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The Lioness and the Wolf - II - The Fade Scholar

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Rating: Mature

Genre: General

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warning: Serious injuries, blood

Part two of The Lioness and the Wolf.  Part one.

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Eirwen stumbled, fell, then collapsed into the long, dry grass at her feet. Her fingers shook as she pressed them to her side, desperately trying to hold in the blood pooling against her shirt. Darkness tinged the edges of her vision and the sunset in front of her blurred into a mess of orange and yellow. She knew she had to heal her wound, but her magic was never meant to fix herself. Even here, where the Veil was thin, she struggled to reach past it and pull the cool touch of a healing spell to her command. 

Grimacing, she rolled on to her back and freed her bag from her hip; she had a strip of fabric inside that she used to hold her hair at night. Despite her dulled dexterity she managed to pull it out and stretch it above her head. She breathed in and out, slowly, staying focused and awake despite the weakness exhausting her muscles. With a surge of determination she sat up, gritting her teeth, and wrapped the band of fabric tightly around her waist. She pressed down over the wound, wrapping around as many times as she could before tying it off at her abdomen.

She eased herself back down, closing her eyes as she carefully let her head rest on the ground. The warmth on her hand lessened, and when she next looked at her palm, the blood was mostly dried. But her head still burned, the pulsing pain so strong that she could barely see through the purple and black spots in her vision. 

If she couldn’t actually heal herself, she could at least put the pain away until she was safe. She raised her hands to her head and reached out again, relying on her magic to ground her as she sought the power for a different type of spell.

Adrenaline suddenly jolted through her veins and she gasped, shaking in the grass before the pain dulled to a quiet ache. She used her new, artificial energy to raise herself from the ground and stumble to her feet. 

Every step hurt, but the spell made her better. She just needed to find a farm, then she could harass the owner into helping her.  But she even as she walked miles from where her blood stained the grass, she saw nothing but burned out buildings and torched cropland. As the sun crossed the midpoint of the sky her spell wore off, leaving her to stumble forward on her unsteady feet on willpower alone. She couldn’t take anymore --as night fell around her, she dropped to her knees, closed her eyes, and let silence envelope her aching body.

She could have slept for seconds or days. Time vanished in the fog of her pain and only returned in drowsy, confused trails as she felt a presence by her side. Something touched her head and she started moving, only to be hushed by a soft, gentle voice. “You are very badly injured. Hold still, and I will help as much as I can.”

She relaxed, keeping her eyes closed. Cool, soothing magic washed over her, sinking through her pain, breaking it apart. A deep, pleased moan left her lips. Rough and heavy hands brushed over her forehead, and she flinched instinctively as they eased toward the impact sight on her skull. But there was no pain, and again she relaxed. 

Finally, she looked up at the person helping her. The apostate, the Fade scholar. She drew his name from somewhere in the mists of her memories. Solas. “What... what are you doing out here?”

“That is your first question?”

She swallowed hard. “It’s not the only one.” She vaguely recalled something about him being absent from Skyhold, away on some soul-searching journey, but she couldn’t remember why or for how long he was supposed to be gone. 

He raised his gaze from her and looked out over the broad yellow fields around them. His fair skin, to her damaged gaze, was not unlike the pale, cloudless blue sky behind him. “I was on my way back to the Skyhold. I had some... personal business to attend to.”

She closed her eyes again, the light making a dull ache in her skull. “Alone?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “It was not exactly a matter I could discuss with company.”

“You have a captive audience now.”

She could hear the edge of a smile in his voice, a slight gentleness poking through the bitter bile of loss. “It is alright, da’len. It... the matter is finished, now.” More cooling magic washed over her and she exhaled shakily, sinking more comfortably into what she thought was the ground but then realized, with a dulled surprise, was his lap.

“Why did you help me?”

“What? Why would I not help you?” He sounded genuinely offended, and she shrugged. 

“I probably looked pretty dead, it might not even have been clear who I was, you’re under no obligation to help me... the list goes on.”

“You’re a member of the Inquisition. I would have done the same for anyone wearing Inquisition armor.” There was a bit of defensiveness in his tone, and she opened her eyes to see his indignant expression. “Besides, I am not heartless. I try to help when I can.” She hummed, then sighed and started to shift. “Wait--” he started, but she waved him off. “Here.” He offered her his hand, and she gripped it tightly as she eased herself out of his lap and on to her knees. “Careful.” She grit her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut for a minute, then swallowed hard and steeled her nerves. Her hand left his to rest on her legs. “What happened to you?”

“We were ambushed. The Freemen here --dumb bastards-- they attacked us and wiped out most of my men. The ones they didn’t get are being held... somewhere.” She shook her head slightly, her features settling into a bitter scowl. “How the shit I managed to let us get ambushed in a field is beyond me...”

“There are many things to be aware of out here. Rifts, Fade-touched animals... reanimated corpses, for some reason.”

“There’s no excuse.” She spoke harshly, her tone cutting. “I was being inattentive, as usual.” With a grunt, she pushed down on the ground and started to stand. “Now I have to get them back.”

Solas stood quickly, supporting her. “In your condition? No. We should find an Inquisition camp, send word to Skyhold...”

“They’re my men. I can’t fail them twice.”

“You are being unreasonable. They are likely unaware you even survived, much less expect a rescue.”

She tried to walk, and he hooked his arm around her waist so she wouldn’t be alone. “I have to.”

“You have to rest, or you won’t be able to help anyone.”

“I already feel better.” Her unsteady steps said otherwise. “Just a couple hours and I can go after them.” She half-dragged him, strong even in her injured state, and he stumbled before catching himself and sighing. 

“Slow down then, at least.” She listened to him, for once, and he helped her shift her weight so she could lean on him for support. “Let us find somewhere safer, make camp, and then decide.”

“I already decided.”

“Eirwen, please.”

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly, and he helped lead her back into the woods at the edge of the field. They walked together, slow and careful, until they found a dense copse of trees with low-hanging branches that might shield them from sight. Despite his insistence, she refused to sit down and let him make camp. Her magic was still working, though every part of her felt weak, and she used it to help make their fire and something of a shelter. 

When they had a space resembling a camp, he made her lay down and accept his healing again. She complained at first, still insisting she was fine, until the effects of the spell made her drowsy enough to sleep and he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. This would do for now, but they needed blankets and bedrolls or she would hardly improve. He’d reached the limit of what his magic could do --he’d never been a healer. What she truly needed she would not find out here, but at least he could keep her stable until she agreed to get help. 

He had some food left in his bag, but not enough for both of them. Luckily, he recognized some nearby mushrooms and edible roots, then cut them with her dagger so she could get her strength back up.

There was more to his actions than altruism, and he figured she could already tell that he needed her healthy so they could watch each other’s backs in the Dirth. His assessment of this area was not an understatement, and if they wanted to survive and make it back to a real Inquisition camp then she’d need to be in fighting condition. He was confident enough in his ability to keep just himself safe, but if she could barely walk, much less fight, she was just another target for wayward demons. 

The smell of cooking food woke her up, and she grumbled incoherently before rolling over to look at him. “What’s for lunch?”

“I think we are closer to dinner...”

“What’s for... whatever?”

He snorted and shifted, letting her see what was cooking in the fire. “Whatever I could find. Roots vegetables, some mushrooms...” She looked it over, apparently decided it was to her liking, then relaxed back into the leaf-lined bed beneath her. “Unfortunately, all I have for flavor is salt.”

“I like salt.”

“You are in luck then.”

They were quiet for a while, the food slowly cooking as she dozed in their shelter. When she spoke again, he couldn’t help but smile a bit at the almost-drunken weakness in her voice. “You’re being very kind to me.”

“You sound suspicious.”

“Kindness is suspicious.”

“We are comrades, da’len. Any Inquisition member would be expected to do this for you.”

She squinted at him. “Maybe in theory. They wouldn’t, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Experience.” She started to sit up, and he tensed to help her before she waved him off. “Maker, I’m fine. Just have a bit of a headache is all.”

“Yes, well, you had a skull fracture.”

Her eyes widened. “Liar.”

“A minor one, but a fracture nonetheless. What were you hit with?”

“I barely remember. Probably a mallet.” She shuddered. “I hate to think of it. I haven’t been hit that hard in years.” The same bitterness from before invaded her tone and she scowled. “So stupid. Adaar never should have let me do that.”

“Your determination to find them alone is proof that her faith in you is not misplaced.” This part of her was curious to him. He’d seen the strength with which she fought darkspawn and lead her party into battle in the Fade; she was far from unworthy. There was a before, and there was an after --something had changed her, made her doubt herself beyond reason. 

“No.” She shook her head, then closed her eyes. “I’m best under Josephine, as an ambassador of sorts. A piece to move around the board. If I can help at all, it’s through my name and story alone. I should never move the pieces myself.” She crossed her legs. “How much longer until the food is done?”

He poked at the plate with a stick, rolling over some of the roots. “A few minutes, at most.”

“Good.” She took her flask from her side and brought it to her lips. He frowned at her, but said nothing. 

“Want to try it?” He asked, and she raised an eyebrow before nodding and scooting forward. With great care, he eased one of the mushrooms off the cooking rock and on to a leaf. She smirked as she took it, waited, then ate it once it was cool enough.

“This is the elfiest thing I’ve ever done.”

He frowned heavily, not appreciating the joke. “You sound like Sera.”

Eirwen shrugged, swallowing her bite. “Must be our shared heritage.”

“I was under the impression you were raised in the Circle.”

She held up a finger and shook her head. “Partially, yes. But I spent the first nine years of my life in the Denerim alienage. From what I understand, Sera was also born there.”

He scoffed, turning back to the fire and the food, still scowling deeply. “Not that she cares. Sera eschews all things Elvhen, even what little could have been offered to her in the slums.” He paused, looking across at the leaf Eirwen still held in her hand. “In any event, what you see as Elvhen would be an insult to the true legacy of the People. So much of what once was has been lost in favor of ignorance and fear.” Most men, in such a frustrated state, would take their anger into the task at hand. But Solas was no less gentle in how he turned their meal, the stick he used just barely prodding a root onto its side. He shook his head, his voice tightening. “This is hardly Elvhen.”

Eirwen was quiet for a moment, watching him, then shrugged. “Maybe I should have said ‘most Dalish’ thing I’ve ever done.”

He laughed short, humorlessly. “At least you can recognize the difference.” He sat back, relaxing somewhat, and held out his hand for her leaf. “It is done.”

They ate in near-silence. She didn’t much care for his frustration over the current state of Elvhen culture. If she had the desire, much less the energy, she might have pointed out how pointless it was to speak of the glories of the past when their people were being burned alive for minor slights against nobility or hunted like wild animals in their last refuge from human oppression. She might have defended her own upbringing, might have taken issue with his dismissal of alienage elves and pointed out that at least they were trying. 

She chewed hard, venting her anger into the tough, salty root in her mouth, and said nothing. Arguing with her healer wouldn’t do her any good, especially not when he felt so much stronger than she did. Surely, anything she said would just piss him off more. 

Eventually he wandered off, leaving her alone to rest in the trees. He left behind a barrier to keep her safe, though he promised he’d be back long before it wore off. It didn’t matter to her either way, because as soon as she laid back down and got comfortable, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

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