“First” Meetings - Da’mi Lavellan One Shots
In which Da’mi first meets Solas, and develops some serious first impressions
AO3 | AO3: The Da’len In The Woods | AO3: Series
“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”
His words cut through her distracted thoughts like a knife. She hadn’t been paying much attention to his comments, only vaguely aware of his hand on hers as he directed this stupid scar at that rift. Of course, his accent had caught her off guard, but she palmed it off as the result of city elves being so foreign to her.
But the way he had crafted this sentence, it was like he were speaking Tevine.
She blinked. What sort of language was that? Her brow creased as she tried to figure out his agenda. Why did he cushion his intentions with flowery words? Why was he pleased she was alive?
She glared at him, opening her mouth to say something harsh, when the dwarf suddenly butted in.
“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”
Da’mi froze, her mouth still partly open, now staring at the elf with fully-fledged confusion. The mark? He knew about the mark?
“You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she blurted out, eyes narrowing like a cat’s. Her bare feet automatically crunching the snow and gravel underneath as she moved closer, peering up into his all but blank expression.
His eyes suddenly flicked toward the Seeker, a strange expression flitting across his features that Da’mi didn’t miss, and she smirked as the Seeker jumped to his defence.
“Solas is an apostate. Well versed in such matters,” her tone was biting, otherwise hostile in the way she fit the word “apostate” in her mouth. Reading the atmosphere, Da’mi realised that the two must have had some sort of confrontation, and had come to a mutual, if somewhat strained, agreement.
Solas’ expression was harder to read. His features were neutral, his voice calm, but something simmered beneath the surface, something almost like … pride?
“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” his eyes darted back to Da’mi, and she felt pinned by their intensity. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage.”
Oh yes. Definitely pride. She would have turned to see Cassandra’s reaction, but found herself rooted by the force of his stare. What was his deal? Even Keeper Istimaethoriel couldn’t hold a glare like that. She wondered if this were how deer felt when they were faced with the savage eyes of a wolf.
And yet, without warning, the ferocity dispersed as quickly as it had come. His eyes turned soft, and she felt herself grow weak at his words:
“I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”
Stunned, she could do nothing but blink.
The elf and the dwarf joined their party seamlessly. She was initially concerned about their abilities in combat, understanding that the dwarf must have some level of skill if he possessed such a finely crafted weapon. But the elf – Solas, if that were his real name – was an unknown. Clearly he was a mage, but largely untrained as far as she could tell. He seemed proficient enough, even surprising her with a subtle barrier as she flanked a particularly vicious looking Shade. The feel of his magic was unfamiliar, however; something far too rich and heady compared to the magic she was used to in her clan. She took note of the way her bones tingled and her hairs stood up on end as the barrier slid across her skin, like the magic were charged with something far stronger than a simple thread of the fade, bent to form a shield.
It wasn’t until after they had defeated the first wave of demons that Da’mi began to see glimpses of their true experience. Varric was an expert marksman, in the way that her brothers had been. It was effortless for him, the shots coming as naturally as words, and finding their mark just as easily as his smart quips. She was impressed that he remained so calm, so ready to laugh or make a joke, despite the situation, and recognising her brothers in his nature comforted her.
Solas proved just as controlled and ferocious in his attacks as he did in his defence. The same electric charge pulsed through his energy barrages, setting her teeth on edge. She watched in awe as a Terror was pinned by a volley of bolts, the spindly legs buckling under the force, its crooked spine splintering like so many twigs under a steel-capped boot.
It took her one quick spin of her blades as she darted around to flank the Terror for it to be overwhelmed, her dagger finding a weak spot in its neck and carving it open. The Terror screamed, and crumpled beneath her.
Suddenly Solas’ strange voice rang out across the scream of the icy wind.
Her instincts kicked into gear. She knew he was far behind her, too far to help her use the mark properly. She would have to try this one on her own.
Something in the timbre of his voice made her believe she could make the mark bend to her will. It felt strange, sizzling into her skin like a brand, but also coursing through her veins like wildfire. Gritting her teeth and setting her stance wide, she clenched her fist, then tried to concentrate on the feeling of pushing the energy outward. After a furious pause, and with a small cry, she flung her hand at the rift, spreading her hand open and sending the energy coursing through her arm. With a loud crack, and a buzzing sort of sensation, a green beam flashed into being, and spat at the rift with full force. She could suddenly feel the rift, like a tear in a piece of cloth, and she could almost see the power of the mark knitting the threads back together. There was a slight push and pull behind it… as if the Fade wanted to force the cloth aside. Tear it asunder. Rip it to shreds.
With a slow breath she managed to pulse the energy harder, and she watched as the rift sealed with ease. There was another crackle of energy as it disappeared entirely, and suddenly the mark fell silent, the power dissipated, and the only sound was the howl of the wind.
Da’mi felt the air rush into her lungs like water, her knees shaking slightly as the lack of power left her feeling weak. But as quickly as she felt the come-down, something also made her jitter with excitement, her heart surging in her ears as she felt the thrill of victory. And she felt a small flash of satisfaction when she turned to Solas and saw him flinch, her eyes alight with the fire of the moment.
“The rift is gone. Open the gate,” Cassandra called across the wind. A guard leapt to attention and rushed to do as she asked. Da’mi took note of the admiration in his voice when he called back; “Right away, Lady Cassandra!” She commanded respect wherever she went.
And then, that voice again, strange and calm, even as he was yelling above the din of the storm:
“We are clear for the moment. Well done,” Solas said, and she could feel the truth in his praise. She turned back to him, trying to ignore the rush she felt in her chest as he looked at her with an air of approval.
But before she could even comprehend her own emotions, Varric cut in.
“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” he said casually. Something about his easiness made the whole atmosphere shift, and she felt that same comforting sensation of being with her brothers again.
It all became too much for her, and without warning a laugh bubbled up her throat and burst out into the air. It rang across the mountains as she cackled with glee. She couldn’t have been happier – high on the rush of success and the ridiculousness of her situation, it seemed the only response was to laugh.
Here she was, a hunter of clan Lavellan, a Dalish elf, flung to the furthest reaches of Thedas, and spiralling into a strange series of events like a misguided arrow. She felt like she was still spiralling, images of faces blurring past her as she tried to decipher this strange world with its strange people in it. And suddenly, out of the mess of accidents and “wrong-place-wrong-time” halla-shit, she had had a win. A win.
And at the centre of her victory was the small smile of this strange elf, marvelling at her success.
“B-Blades?” Varric asked, laughter in his voice, with a hint of fear underneath. “You alright there?”
She wiped her eyes, feeling the laughter run its course as her chest began to heave. The cold air wasn’t helping her rasping throat and she coughed slightly, but managed to hum a chuckle as she turned toward this strange and comforting dwarf that she felt would now become an inextricable part of her life.
“Blades? Is that your pet name for your new hero?” She chuckled again, “Can you blame me for laughing? This whole mess is a sack of halla-shit.”
She could feel the tension around her, and marvelled at the fact that everyone was hanging off her every word. She also realised that there were guards standing around the now open gate, peering at her like she was the sun.
And then Varric laughed along with her, and slapped her on the back companionably; “I couldn’t agree more, Blades. I couldn’t agree more.”
She turned one last time to look back at Solas, grinning as he came up beside her, his staff now becoming a walking stick instead of a deadly weapon.
Her grin faltered as she tried to read his expression again, feeling that same sense of mistrust gnawing at the edges of her mind.
But the strange elf simply returned her smile, with his brow slightly creased as if he, too, were confused. His eyes were bright, and the way he effortlessly disarmed her with his expression sent a thrill of unease through her chest.
She could smell trouble on this one. And she was like a moth to the flame.
