Blood and Chocolate
If no one notices how fast you react, it’s only because everyone else reacts just as fast, with the exception of Kelsie. Your hand flies to a throwing dagger as you spin to face the direction the arrow came. More arrows come, swiftly. Elaine catches one in her shield, you hear the wooden thunk. None come close enough to you for you to have to dive out of the way. Small blessing; you can put weight on your leg but your mobility is limited.
They look like bandits, from here, but well-armed ones. Your party is pinned in by the rocks; an excellent ambush site. No doubt you’d walked right into it. You take sight of one of the bandits as Garrick bares down on him. The man’s shoulder raises to swing downwards at Garrick’s head, and you sink a throwing dagger right into it. You can’t move much with your leg still injured, but you can do that, at least. Garrick takes advantage of the distraction and brings that double headed ax of his brutally down into the man’s neck.
Once the guards are engaging the bandits, you feel a surge of mana from behind you. You risk a glance; Solas’s hands are up and glowing. Good. But unfortunately, Kelsie had lagged behind the other three guards, and in waiting for her to be clear, Solas is about five seconds too late. Solas simply gestures and bright, jagged ice explodes upwards from the grass, creating a protective wall between the two of you and the bandits. It comes up beneath a charging bandit, but rather than being skewered on the sharpened ice, the man rides it upwards and jumps, coming down on the side nearest you. He’s only a few feet away.
No time for throwing daggers. You swear aloud as your hand yanks your hidden dagger from its sheath in the small of your back. You’ll have to explain that to Solas, but it’s easier to explain than a fireball.
You bring the dagger up just in time to parry a downwards strike. You see the dagger in his spare hand just in time and dart backwards away from it. It slices into your thick leather coat but doesn’t touch flesh. You send a little prayer of thanks to Iron Bull for keeping you in shape, to Skinner for the coat. But you can’t keep parrying a longsword with a dagger.
That’s when you feel a familiar sheen over your body, a tingling outside your skin like a protective shell. A barrier! You recognize the sensation of Solas’s magic, although it couldn’t have been anyone else’s, really. Your skin tingles and shines, a distinct blue glimmer, but the bandit doesn’t seem to notice. An opening! You grip your dagger tight, preparing. The man brings his sword down again, but this time, you don’t move to parry. You see his victorious grin as you bring your left arm up as if to catch his sword with your arm… Which you do. But Solas’s barrier stops the blade from piercing your skin. The man’s eyes widen; his arm is still in the air, the blade bashing into your arm, painful but not debilitating. He’s wide open. You bring your dagger forward and slice, smooth and deep, from one side of his abdomen to the other. Blood sprays across you; the man screams. His blades are rapidly forgotten as his hands move to his wound, desperately clutching at guts that threaten to spill forth onto the earth.
He collapses to the ground. He’ll bleed out quickly.
A few more flashes of mana from behind you tell you that Solas is well and truly in the fight now that he can stop babysitting you. You don’t even try to join the guards; you stay back behind the wall of ice with the horses. The battle is over in short order, in any case. You doubt the bandits had been expecting you to have a mage with you. Solas fills the impromptu battlefield with ice as he swings his staff about, keeping the guards from being overwhelmed. Garrick swings his battle axe like a terror, Elaine kills with quiet efficiency, and Emilio seems to be able to navigate the battlefield despite Solas’s magic… in some cases, he even seems to use it to his advantage, as if he knows what to expect from the mage. Even Kelsie manages, although she seems a bit shell-shocked by the end.
And it does end. Your guards slaughter them to the last man. Your chest thuds with adrenaline and fear even after the last one falls. You try very hard not to look at either of the bodies at your feet, but it cannot be avoided. One lies with his guts spilled out onto the grass, leaking a terrifying pool of blood onto the ground. The other…
Baptiste lies lifeless on the ground, arrow still protruding from his eye.
“I was… just talking to him,” you say quietly as Solas runs over to you. He gives you a quick once over. You’re covered in another man’s blood, and you suspect your arm will bruise where you caught the blade, even with the barrier’s help. But you’re unharmed. The same can’t be said for the others; Garrick has a nasty cut on his leg and Kelsie’s side is bleeding. You point, wordlessly, but Solas is already heading towards them.
You kneel down by Baptiste’s body while Solas tends to them. The Orlesian’s one good eye is wide, as if in shock. Hand shaking, you draw his eyelid closed. “Hahren na melana sahlin,” you say quietly. “E… emma ir abelas. Souver’inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor’felas. In uthenera na revas.1”
It’s all you can do.
It doesn’t feel like much.
You don’t have time to be in shock. You’re soaked in a man’s blood. A man you disemboweled, a man Solas saw you disembowel. With that hidden blade you shouldn’t have. After saving Garrick with a well timed dagger. You have a lot of explaining to do. Fortunately, no one—not even Solas—rushes to question you. Before he’s even healed, Garrick is barking out orders. Emilio and Elaine sweep out to scout the area, ensure there are no more nasty surprises waiting for you. This is as good a place to dig in as any. The rocks had cornered you, yes, but they also offer natural protection.
As soon as Solas is done healing Kelsie, he comes to you. You’re already standing, moving stiffly and woodenly away from Baptiste’s body. You hate the sensation of being soaked in blood. Your mind keeps wanting to take you back to Seheron. Cover yourself in their blood. Hide in the bodies.
“Emma…” he begins, but Garrick cuts him off, perhaps unintentionally.
“Elves! Get the tents up! Back towards the rocks. Solas, get that girl away from the bodies!” As if you weren’t the cause of at least one of those bodies. Solas steers you back away from the bloody messes, however, a hand on each of your shoulders directing your movements.
You’re lucky, really. Your perceived sensitivity means you don’t have to clean up the bodies. You don’t envy Kelsie. You stare blandly at the rocks until Solas appears next to you again, this time with tents. You honestly doubt you’re much use, if any. After the first tent goes up, you’ve probably been more hindrance than help, and your mind is starting to fill with empty echoes of the past.
Spray of blood across your side. Hot, sticky. You can’t tell yours from theirs anymore. You don’t resist as Solas pushes you into the tent. You just curl up into the corner of it, fight the panic quietly. There’s no Bull out here, no Cole to save you from the twisted machinations of your own damaged mind. We all bleed red. Who knew?
You’re not sure how long you spend alone in the tent, rocking back and forth, covered in blood, crying. You can’t stop. You scratch at your hands until they bleed, quietly chasing a bit of pain to bring you back to the moment. You wish Bull was here. He could beat you back into the here and now.
Bull isn’t here. But Solas is. You’re startled when he ducks into the tent, and instantly embarrassed… You don’t want him to see you like this. You quickly wipe your eyes off; all it really serves to do is make your face bloody. But Solas doesn’t comment on your appearance. He has your bag of food, as well as…
“Did you… bring me dinner?” you say, voice coming out like a croak. You smile a weak, lopsided grin, appreciating the irony.
“How many have you brought me?” he jokes. “It only seemed fair.” He hands you a thick rag first, and you attempt to wipe off the worst of the blood. Solas’s clothes are stained with drying red liquid as well, although he’s not splattered the way you are. Your hands are shaking, making it difficult to clean yourself. After a few moments of watching you struggle, Solas’s hand lands gentle on yours.
“Would you mind?” he asks, and the kindness in his voice makes you want to throw yourself off a cliff. You just disemboweled a man, and here he is asking if he can help you get the blood off. But you wordlessly hand him the rag and sit still as he wipes blood from your hands, arms, and face. You’ll need a bath, and you’ll need to soak Skinner’s coat to get the blood stains out. But you’re at least a bit cleaner.
You wonder if Solas notices the scratch marks on the backs of your hands and wrists. One more thing you don’t want to have to explain. Bull gets it, but Bull thinks in pain, deals in pain. For most people, the thought of you hurting yourself to help yourself would be alien. Distressing.
The food Solas has brought for the two of you looks as though he haphazardly threw a meal together out of what you had in your bags, although there are a few things present that didn’t come from your supplies. To your surprise, there’s hot tea, as well as a thick, soft bread that you don’t recognize. Whatever it is, it’s delicious; Solas has warmed it, likely by placing it near a fire. You can feel your humanity sinking back into you as you eat.
“The others have searched the area. It seems as though no one else is present. They appear to have been bandits, opportunists prowling the Imperial Highway,” Solas informs you gently as you wash down thick bread and cheese with the warm tea. “They’ve likely overcome many a caravan thanks to these rocks.”
“I… Baptiste, did he… was he…?” you manage to say.
“He died instantly,” Solas says softly.
“He was talking to me,” you say hollowly. “He said, ‘Emma, I have to say.’ I’ll never know what he had to say.” Something inside of you snaps, and you’re snarling, fists clenching and unclenching for want of something to strike. “This would never happen if it weren’t for this stupid, pointless civil war. There’s never bandits on the Imperial Highway. But now all the soldiers are off murdering each other instead of protecting the people.” One more death on the heads of Gaspard and Celene. One of thousands. Even both of their heads on a pike wouldn’t satisfy their debt to Orlais.
Wordlessly, Solas reaches into your bag and pulls out a small, wrapped bundle. You recognize it. Again, a lopsided smile cracks your face. “Of course you’d find that, out of everything in that bag. Do you have a dog’s nose?”
Solas snorts. “I came across it while attempting to assemble something resembling a dinner. It seemed to me that you might need it.” He opens the little bundle, and the delightful smell of cocoa hits your nose. A few small chunks and a little bundle of shreds to be melted in hot milk. That the kitchen workers even smuggled that much for you is flattering.
“You have good instincts,” you say, nabbing a piece. Any other day, you’d almost prefer to watch Solas eat it, but today, you want the smooth, sweet comfort for yourself.
“As do you,” Solas replies, and you stiffen slightly. You knew you’d have this conversation sooner or later. “I believe you may have saved Garrick’s life in that fight… as well as your own.”
The two of you are quiet for a while, and then he says, “Ir abelas. Was he your first?”
The question is so absurd that you stare at him. He’d just watched you slice a man’s stomach open with a hidden dagger, and he wants to know if that was the first time you killed a man? How traumatized must you look? The lie is too absurd for you to contemplate, and besides, you’ve started incredulously for too long to say yes now.
“I… No. It wasn’t.”
“I… see. I apologize if I’ve brought up more unpleasant memories. Will you allow me to heal you now?” Solas asks, and you almost laugh. You can’t tell where his mind is at all. What is he thinking? You had no idea he thought so fucking well of you. Your first time… Ridiculous. And he hasn’t even asked about your dagger. This man has spent the last month sniffing around your secrets, and now, when your mask finally slips, he wants to see if you’re alright?
“If you can without risking exhaustion,” you say finally. “You’ve used your magic a lot today.”
“Don’t fear for my stamina, da’asha2,” Solas says teasingly, eeking another smile out of you. You pop another piece of chocolate into your mouth, let it melt against your tongue as he grasps your hands. He had noticed the scratches, because he heals them first. The combination of chocolate sweetness melting in your mouth and Solas soothing magic and warm hands is beyond relaxing. Any stray panic you had remaining melts into the abyss.
You barely keep your mind enough to keep your aura out of the way as he moves his soothing magic to your leg. Maker, you wish you could let yourself go and slip into the Fade, leave the blood-drenched world behind. But not is certainly not the time. Maker, after you leave this cursed Inquisition, you’re going to hide in the woods with your aura out for a year. Well, not really, obviously, but you certainly feel like it.
Once you’re healed, Solas removes his hands from your leg, and you make a vague, displeased noise without realizing it. You open your eyes quickly, realizing you enjoyed that far too much, but Solas doesn’t look irritated at all.
“Ma serannas3, Solas,” you say, still a little embarrassed.
“Think nothing of it,” he replies. You wish he’d speak Elven. “I believe they are… disposing of the bodies,” Solas says gently. “Including that of Baptiste. Would you like to…?”
“No,” you say, perhaps too quickly. You understand the necessity of burning the dead. Corpses attract spirits, and the Nevarran’s tactic of dealing with corpses is just as unpleasant. But the smell always takes you to places you’d rather not go. The thought of Baptiste on a pyre, burning away to ash like all the others… You shudder. “No. I’ll… just stay in here.”
“I find myself of a similar mind,” Solas agrees, and you expect him to go to his tent… the one he now has to himself, you realize. But he doesn’t move, and it dawns on you that he means to stay in here, with you.
Well.
You won’t be the one to turn him out.
You keep the tent closed, but either the smell washes in, or maybe it’s just all in your mind. That sweet stench of burning flesh. You wish you weren’t as familiar with it as you are. You just stay sitting in the corner of the tent, knees pressed tight against your chest. You nibble slowly through the last of the chocolate as Solas does his best to distract you. He talks somewhat awkwardly about his travels. Twice, he begins a story about ruins only to peter off right when he gets to the part where some horrible disaster befell the prior occupants, killing them all in doubtlessly horrible ways. He’s not very good at cheering people up, all in all, but you focus on the sound of his voice to keep you in the moment.
He’s just finished telling you about a circle of ruined arches where the Veil was thin. Lovers from nearby villages would sneak there for impassioned encounters at night, causing it to be a haven for spirits of desire and love. It’s only then that you find your voice again.
“I wish I could travel like that,” you say, a little forlornly. “The things you see…”
“We are traveling now, are we not?” Solas says with a faint smile. You can’t help mirroring it.
“I suppose we are. I can’t say it’s the best trip I’ve ever had, though.”
Solas seems relieved that you’re cracking jokes. “If you are feeling better, I believe the Antivan located a stream nearby. If you wish to wash off, Elaine could accompany you.”
You almost ask him if he’ll come without thinking, but thankfully, catch yourself. You just would prefer to have him watching your back, but that won’t do if that “back” is going to be naked. You’ll just have to ask Elaine. You nod, eager to rid yourself of the sensation and stench of blood.
The stream barely qualifies as such, but you’re relieved just to get clean, even if it is tricky. Elaine keeps watch while you and Kelsie bathe, and then Kelsie watches while Elaine cleans herself off. All three of you are sticky with blood. The water is stained bright red as it washes away downstream.
Kelsie seems even more in shock than you. Solas had asked if it was your first time killing someone, which was ridiculous, but you suspect it may actually have been Kelsie’s. You hope they didn’t make her handle the bodies, too. That’s always the worst part.
Without Kelsie’s cheerful babble, the three of you barely speak at all while cleaning yourself. It seems as though the younger girl can’t stay in shock forever, though, nor can she keep her hands off of you for long. She startles the shit out of you by running a finger across the scar on your stomach. You recoil backwards automatically, but she doesn’t seem offended.
“How did you get that?” she wonders. “It looks like a—”
“It was an accident,” you say quickly, barely keeping yourself from snapping. You don’t want to upset her when she looks so fragile. “I fell on something sharp.”
It’s bullshit, and Kelsie and Elaine both probably know that, but fortunately, neither call you on it. It was rude of Kelsie to ask in the first place, although neither woman has given much care for being rude in the past. But there’s never a pleasant story behind a scar like that.
You clean yourself while Kelsie bathes, and clean Skinner’s coat while Elaine bathes. Fortunately, no bandits pop from the woods to ambush you. Once the three of you return to camp, the men leave to bathe as well, although you note Solas doesn’t join Emilio and Garrick. Well, he’s barely bloody at all, having been able to do all his killing from a range. You’re just as glad. You stick close to him for the rest of the evening, shadowing him around camp. You brush down Revas when he brushes down Ashi’lana, sit next to the fire when he does. The camp is quiet; everyone is either processing the fight and Baptiste’s death or keeping a sharp eye out for any more bandits.
Garrick announces that watch will be doubled that night, and you and Solas both volunteer to help. You suspect he’s about to turn you down, but something seems to stop him. He agrees, although he seems to factor you both as a single person, putting you and Solas on first watch with him. Or perhaps he just notices how close you’re sticking to Solas. You’re sitting next to him on a rock by the fire now. In your defense, though, he’s attracted most of the group. He was telling you more stories of his travels to soothe you, and Kelsie started to listen, then Emilio. Elaine is listening while pretending not to, standing near enough to hear yet far enough to be able to say she’s keeping watch.
Eventually, the others begin heading to bed, first Emilio, then Elaine, then, finally, Kelsie. You think you remember Kelsie going to bed, anyway… It all gets a bit hazy towards the end. The day is catching up to you rapidly, and despite the fact that your aura is still tied tight in your gut like a knot, you find yourself drifting listlessly towards sleep.
That you have nightmares is no particular surprise. You recognize them as dreams straight away; your connection to the Fade isn’t strong enough for realistic dreams, with your aura tight inside you the way it is. The stench of blood and burning bodies stuck with you into the Fade, and you dream of the brutal battlegrounds of Seheron, of being chased through Ferelden by Templars, of blood and pain and death. That much is expected. You have such dreams often. No, the surprising part is Solas. He seems determined to invade your dreams as of late, and tonight is no different. There’s an overcast of warm magic to your nightmares, the tingling feel of a barrier on your skin. Protection. It makes the dreams less unpleasant than they might have been otherwise.
You awake in your bedroll inside your tent, extremely confused. Not by the nightmares… That’s expected, although you’re beginning to become concerned with how much you’re fantasizing over Solas. No, you’re just uncertain as to when, exactly, you wound up in your tent. The last thing you remember was sitting by the fire next to Solas. Had you fallen asleep during your watch? Now that’s embarrassing… the woman who can never sleep falls asleep the one time she’s meant to stay awake. You’ll have to apologize to Garrick and Solas. But how had you gotten back to your tent? Had someone… carried you? You check your clothes quickly, but you’re still wearing the ratty, crumpled clothing you’d fallen asleep in. It’s the worse for the wear, having been bloodied, washed in a creek, and then dried on your body by a fire.
You want to stay in your tent and hide away from the day, forget that you live in a world where a kind Orlesian man can be slain by bandits on the Imperial fucking Highway. Your bitter fury at the civil war rages in you again as you change into fresh clothing. This would never happen if not for the war. Orlais is weakened, embarrassingly so. No wonder the Inquisition is picking up power so rapidly! Orlais and Ferelden have become jokes, even the Marches are distracted with inner conflicts. Pathetic.
You do, eventually, face reality and leave your tent. With Baptiste gone, there are things that need to be taken care of, things you can put off no longer. Fortunately, it seems as though the others realize that as well. They’re talking seriously around the campfire when you emerge from your tent.
“We have our own job to do in Val Royeaux,” Garrick is saying as you join them. “We can’t just turn around.”
“But what are we going to do with Solas and Emma?” Elaine points out. “We were just supposed to drop them off, but without Baptiste, where will they go?”
“We can set them up with a group of merchants or something, get them back to Skyhold,” Garrick replies, frowning. “No need for them to even get on the ferry. We might be a little late, but—”
“Wait,” you say, frowning. “What are you talking about? We’re still going to Val Royeaux.”
“There’s a hotel room, but it was all in Baptiste’s name,” Emilio informs you with a sympathetic frown. He’s holding a disorganized stack of papers. “I doubt you’ll even be able to check into it.”
“So, what?” you say with a scoff. “I go back to the Inquisitor and say, ‘oh, sorry, your holiness, but that diplomat we weren’t supposed to have died, so we just turned around and came back’? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Do you have a better plan?” Garrick snaps. “Two elves—”
“Can handle this,” you say shortly. “Give me those, Emilio.” Wordlessly, he hands the papers over. “And give me every piece of paper that Baptiste was carrying.”
“How are you even going to get into the University?” insists Garrick. “They won’t—”
“Have a choice. Baptiste said they already agreed to allow Inquisition agents into the library. He was just there to smooth things over. I may not know Chancellor Haulis, but I can at least get us in the front door. I can take care of the hotel, as well.” You shuffle through the papers. “Qu’il repose en paix4, Baptiste kept excellent records.”
“He was carrying the requisition forms as well,” Emilio comments. “There are a lot of them.”
“Good. We’re practically on the Waking Sea, Garrick. There’s no point in any of us turning around. We’ll take the ferry as planned. Solas and I were intended for this task; Solas and I will complete it.”
“I’m in agreement,” comes Solas’s familiar voice from behind you. “Complete your job, and we will complete ours. Baptiste’s death is tragic, but for the rest of us, life continues.”
You flash him a grateful smile. At least someone has faith in you. You’re not even sure you do. This is quite the task the Inquisitor has dropped on you, made much more difficult with the loss of Baptiste. But you have to at least try.