Chapter Text

It seemed only natural after such a difficult time finishing the mission in Redcliffe that it would rain on the group as they returned to Haven. Wet, tired, and miserable, Fen’Falon turned introspective, unable to get the images of her companions from that dark future out of her head. The way Cassandra had looked at her like she was the second advent of Andraste - the way Solas had looked at her like he’d never thought he could be happy without her. Leliana’s loss of faith, when it seemed such an integral part of her. She had trouble sleeping as they traveled, unwilling to have those same images haunt her in the Fade as they did on waking. Fen’Falon knew Dorian wasn’t struggling as much - he hadn’t been running around with these people for the past month and some change.

They stopped at the foot of the Frostback Mountains for the day, each group member setting up their tents and putting the camp in order. With the exception of Fen’Falon, the group was rather efficient at getting everything set up - the so-called Herald was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she nearly set up her tent inside-out before she noticed.

“Are you alright?” Solas asked her once her tent was up. She looked up at the tall elf, surprised that he’d noticed.

“I….I don’t know,” Fen’Falon said. “Redcliffe was...difficult.”

“Difficult how?”

“I...I know it looked like we just reappeared after Alexius cast his spell, that whatever he was trying failed from the beginning, but it didn’t.” Fen’Falon looked down at the ground and sat. Solas stood for a moment longer before joining her, likely sensing her distress. Or so she hoped. “Alexius’s spell worked, Solas. Dorian and I were sent forward in time.”

“In time? But that...such magic would be incredible, should not even be possible,” Solas said. He looked intrigued by the prospect, silently encouraging Fen’Falon to continue.

“We were sent forward about a year. According to Dorian, the magic was supposed to disconnect us from time, leaving us essentially non-existent to the world. Because Dorian interrupted the spell, we only got moved by a year.”

“And you’re sure that it was time magic? Not some trick of the Fade?”

Fen’Falon glared at Solas. “I am a mage too, Solas. I think I’d bloody well notice if I were suddenly in the Fade.”

“I concede your point.”

“If you’ll let me continue? You were the one who asked, after all.” Solas made a go-on motion with one of his hands. “Dorian and I landed in the dungeons of Redcliffe castle. We….we found you and Cassandra there, Solas. I…” Fen’Falon’s throat refused to cooperate further and she could not get the words out. She buried her face in her hands in an attempt to hide the pain displayed on it.

“It is fine, Fen’Falon. You do not need to tell me.”

Fen’Falon looked up at him. “You don’t want to know your future?”

“If we can prevent it from happening, then what does it matter? It will no longer be my future.”

The Dalish elf nodded. “Thank you, Solas.”

“For what?”

“For listening. For being here. After what I saw in that dark future, it...it helps.”

“Then you are most welcome.” A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder, which Fen’Falon’s eyes followed back to Solas’s arm and then his face. She studied his face carefully - she wanted to replace that terrible sight of his red lyrium infection with Solas’s face as it truly was. Bluish grey met green and Fen’Falon flushed, caught staring at the older elf. Solas removed his hand from Fen’Falon’s shoulder and stood.

“Come,” he said. “You should eat. It will help drive the memories away.” Solas offered Fen’Falon a hand to help her stand. She took it and was pulled to her feet. His hand was so warm, and it was almost as if the mark in her palm was pleased to be near the frustrating man. Fen’Falon thought it strange how well their hands fit together, the other mage’s palm and fingers completely encapsulating her own. Just before the pair of elves reached the campfire, Fen’Falon realised that Solas still had her hand and quickly reclaimed it while trying not to flush again. Solas didn’t seem to have noticed, the insufferable man.

They sat at the campfire and ate in companionable silence until Cassandra asked what happened. Fen’Falon shook her head - she was not ready to talk about what she had seen there, not yet. Dorian seemed all too happy to explain instead, and Fen’Falon excused herself from the group to hide in the nearby trees, far enough away that she couldn’t hear the Tevinter accent.

“Come with me,” a calming voice said next to her. Solas had followed her from the camp.

“Where?” Fen’Falon asked.

“There is a place nearby that I think you will like.” Solas held out his hand once more as if he expected her to take it.

“Alright,” she said, and took his offered hand. Solas led her further from camp until she could no longer see even the faintest hint of their campfire. The trees thickened and the undergrowth appeared to have never seen the passage of footfalls, though that only truly meant that no non-elves had been through. The Dalish elf and the apostate mage made no sound with their passage, elven feet light on the leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor. What little moonlight filtered through the forest canopy did almost nothing for visibility, making Fen’Falon glad for her elven eyesight.

“Where are we going?” she asked in a whisper. Something about the land demanded that it not be disturbed.

“Hush. You will see soon enough.” Solas put a finger to his lips to emphasize his point. Fen’Falon became quiet, although it was more because the gesture had gotten her thinking about Solas’s lips than because she felt any need to listen. She wondered what it would be like to feel his breath upon an ear as he whispered secrets to her, to feel his lips on hers in a kiss, to...Fen’Falon shook her head as if to shake the thoughts from it. It wasn’t right to be thinking those things, Solas had never shown an interest in her like that. Just because his future self seemed to care did not mean the present one might harbour the same feelings. Fen’Falon was glad the darkness hid her embarrassment at such thoughts.

The two elves entered a rough clearing, sparsely populated by trees. Fen’Falon nearly walked into Solas before she noticed that he had stopped. Solas looked at her and waited until she made eye contact before tilting his head at the clearing. A Dalish statue to Fen’Harel stood near the far edge, marking this as a place where a clan had camped. She wondered what had happened to the clan that they did not take the statue with them. Her musing about the statue was interrupted by the beautiful white halla that entered the clearing. It was young, and small, but its coat was unmarred by anything, and its horns had only just started on their second bud. Fen’Falon moved to sit on the ground and pulled Solas down with her.

She watched the halla prance through the clearing, enjoying the sight of the creature sacred to her people. Fen’Falon wondered how Solas had known to find a halla here. They watched, and as the exhaustion of the day and the events of Redcliffe caught up to her, Fen’Falon rested her head on Solas’s shoulder. Dark auburn fell free from its horsetail, and the sensation of fingers lightly brushing against hair lulled the Dalish mage to sleep at last.