The mornings in the village of Haven were cold, and Solas liked that. He was used to glacial storms and moved naturally through the frost. After all, he was a master of that element in arcane combat.
The mage had been walking along the outskirts of the village for a while, quietly observing the way this place was being organized. He had to admit: they were proving themselves fairly competent...
In the distance, he noticed Commander Cullen pressing his temple with visible discomfort. It seemed to be more than just a passing expression. Was he injured during the battle against the creatures from the rifts? Unlikely.
Slowly, and with the assurance of a man who walks above others, Solas approached the blond, staff in hand.
He knew they barely knew each other beyond formal introductions, but he also knew the man had been a templar, and that he had served in Kirkwall, the city his agents had spoken of, and likely where his dagger was.
Oh yes!, and where a rebel mage had blown up a Chantry and started the chain of events that led to the war between mages and templars...
- Good morning, Commander. - said the elf, his voice clear, almost rhythmic. It was the tone he used to sound wise and friendly, with no trace of threat.
He noticed that Cullen wasn't just touching his forehead; it was beaded with sweat, and whatever afflicted him had made him lean heavily against the main gate to the village. His hand trembled slightly, and dark circles marked his eyes.
Strange.
- Oh, Solas... - the man replied.
The commander forced his muscles to tense and lifted his head to meet the elf's gaze.
The whites of his eyes showed burst blood vessels. Either he had slept poorly, or not at all.
- Yes? What do you need?
The question came out curtly, which to Solas translated as irritability. For some reason, this man was particularly sensitive this morning. And he wanted to know why.
Fatigue, headaches, sweating, chills, tremors... all symptoms that could match withdrawal. Interesting. He hadn't considered the commander might be an addict. But to what?
Suddenly, Solas remembered something crucial: he had been a templar. He wasn't surprised in the slightest when his mind arrived at the most logical conclusion: lyrium. A templar without access to his source of power was bound to break eventually.
- I wanted to mention that we don't have enough lyrium supplies for the mages here. Well, I suppose that also applies to the templars...
...And to you...
When he said that, he noticed Cullen tense even more and unconsciously place a hand over his stomach. If it really was withdrawal, he was likely nauseous and had no appetite. That gesture confirmed it.
- Ah, yes. The apothecary handles those matters, Solas.
- Adan? I've spoken with him. He's actually the one who suggested I bring it up to you.
- Oh, Chuckles - came a familiar voice from behind them. Solas and Cullen turned simultaneously. The dwarf wasn't alone; the Dalish woman was with him.
- Chatting with Curly? Oh, come on, Cullen... you look awful! But the little one sealed the rift just fine! And the Breach has stopped growing! You should be cheerful!
- Good morning, Elentari - said the commander, ignoring Varric. - Solas has brought up a real issue, but not an urgent one. We don't currently have lyrium reserves, and we're sheltering mages and templars. It should be addressed. Could you go see the apothecary, Adan, and take care of it?
The former templar spat it out just like that, no preamble, no courtesy. Solas noticed how irritated the Dalish woman was by the direct order. He nearly smiled, but kept his expression neutral.
He wondered what bothered her more: receiving orders from a human or from a templar, given she was a mage... He didn't know where the "herald" of the Maker's prophetess stood on such matters, but one thing was clear: she wasn't used to being ordered around.
The elf's exotic eyes locked coldly onto the man. Solas thought her gaze was intense, her eyes saying more than they should... It looked like the gaze of someone honest, transparent. And that was an advantage for her enemies. An advantage for him.
- No problem - was her curt reply, and she looked Solas straight in the eye. He met her gaze calmly, without blinking. There was no challenge in his expression, only the patience of someone who could wait hours, days, or centuries without yielding.
She, however, did not look away. She offered no kindness, no condescension. Her voice was a finely honed blade. - If you're the one who raised the issue, I suppose you know where to find the apothecary, right?
Solas and the woman locked eyes for several seconds. He could tell she wasn't trying to sweeten her tone or soften the rigidity of her stare. The mage was well aware of the argument they'd had the day before about Dalish culture, and it seemed she wasn't going to let it go easily. He wanted to laugh: she was arrogant, far too much so for someone whose people based their history on fictional tales and fables. And though Solas knew he was right, he decided to yield. After all, she was the one who bore his Anchor... and the future still needed that hand.
- Of course, Herald. I'd be glad to show you the way.
Naturally, the child of the Stone joined them.
They visited the apothecary, who urged them to investigate his old mentor's cabin for notes. Something that might help with lyrium potions.
And so they did.
Varric talked the whole way, seemingly just to fill the silence.
Solas knew the dwarf had lived in Kirkwall and had likely been among the first to discover his dagger, though he called it the "Red Idol". It seemed like a good opportunity to question him about it, without raising suspicion.
He'd heard from the women in charge that the dwarf was quite the talker, maybe even clever.
- I suppose you and the Seeker Pentaghast have had many conversations about Kirkwall, son of the Stone... The mage-templar war was... peculiar.
- Peculiar?
- Yes - Solas answered casually, though he couldn't help but reveal his stance in favor of the mages.
- 'Peculiar' because that conflict stemmed from how the Chant of Light interpreted one of its best-known verses: magic exist to serve man and never to rule over him. Curiously, this interpretive problem tipped the power balance ever more toward the institution rather than the book. As I said: peculiar. Or perhaps I should say... predictable?
Varric laughed.
- Hey, that nickname they use for you suits you perfectly, Chuckles: 'apostate'... you embody skepticism.
- I'll take that as a compliment, child of the Stone.
The dwarf laughed again.
- You know, you're allowed to call me Varric.
- Oh, I thought we were using nicknames... - Solas teased, referring to his own.
Varric chuckled lightly, thinking the mage wasn't half bad, and kept talking.
- Kirkwall was a damn nightmare. Mages killing templars, templars killing mages... and in the middle, idiots like me trying to keep the city from exploding.
- Ah, yes. And apparently, you also tried to stop your brother from losing his mind over a red lyrium idol. Fascinating story. Do you know what became of him?
The dwarf halted and crossed his arms, forcing Solas to stop too. The elf woman continued walking but slowed her pace.
- You've heard about that? Why do you ask?
- To begin with, you mentioned it yourself inside the Temple of Sacred Ashes - the mage quickly clarified, then shrugged and deliberately softened his tone to sound like a curious scholar.
- Red lyrium is a unique phenomenon. A corruption of an already peculiar substance. It holds unpredictable, chaotic power... and it's incredibly dangerous.
- Yeah, tell me something I don't know. Nothing good ever came from using it - the dwarf resumed walking, and Solas knew he believed the explanation. - It's sealed in a chamber in Kirkwall, built by a special caste of miners to keep it safe.
Solas didn't mention what he knew. his agents had reported it was possibly petrified in a statue of Knight-Commander Meredith herself.
The dwarf might have been misdirecting them to keep the idol hidden, afraid of its power. That was logical and prudent. Or... maybe he didn't actually know where it really was.
- But if the idol was as powerful as you say, do you really think a chamber can contain all of it?
- So far, it seems to be working...- Varric replied with a nonchalant tone, making it clear he didn't want to continue the conversation.
Solas, for his part, knew that pressing further would betray too much interest. He forced a simple smile and continued walking alongside the dwarf.
When the mage looked ahead, the Dalish woman was holding an old piece of paper in her hands, but her eyes weren't on it. She was watching Solas, evaluating him. As if she had heard enough to realize the conversation with the dwarf hadn't touched on the matter that had brought them there in the first place. A matter he himself had raised.
The Dalish woman's exotic eyes looked at him with judgment, and that annoyed him. He had seen that look before on other Dalish... and he had attacked.
- Well. Here we have the information on blue lyrium - she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. She didn't bother to hide it. - Which is what we're interested in, right?
Solas nodded. She smiled at him challengingly and narrowed her eyes. The lines of Ghilan'nain's vallaslin shifted with her smug expression.
- Or is it the red one we care about, Solas?
- I think it would be wise to pay attention to both, Herald...- replied the elf in a light tone, his words smooth and innocent, as if he were a wise advisor... though he would have preferred to bare his teeth at that insolent girl.
He knew perfectly well how to be a dread wolf...
Without another word, the Dalish woman stepped past the two of them and walked toward the village gates.
Solas watched her go, bearing that arrogance that was far too grand for the small halla... If only she knew who he was... he wondered if she would attack like the others had. He also wondered what she thought of the god of lies and treachery...
Not that it mattered. For now, the Great Wolf would not be terrible...
She could sleep in peace.