Thema and Solas’ first conversation. It did not go well... Also the first step down the path that ties them together, and at least there’s no real surprises later down the road in their relationship after they get it all out of their system.
Warning: vicious Thema, curse words like a binkie, vicious Solas, don’t read if you don’t like Solas’ character being verbally attacked
They stared at each other in silence, the cold wind howling and swirling snow around them, dead and frozen bodies their only audience. The place for their battle of words was the bridge leading out of Haven, frozen over and broken in places but still standing. Or perhaps she was the only one who saw the battle coming. Solas stood, seemingly relaxed, hands clasped behind his back, slightly hunched like a humble apostate would be. It infuriated her to see him masquerade like that and so she let loose the first volley.
His face was blank, now ramrod straight in posture. Thema was grinning, full of teeth and malice. It was darkly pleasing to throw him off balance, throw him into chaos like he’d thrown her life into chaos. Dragging her here into Thedas, into the corruption and warfare, when she’d finally found peace and freedom from the pain of her bones… Shoving her into this body, his magic in her hand causing searing pain like she’d never felt before, tying her to him. A man she hated even before she met him, refusing to have anything to do with the pixels on her computer monitor for the lies he spewed.
She could see that her words echoed in him, a roar that was a whisper playing over and over in his head.
‘I know who you are, Fen’harel.’
Thema could also see the emotions flitting through his eyes, how his body had tensed up like a bow string pulled too tight and ready to snap. If he thought that was all she’d say he was oh so wrong.
A step forward was taken, and he finally blinked. He took one back and she chased him until his back was to the solid stone railing of the bridge.
“I know who you are,” The hiss was like a crack of the whip, overpowering the sound of the wind in the valley. “What you plan to do. I know the Conclave was your fault, that you’re the reason all these people are dead,” Her voice was climbing until she was nearly shouting, a hand gesturing to the dead littered around them in piles or on wooden planks. She didn’t miss the flinch her gesture caused, the shame starting to worm its way into the edges of his empty expression, and exulted in it. “That it is your orb that you fucking gave to Corypheus.”
His mouth opened to refute it but she growled at him, snapping at him. “Shut. UP.” Solas slammed his mouth shut so hard she could hear his teeth click, lips thinning and annoyance replacing shame.
“I don’t give a fuck if you ‘left it’ for him to find. You let him have it, fucking counting on him fucking dying after unlocking it. Well, guess fucking what? He didn’t fucking die!”
She wasn’t sure what to think of his bearing then. He looked more like she had confirmed something he expected, something he’d hoped wasn’t true.
Still, she placed her finger in his face, shaking with the rage she was unleashing onto him. She hated how he was taller than she was now, that she had to tilt her head back to glare at him from this close of a distance. “You fucking guaranteed the death of thousands of people with your little shit idea! Couldn’t fucking do your own damned research on a fucking corrupted Tevinter Magister that can’t fucking die.”
Now his stoicism was starting to break: shock, panic, shame, annoyance all in one whirlwind over his features.
“Can’t fucking die, wants to be a God and rip down the Veil to access where you put the Evanuris.”
His pupils were pinpoints now, mouth slightly open, hands hanging at his side limply.
“And you, you fucker, want to tear the Veil down too. Burn this world to the damn ground and probably fuck up bringing so-called ‘glory’ back to your people instead of doing something like fucking trying to fucking live alongside them, or find a place where your shitty Veil doesn’t reach to live.”
“Can’t pull your damn head out of your own ass long enough to actually think, too fucking lost in your damn glory days to think of anyone but yourself.”
Thema pulled herself up onto the tips of her toes, brown eyes dark with rage and unleashed frustration through the windblown black strands of her hair, her nose barely kissing the tip of his. “So you are going to help clean up this damn mess. If you dare to skip town I will hunt you down and make you pay.”
There was a disconcerting moment as her more rational and sane side welled up in curiosity at being so close to him. She could see the violet shards hiding in the stormy blue of his eyes, count the freckles splashed across cheekbones and nose. How his plush pink lips were dry and chapped. He smelled like stale sweat, ozone from his magic, fur and leather, and under all that something masculine.
For a brief, crazy moment she wanted to bury her head in his chest, draw in that scent, maybe see if he was as good a kisser as the game said he was.
Thema felt her face flush from the sudden urge and clawed after her rage like it was a lifeline. Stupid thoughts like those had no place in this moment, nor any moment going forward that he was in. He didn’t seem to notice her reaction to her own thoughts, his own countenance changing to anger to protect himself from her and her brutality.
The elvhen woman started to back away from the supposed God, not above a last parting shot.
“You consider us all playthings but am I fucking real enough now?”
The turn of the heel, victorious retreat, was halted by a grip of iron on her arm. She could feel frost crackling over her clothing, errant wisps of biting magic leaving her skin raw red and tender.
His voice growled into her now pointed ears, thick and dark. It made a shiver roll down her spine, hot wet settle between her legs. What the hell?
“If you know who I truly am, you know what I am capable of. You know of what I’ve done to those who get in my way, who cross my path.” His lips were brushing against the tip of her ear, making, even more, shivers spread through her body like wildfire, knees growing weak.
“The only reason you are alive is because of your false title, your own false claim to sainthood. You are a liar more so than I. You do not belong to this world, past or present, your spirit is malformed, corrupted, untouched by magic.”
His magic in her hand flared to life, spitting green sparks, searing her nerves with pain that caused a wordless scream. Then it died as swiftly as it came.
“Do not presume to threaten me, child. You would not win that battle.”
Terror filled her veins, colder than the ice and snow around them, decimating any arousal that she had been feeling. It also gave her the strength to jerk her arm from his grasp, and calmly walk away. Her back was stiffly straight, gait awkward, expecting an unleashed spell to cut her down, but none came.
Once out of sight she bolted, running as fast and as hard as she could back to the hut she’d been given. Every person she passed muttered something about the ‘Herald of Andraste’, gawking at her.
The door slammed shut behind her, and she sank to the packed earth, hiccuping sobs. Never in her life had a voice so inspired fear, and she knew he must have used a spell, wrapping it up in the deep tones of his voice. A small moment of proof that she was not untouchable, not out of reach, that he could harm her if he wanted to and that she might be unable to resist or stop him.
She was the so-called Herald of Andraste, the future Inquisitor. He was the apostate all wrapped up in lies and half-truths, holding no position of power here. She held the power. The plans he would set into motion, his little network of spies would never come to be.
With that thought in mind, the fear faded, the sobs quieting.
He would not scare her again.
