Chapter Text

She hated parties. Fen’Falon had no idea how or why this Vivienne de Fer wanted some upjumped knife-ear at her fancy Orlesian party, and yet, here she was. At least it was a break from the near-incessant planning for Redcliffe in the War Room. Fen’Falon hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since the time Keeper Deshanna had caught her and a young male elf from clan Sabrae experimenting. And she almost wished that’s what she was getting caught doing now, instead of arguing with some poncy nobleman who probably needed his mother’s help getting his ridiculous hat on.

“Now, dear, that’s no way to treat a guest in my own home,” a cool voice carried across the hall. The nobleman was frozen in place by a gestured spell. Fen’Falon raised an eyebrow at the casual display of magic - it seemed this mage-templar war was at least good for desensitising people to the use of magic on a daily basis. A woman with dark skin came down the grand stairs, looking fierce in a white and silver dress. A headpiece reminiscent of dragon or qunari horns sat on her head, and she wore no mask. According to Josephine, that meant this woman was likely a major player in Orlais, one for whom her social status was all but assured. Or she was a social pariah, but given how big the mansion was, that was extremely unlikely.

“Madame de Fer, I presume,” Fen’Falon said with a bow. Josephine Montilyet had coached her until she could run the conversation with her eyes shut and hands bound. When she had left the safety of Lavellan’s aravels, Fen’Falon had not expected to end up coached in Orlesian niceties. Josephine had also curled the elf’s hair, much to her disgust. It would take more than a week to undo whatever Josephine had put in to keep the shape from degrading.

“I am,” de Fer said. “And you must be the Herald of Andraste. You do your people credit, to rise so far.” Fen’Falon bristled. The woman may not have said it outright, but the implication of ‘knife-ear’ would have taken a deaf person to miss. The implied insult to the rest of her people was enough to make Fen’Falon wish that Josephine hadn’t all but demanded that de Fer be recruited to the Inquisition. Josephine had also insisted that the Dalish woman wear a ballgown, which Fen’Falon had adamantly refused, instead choosing to wear a stripped-down version of her usual armour.

The two mages made their way through the political niceties before coming to the meat of the matter.

“I invited you here, dear, to see what sort of person this so-called Herald was,” de Fer said.

“I’m just trying to close the breach, Madame. Nothing more. I certainly don’t claim to be the Herald.”

“The sad truth of the world is that your claims do not matter in the slightest, child.” Fen’Falon clenched a fist to keep herself from striking the noblewoman. “What matters is what everyone else thinks of you, and how you can use that image to your advantage.”

“So the Inquisition is somehow to your advantage then?”

“You’ll have to be less forthright than that my dear, if you want to survive the Game of Orlais. But yes. I wish to see this Inquisition for myself. Perhaps we can be of use to each other.”

“Fine. Come to Haven. Lady Montilyet will be overjoyed to have you, I’m sure.” Fen’Falon sketched a rude bow and walked out of the party and the mansion. Another minute listening to that condescending tone of voice and she really would have hit the Empress’s personal enchanter. Then Josephine would have scolded Fen’Falon, Leliana would have to send out agents to undo the damage, and Cullen would probably set extra guards on her even if Cassandra stood over Fen’Falon in her sleep. Fen’Falon wondered what Solas would have thought of that course of action - he probably would side with Josephine. He seemed to care about that sort of thing.

Haven saw the return of Fen’Falon in her full armour, ready at a moment’s notice to do battle. Vivienne was apparently nearly a full week behind her. Fen’Falon wondered if it had taken the woman most of that week just to pack, rather than travel. Once she felt comfortable in her own skin again, Fen’Falon set off to talk to Solas. On her way back to Haven from Vivienne’s party, she realised that for all their talk before, she didn’t really know all that much about him.

“Hello,” Solas said. Fen’Falon wondered if she would ever need to look for him - he seemed to have claimed the stairs in front of the apothecary as ‘his spot’. The same way Sera was the tavern, Cassandra the training dummies, and Varric a central campfire. Even when the person in question was gone, the rank and file of the Inquisition did not dare take those positions. Once, Fen’Falon had caught a guard trying to sit on Varric’s stump and laughed as an older guard warned him off.

“Hello Solas,” Fen’Falon said. “I was thinking–”

“A dangerous prospect,” he interjected. Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes at him.

“I was thinking, on the way back from that damn party, that I don’t really know all that much about you.”

“Oh? And why would you feel that necessary?” Solas asked.

Fen’Falon tried to think of a way to phrase it that wasn’t ‘I like being nosy’. “Because I respect you,” she said. “And I would like to hear more about you.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the reason,” said Solas. “Ask away.”

“That’s it? Ask away?” Fen’Falon shook her head. Ever the short one, Solas, even though he was taller than her. In fact, he was tall enough that her head would fit nicely into the crook of his shoulder against his chest. Where on Thedas had that thought come from she wondered. She and Solas were friends, Creators curse it. That was it.

“Are you still there?” Solas asked. Shit. He’d noticed her distraction.

“I– yeah, I am. Sorry. Anyways, you mentioned that you traveled to see more of the Fade–why?”

“The Fade draws partially from your imagination,” he said. “In order to see new places in the Fade, you must also see new places in the real world. There was a time when I spent most of my days in the Fade itself, waking only when necessary.”

“Well, obviously you woke up more than that.”

“Yes, of course. How else would I have gotten here?”

“And it isn’t dangerous, wandering the Fade like that?”

“You trained, did you not, to keep out bad influence while dreaming in the Fade? I did as well. That strength of will has led to an indomitable focus in you, an enjoyable side benefit of your training.”

Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow. Her indomitable focus? Sounded like someone had been paying more close attention to her that he would like to admit. A wicked grin threatened to break out on her face. “My indomitable focus, huh?”

“I would assume so,” Solas said. He was backtracking, trying to make it sound offhand she thought. Had he been...flirting with her? Gods what a thought. “After all, I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be...fascinating.” Solas seemed to purr that last word.

Fen’Falon felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Shit. He was flirting. Um. Now she was the one who needed to backtrack. She had never intended for this to happen. “Hmmm,” she said, eloquent as always.

Solas smirked at her.

“As fascinating as your spirit friends?” was the best she could return fire with.

“Less so, if anything.”

“But...they aren’t really people,” Fen’Falon said. Solas’s grin vanished.

“Are the others of the Inquisition only people because they walk Thedas? Are they somehow defined by their features such as hair and eyes and not their personality?”

Fen’Falon winced. “Fair point, I concede.” She raised her hands palms out, a defensive gesture.

“I enjoy getting to know spirits in the Fade. They are, for the most part, without prejudice.”

“You have a unique perspective, Solas,” the Dalish elf said. Maybe she could turn the tables on him by flirting back. If it worked, it could be the beginning of a new game, she thought.

“I try. And you haven’t answered my questions.”

“I don’t see why not.” A sly look crept into Fen’Falon’s eyes. “I look forward to helping you make new friends, Solas.”

“I– well. Yes.”

“And now you haven’t answered me.” Fen’Falon grinned wickedly to see Solas off-balance like this. She was going to have to remember this later. “Oh, I think I see Cassandra beckoning again. Off I go, like a good little helper.”

She left Solas behind with his thoughts and her sarcasm.