joke in there somewhere, you’re sure of it. “I can’t wait to be back in a fortress. Four strong walls between me and any… bandits.” Your mind goes dark for a moment. Covered in blood, soaked in it. Eyes locked to yours as they go dark.
Solas shifts in the saddle. The way his body moves against yours snaps you right out of your blood-stained memories. You lean against him a bit more, shivering slightly. You’re getting up into the mountains now… You’ll need to put the fur lining back in Skinner’s jacket soon. Far from protesting, Solas rests his arms slightly closer to your sides, as if to shield you from the wind. You could get used to this.
“How long do you believe it will take you to complete the tome, now that you have everything you need?” Solas asks.
“Two weeks, perhaps?” you muse, considering. “Depends on how much I can focus on my work… Skyhold is lousy with distractions.”
“Should we banish the others from the rotunda?” Solas says with a chuckle. It vibrates against your back, like the low rumbling of the earth itself.
“Nothing so drastic,” you say with a light smile. “Though, that enchantment of yours would go a long way towards speeding things along for me.”
“A long way towards ensuring you would work through the night without stopping to rest, perhaps.”
You can’t even deny it, really. How many times in Val Royeaux had he fallen asleep to you working, then woken up to you working?
“Hmm… Perhaps a trade?” Solas suggests, and you tilt your head back and to the side curiously. You can’t really turn enough to make eye contact with him, but it indicates your interest. “I will give you the enchantment every day, to help speed your work along. In return, you will promise to spend a reasonable amount of time laying down and attempting to rest.”
You can’t help laughing. “What do you get out of this, Solas?”
“A well-rested companion, perhaps?” he replies. “It’s no great inconvenience for me to assist you.”
“If you’re always doing me favors, I’ll never be able to get you to teach me Elven. I need to turn the tables on you somehow,” you chuckle. Then, more seriously, “I hope you will let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you, Solas.”
“I will keep that in mind,” he says gamely. “Do we have a deal, da’len?”
“For the enchantment?” you pause briefly, considering it. It would be a good trade off. You could always work in your room, but… no, if you agree to this, you should actually do it. You owe him a bit of honesty, with how much you lie to him on a day-to-day basis. “…I’d be an idiot to say no. That enchantment of yours is a marvel.”
“That reminds me,” Solas says, shifting both reins into his left hand. He slips his hand under one of your bandaged ones. “I should take another look at these hands of yours. If I don’t ensure they heal correctly, you won’t be working on the tome at all.”
“That bad?” you say, lifting your hand slightly. Solas’s hand follows it up.
“Yes,” Solas says gravely. “It would have been better if you came to me right away. I had hoped the incident with your bruising taught you that.”
You flush slightly. “I wanted to give you more time to recover. That… backfired. Although I’m just as glad, if you had even an ounce of spare mana you wouldn’t have otherwise,” you add.
Solas releases your hand to flick the end of your ear painfully. You let out a rather undignified yelp that has everyone within hearing range glancing over. “Don’t make excuses for your bad behavior.”
“Ow,” you whine, rubbing a bandaged hand against your ear and trying to ignore the trickle of warmth between your legs. It had been more painful than pleasurable, but you’ve always been prone to confuse the two, even on the best of days.
Solas wraps Ashi’lana’s reins around the saddlehorn before taking one of your hands into both of his. He leans flush against your back to peer over your shoulder as he unwraps your right hand, running gentle fingers along the damaged flesh. There’s no more blood, but it still hurts a great deal and you can tell you’re missing skin. The whole area is horrifically red and gory; you avert your eyes, wincing.
Solas pushes more healing magic beneath your skin, easing the pain with warm tingling. You can tell he’s taking his time and conserving his mana. Or perhaps that’s simply the best way to heal this sort of injury? You admit that you have no idea. You’ve never had any talent for healing. The few times you’d succeeded at it, you’d simply been using fire magic to cauterize. Not quite the subtle, soft spirit healing that Solas employs.
You slip your eyes closed as Solas begins to repair your other hand. You feel… comfortable. More than you have any right to, given that Revas is tiredly plodding along behind the wagon, a fresh scar adorning his side because of you. It’s just… Solas is very warm against the morning chill, and then there’s the steady rocking of Ashi’lana’s gentle gait, the tingle of soothing magic, the delightful pressure of another living being’s touch. Your entire body is against his. It’s very, very rare that you get that kind of contact. Rarer still that it isn’t corrupted by pain or fear.
You’re glad that none of your Skyhold friends are here. None would be content to let you have this kind of moment in peace, save perhaps Cole. They would all interrupt with teasing. And Sera? Sera would probably throw a melon at your head. She won’t be happy with the prospect of you and Solas growing closer. Although that may be just as well. You had very nearly kissed her. You would still like to. You should probably distance yourself.
Now if only you had the strength to do that with Solas.
You stop for lunch too soon. Your group simply stops by the side of the road, but you can tell everyone is on high alert, looking out for more bandits. Ludicrously, however, the closer you get to Skyhold, the less likely it is to be a problem. Orlais is the one that can’t keep their goddamn roads clean. The Inquisition does a good job of keeping the area surrounding Skyhold free of any trouble. Perhaps that’s why you feel safe wandering off, or perhaps you simply tire of the dour, tired mood in camp. While Solas is going around and touching up everyone’s healing, you slip off into the woods. Sataareth follows you, but you don’t particularly mind. You’ve no intention of attempting to use your magic—not with Solas so close—you simply want a last taste of freedom before being inclosed in the walls of Skyhold yet again.
Sataareth is so quiet, it’s almost like having no one along at all. Peaceful. Again you find yourself wondering if your newfound comfort with Qunari is due to the Iron Bull’s efforts. You’re still scared to even look at Katari, although apparently not so scared that you won’t threaten to sodomize his Tamassran, when pressed. But you’re comfortable with Sataareth. For whatever reason. Perhaps it’s the way he’s content to walk with you in silence. No prodding, no questions. No unfortunate emotions. He’s just… there. Company, yet not.
You’re quite startled when the silence is broken, however. You almost don’t hear it at first, but your ears are nothing if not keen. You pause in your steps, holding up a hand to stop Sataareth as well. There it is again. Pained mewling. Curious, you stalk silent through the snow, zeroing in on the sound of huffing and unmistakably feline groaning.
You half expect to stumble across a puma or something similar, with your luck being what it is, but no. What you find is a cat, hiding in the hollowed stump of a tree. It hisses furiously when you get close, but doesn’t run. You squat down next to it, head tilting. It’s a little thing, like the ones they keep as pets in Orlais, but not nearly so well-bred. Its fur is thick and matted, an indiscernible, dirty brown.
“You’ve picked a poor hiding spot, cat,” you say out loud, amused. “Your trunk has no top. You’ll be snowed on in short order.” The cat hisses loudly and yowls in response. You lean over the stump; it bats a clawed paw up at you to warn you off.
“Why are you taunting it?” Sataareth asks.
“Because it’s there,” you reply, waving him off. “I wonder why it’s not moving?”
“It appears to be moving to me,” Sataareth comments as an angry claw swipes upwards.
“I mean away from us. Cats normally bolt, even the tame ones… oh.” You frown. “I think its leg might be broken. Poor thing. At least it looks… ah, shit.” You reach into the stump; the cat immediately begins savaging your hand, but can’t get through the thick bandages. Its attack is weak and tired. You run a hand over its stomach and sigh. “Pregnant, with a busted leg. You’re in a poor state, aren’t you, cat? What are you even doing in the mountains?”
“Valo-kas, I am uncertain as to what you are doing,” Sataareth says as you begin shrugging your coat off.
“One more thing for Solas and Katari to yell at me about, I’m sure. Sataareth, you’re the only one here with even one good hand, help me.”
“Help you what?”
“What do you think? Wrap the cat up.”
“It seems ill. I do not think it would be worth eating.”
You snort. “I’m not going to eat her, Sataareth. I’m going to help her.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“It will likely die; it is a waste of effort,” Sataareth points out.
“She might… But it’s no great inconvenience to ensure she dies in a better manner.”
“Would it not simply be easier to put it out of its misery, then?”
“Maybe. But not until I determine whether or not she has a chance at life. You don’t just kill things because a better option has yet to present itself, Sataareth. Now stop being inquisitive and help me wrap this cat up.”
You don’t even get all the way back to camp proper before Solas intercepts you. He’s pacing around the edges of the group when he sees you coming out of the woods, your jacket in your arms completely covering the furious but lethargic cat. The second he spots you, he storms over, the swiftness of his stride and the look on his face immediately striking the fear of the Maker into you.
Katari spots you as well. “I told you the elf had simply wandered off, mage,” he says blandly, but Solas ignores him. You can see anger flashing in Solas’s eyes, but he seems to be trying to compose himself before speaking. You take a nervous step backwards, but Solas only takes another forwards.
“Emma,” he says, and your eyes flick over to Sataareth, whom, you note, is not standing as close as he once was. Coward. “Tell me, why would you wander off into the woods… alone… again?”
“I wasn’t alone,” you blurt out. “Sataareth was with me!”
“Yes, and between the two of you, you have one functioning hand! ” he snaps, before seeming to forcefully compose himself again. “There could still be bandits in the area. Or wolves, as you well know. You are even less able to defend yourself than usual.”
“I didn’t go far,” you protest. “I just…”
It’s at that moment that your jacket meows.
Solas looks down at it, as if just now noticing you were holding your jacket in your arms rather than wearing it. He reaches out a hand towards it.
The jacket hisses.
“…Emma…”
“Don’t start, Solas,” you say with a frown. “It’s injured.”
“I can’t even bring myself to be surprised,” Solas says, shifting your jacket until the cat’s head pokes out. It glares sourly at the two of you. “This seems to be a habit for you. At least this one is smaller than the last stray you picked up,” he adds with a glance towards Sataareth.
“Do you feel the need to care for every injured creature you pass?” The voice is Katari’s; he’s walked closer. He looks intensely amused, which is better than the alternative, you suppose.
“It’s bizarre, I know, but I’m capable of this emotion I like to call compassion. Learned it from a friend,” you say sourly. “I could have him show you, if you’d like.”
“Don’t think to have your mage waste himself on healing an injured animal again,” Katari warns, and you bristle.
“I can take care of it myself! I wouldn’t have picked her up if I was just planning on appealing to Solas’s better nature.”
“What is wrong with it?” Solas inquires.
“Broken leg, at least. Maker only knows what else. I don’t know if she’ll survive,” you admit.
“Orphans, mages, Qunari… Honestly, taking it on yourself to care for a cat is almost reasonable by comparison. But did it not occur to you that would be difficult, while we travel?”
“I was thinking I’d ride on the wagon. More space to work, and you wouldn’t risk being mauled.” You preempt Katari’s protest—which he’s already clearly gearing up for—by sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m tiny, Vashoth. I think the horses could handle it.”
“You… are exhausting, woman,” Katari says with a sigh. “Fine. Ride on the wagon. I suspect you’ll do whatever pleases you, regardless.”
You can’t help smirking.
“Our companion has figured you out,” Solas says dryly. “If only I’d realized as quickly.”
The others are mounting up now, so you climb onto the front of the wagon. The horses pay you no real mind. The cat, however… Maker, the cat. She’s difficult to handle with two severely bandaged hands, but fortunately she’s as ill as she is pissed off, and with a broken leg, she’s not going anywhere.
And the leg is… bad. Mangled. You can only guess as to what happened to it; it looks like it had been run over by a cart wheel or something. You’re genuinely uncertain if it’s salvageable at all. Despite your claims that you could heal the cat on your own, you’re no medic. But you know the basics, at least.
You rummage through your packs. You’ll have to find and pick some elfroot the next time you stop. There will be some, even here in the mountains; it’s basically a weed. Until then, you’ve nothing to dull the cat’s pain with. You instead focus on getting it to eat and drink a little. It’s difficult, but you’ve cared for sick animals before. You chew up pieces of dried meat until they’re wet and pasty, and then, with great difficulty, stick it directly into the cat’s mouth. She’s not particularly happy about the situation, and she spits it out more than half the time, but… you’re getting a bit of something into her.
Despite the cat’s weakness and your bandages, you wind up covered in scratches and bites in short order. You’re certain that Solas will fuss at you, but honestly, it’s nothing that will require healing.
Katari is content to ignore you, but no one else is. Korbin offers you a flask of alcohol for the cat, because racial stereotypes apparently exist for a reason. Kelsie and Elaine are slightly enamoured with the thing, but not enough to actually help. Kelsie tells Emilio she wants a kitten; Emilio looks mildly panicked at the concept. Revas pokes his head into the back of the wagon occasionally, snorting curiously. Solas mostly just makes snarky commentary every time the cat hisses and lands a blow on your tender flesh.
As it turns out, actual help comes from the least expected person… Adahlen. After a few hours of you struggling to find a way to get liquid into the cat, he presents you with an odd little device… A small, carefully carved wooden tube with a long, small opening at one end. The other end has a stopper that can be removed.
“You put liquid into it,” Adahlen explains. “Then push the stopper down. It forces it out the other end and—”
“Right into an animal’s mouth,” you say, pleased. “This is fantastic, Adahlen. Where did you get this?”
“It’s Dalish,” he says, with no small amount of force. You almost laugh.
“I didn’t think it was Dwarven. I meant, why do you have one?”
“Oh. I, uh…” He rubs under his nose awkwardly. “I made it.”
“Really? The carving is exquisite. You’re skilled.”
“Well the Dalish are—”
“Take some credit for yourself. Not every Dalish elf is skilled with a carving knife. Did you design it yourself?”
“N-no, I learned from the craftmaster in my clan. I, uh… had found some kittens…”
“Really?” you say, looking up from squeezing drops of water into the fussy cat’s mouth. “Maybe you should be taking care of this cat.”
“No way,” Adahlen says, putting his hands up. “You’re bleeding a puddle. That monster is your problem. If I brought a creature that badly injured back to camp, my Keeper would have called me a fool.”
“Fair enough,” you say with a snort. “Thank you, Adahlen.”
“I did it for the cat,” he grumbles, before turning his horse and riding back to his spot in the formation.
With the addition of the little syringe, feeding and water the cat becomes slightly easier… or at least more successful. You’re concerned for the amount of pain she must be in, but at least the food appears to be staying down.
You’re relieved when the group stops for the evening, though. Your ass aches in new, creative ways from sitting on the wagon; your back hurts from bending over the cat and being jostled about; and you’re absolutely mauled. You clamber awkwardly off of the wagon, wrapping the cat up more firmly in your jacket. Solas takes one look at your still-bleeding arms and lets out a long, tired sigh.
You make a face at him; you’re in no mood for another lecture. But instead of continuing his snark from throughout the afternoon, he gestures you towards him. “Let me take a look at the wretched thing, then,” he says with a sigh. “Else it keep me up all night with its screeching.”
“Our leader ordered you not to,” you quip snidely. “Are you as disobedient as I, hahren?”
Solas raises a single eyebrow. “Such a smart mouth. Are you getting the last of your sharpness out now, before we return to Skyhold and you must pretend to be demure again?”
You scowl at him, but find you’ve no rebuttal. He’s not wrong. You glare a few seconds longer, but you’ve no hope of winning a staring contest with Solas. You break eye contact, staring down and to the side. Damnit. When you do, he continues to unwrap the cat.
She hisses miserably, but there’s barely an force in it. Poor thing. “Unwrap it further,” Solas instructs you, sitting down on a rock and gesturing for you to sit next to him.
“Letting me get savaged instead? Fair enough,” you say dryly. And the cat does land a few more choice blows as you unwrap her, before you get a good grip on her front legs. You sit next to Solas, indicating her shattered leg. “This is beyond me. If it were a simple break, I could make a splint but… it’s…”
Solas presses a gentle finger to the leg; the cat lets out a loud, distressed yowl. You run a thumb against its fur, whispering gentle shushes as Revas peers over your shoulder at the strange new creature you’ve acquired. “To heal this would require more than I can spare… and still may not work,” Solas informs you somberly. “We can put it in a splint to prevent undue pain, but…”
“I need to gather elfroot, for the pain,” you inform him. “I should do that before we attempt to move her leg. It’s clearly causing her a lot of pain.”
“Her?” Solas says, then noticea what you had earlier… the large belly, the swollen teets. “Ah. She’s having a poor time of it.”
“Tell me about it,” you say with a sad chuckle. “Always nice to know someone’s life is worse than yours. Right, Revas?” you add, glancing up over your shoulder. He shoves a warm nose against your face. “How is he, by the way?” you add to Solas.
“Recovering admirably,” Solas says, looking over at Revas as well. “If you could ride bareback, you could likely ride him tomorrow. But you cannot, and the saddle is a poor idea.”
You nod. “I can ride on the wagon again. Although I…” You cough awkwardly. “I enjoyed… I mean, that is, I appreciated you letting me ride with you.” Solas’s face is unreadable. “Thank you.”
“It was no inconvenience,” he says. “Obtaining elfroot for the cat would be a good idea, but I do not want you wandering the woods alone again. You might come back with an injured bear cub.”
“I can go with Sataareth—” you begin, but Solas shakes his head.
“I will go with you myself,” he informs you.
“But then who’ll watch the cat?”
“Did you believe there was any chance I would accept responsibility for watching her?”
You make a face. “Fine. Adahlen?” you call out. He looks incredibly startled, looking up from setting a tent nearby.
“What?”
“Would you mind watching the cat for a little while Solas and I gather herbs?” He looks mortally offended, but you know a thing or two about manipulating arrogant men. “You have more knowledge on the subject than Kelsie or Sataareth. She would be best off with you. Just for a short time?”
Adahlen looks disgruntled, then sighs. “Fine. As long as you’re actually going off to gather herbs, and that’s not just a clever euphemism.”
Now it’s your turn to be offended, but it takes more than the implication you’re sleeping with Solas to get to you. At this point, you’re more surprised when people don’t assume you’ve been sleeping together. Adahlen most certainly knows this isn’t the case, however, and is simply still bitter over your obvious regard for Solas when coupled with your lack of respect for the Dalish—and him, specifically.
You hand the jacket, the syringe, and the cat off to Adahlen. He still looks unhappy, so you decide to lay it on a little thick. “Ma serannas.” He sits up a little straighter, but when you turn to head into the woods, Solas is giving you quite the look, eyebrows raised and expression dry. You return the look by sticking your tongue out. It’s hardly your fault if Adahlen is easily manipulated.
The two of you head into the woods. It’s really chilly without your jacket and without the walls of the wagon to protect you. That the sun is heading steadily for the horizon doesn’t help, either. It’s only going to get colder… It’s late August, and you’re in the Frostback Mountains. You’re not high enough that there’s snow yet, but… Ugh.
You and Solas are both skilled at finding herbs, as it turns out. You’re not particularly surprised that he can keep up with you. Is there anything you do better than him, really? Orlesian things, you suppose. You can play the Game better than him. Is that something to be particularly proud of, though? You really do want to play chess with him sometime, and really play, not the fake little dance you perform for Cullen’s pleasure. Just to see how you measure up. Cards, too, maybe. Any sort of competition, because you have a way of making a contest out of things that aren’t even meant to be competitive. Like picking elfroot.
You’re somewhat annoyed that he’s finding just as much as you when he seems to be much less focused. He strikes up conversation while you’re training all of your senses to the world around you to find as many herbs as you can.
“Are you particularly fond of cats, Emma?”
“Hmm?” you say, distracted. “No, not particularly… Actually, I find them rather obnoxious. I once babysat a cat for my neighbor while she was visiting family in Jader. I despised it. It was constantly knocking things over, trying to climb onto my book while I was writing… I must have lost half a dozen ink vials to that monster. Still better than a dog, but that’s hardly a competition. Honestly, I’m not fond of most… Ah! Solas, I’ve found some royal elfroot!”
“If you don’t like cats, why go through all the trouble of nursing this one? It would have been much easier to leave it, or simply put it out of its suffering.”
“Sataareth said that as well. Should you not be concerned you’re thinking along the lines of a Qunari?”
“Tel’dar din’samahlen,1” he replies darkly. “I simply meant that you have more than enough trouble as it is, with the Vashoth and Revas.”
“Well, you’re not wrong,” you admit. “But it’s not really that much additional inconvenience to care for the cat. I can’t always be in a position to help. Like… like with Dirth’len. Doesn’t it bother you? There wasn’t really anything we could do.” You sigh. “It seems like… it seems like when I can help, I should. To make up for all the times I can’t, or don’t. Even if it’s just a cat. It’s not like I’m losing anything by helping, this time.”
“Except for some blood,” Solas quips, and you laugh, grateful to him for lightening the atmosphere somewhat.
“Yes… except for some blood. But I’ve spilled it for stupider things than this, no?” You glance over at Solas’s bundle of elfroot. “I think royal should count double.”
“Count…? Are you keeping score?” Solas says, sounding intensely amused.
“No. Because if I was, I’d be losing.”
- Don’t be a brat ↩︎