The Blanketfort (crying and throwing up) - The Official Solas Thread [Spoilers]

When I 'built' my canon lavellan, I sort of started with Deshana and the general attitude that clan Lavellan has.

From completing the war table mission in my proto run, I've decided that clan Lavellan is able to strike that balance: wary enough towards stranger shem, but wise enough not to be hostile. They even managed to befriend and trade with some CE and non elves who they deemed trustworthy enough. And it was never about the normal citizens that they have to worry about: but the nobles who are always looking for target practice and 'glory' in vanquishing 'savage elves'.

Lalia competed for the position of 'First' with Aesar, a distant cousin who has a talent for healing and an attitude of 'Dalish First'. Lalia wondered why did she win at all and Aesar got position as Third instead, favouring a younger apprentice Miliel as Second.

Deshana replied, while it is true that Aesar may be able to heal open wounds and sickness, his brash attitude might lead him into making decisions that could later bring harm and regret for many.
Lalia may be an elementalist, having the ability to wield terrible powers in her hands. But she also has the patience to listen, compassion to understand while also being cautious enough to know when to avoid necessary conflict as well as when to stand her ground and fight. She might save lives someday.
While Miliel is still young, she was made Second because of her thirst of knowledge and always wanting to learn, able to look into her mistakes and rectify them, something that Aesar still struggles to accomplish.

I head canon the Keeper prayed to Asha Belanar for guidence, on who to send to the conclave. The answer is far from her liking, but she's not that surprised.

While Deshana is loathed into sending her First away, Lalia gleefuly saw it as a chance to dodge another wedding proposal. Deshana exasperates : at this rate, the sky would tore open before your heart would settle with any man. Lalia replied with a laugh : Looking forward to it, Keeper.
If DAI has a beginning theme for this two women it would be: Dragon Age Inquisition, beware of what you jest

Life outside the clan is trully challenging. She finds herself being covered with shoddy mercenary gears (that no one think it's worth robbing) and a hood that covers most of her face, kinda helps.
Lalia began quietly observing people from a distance and take notice of their behaviour and common language.

She managed to get herself hired by a mercenary group that has just lost their mage to a skirmish a while back.
The captain of the group aren't too pleased with her being a 'runaway dalish' and a 'pretty girl' thinking she could be more trouble than she's worth. But she's always quiet, can handle her fire and best of all, her wages are dirt cheap with the word 'trustworthyness' (or idiot) written on her face.

Lalia knew for sure that the Dwarf captain is giving her an unfair deal and he's uncaring. But at the same time relieved to know that his only love is money, with a soft spot for his dawnstone axe and a set of handsomely crafted dwarven armor. He's not about getting laid. And hey, it gets her to where she needs to be and an access within the conclave safely, so she was feeling a little hopefull. Ghilanain enaste, she prayed, lead my steps, do not lead me astray nor to the path of doom where I cannot return home and bring news to my people. I've made it this far. I hope things will go as planned.

There is this fear she kept bottled up in the pit of her stomach as their boat sailed from Kirkwall to Ferelden. She thought the worst fear she has to contend with was stepping her foot near the gallows. But damn she was wrong. Darkened waters that shows how deep the sea is with giant waves crashing the wooden hull of the boat, rocking the vessel, with not a land in sight. Sailors looking at her with starving looks and the last thing she wanted to do is to look like prey.
There is a sack of vegetables nearby and she calmly picks up a a plump cucumber and turns to face her 'audience'. She cast them a death glare and they could see the cucumber rapidly encased with solid ice. Before the expression of shock could leave their faces, the cucumber breaks into pieces because of the sudden fireball that forms in her hand, "In case someone has funny ideas of poking pointy things at me.."
Their cringe was priceless as she left them petrified. The rest of her journey proved to be peaceful as they left her undisturbed.

appealing: The way he speaks when he asks you to do his personal quest

flat: His voice when he dislikes someone or is very neutral.

hoarse: the way he speaks when he is grieving, suffering the loss of his wisdom spirit and perhaps a moment during the break up

honeyed: The way he speaks when he says, I have not forgotten the kiss." Cuz bae be wanting another one.

husky: the way he says, "But losing you would---"

matter-of-fact: aka know it all: Default Solas

modulated/lilting: When he tells stories of the fade

silvery: The cheery way he introduces himself to the Inquisitor at the beginning

taut: When he is angry at something you've done, like drinking from the Well of Sorrows.

thick: Another way to describe some of his grief speech

Other ways of speech not on that website:

His biting sarcasm when I asked him to help with the Sentinels.

The way he muttered when the Command Spirit told him to shut up.

His clipped words when he told the Mage that had trapped his friend to "Shut up."

Rowan came home from a week on campaign. She was exhausted, her leather armor feeling like a stone on her weary body. She carefully slung her bow off of her shoulder and eased her quiver from her back. She placed her quiver under her bed and kept her bow within arm's reach. She wrapped an arrow in a small bit of cloth and slipped it beneath her pillow.

Rowan stripped off her armor, feeling the peculiar sensation of freedom of movement and vulnerability. She stretched, feeling the remaining sweat dry from her tunic. She winced at the smell. It smelled like camp smoke and blood. The scents of war.

There was a fire already lit and burning merrily. The cabin was small but well built. The bitter and still night couldn't be felt in this tiny warm room. She shot a brief look of longing at the brass tub. She had been out in the Hinterlands and there hadn't been enough time to bathe. Yet years of training kicked in and she sat down in a chair, carefully oiling her armor and checking for tears.

"Hmm, this is well made for human goods," she thought. "I need to ask what Harritt uses for the stitching." She smiled as she worked the lotion into the leather. "Good, sturdy and warm. What more could a girl want?"

Rowan was interrupted by a knock on the door. She opened it and inwardly groaned. Emily, the elven servant, was back yet again. Rowan hated talking to her, because the girl was everything Rowan despised about the state of the elves living in cities. Plus the child was full of incessant questions.

Yes, everything was to her liking. She had already ate and didn't need an evening snack. No, she didn't need another blanket and no, the sounds of the soldiers weren't too loud. When the child offered to draw and prepare the bath, Rowan shooed the well-meaning elf out of the house.

"By the Maker, you'd think I was some pampered human noble." She sighed and put on the kettle for the bath. Rowan slowly filled the brass tub, careful not to make the water too hot. She stepped in cautiously, then eased herself against the back of the tub. She washed her body and her short dark hair. She enjoyed the comfortable sensation of the warm fire and the security of the locked windows. Feeling more relaxed then she had in days, she climbed out.

"Oh Mythal, what have I been dragged into now," she thought. She reached for her sleeping clothes, an old tunic and a pair of soft halla breeches lined with rabbit fur. "Nothing good can come from the Chantry for the Dalish. I also don't like this 'Herald' business either." Rowan frowned, slipping into her sleeping clothes. She reached down and dug into her pack for her tea. "The humans love their martyrs a little too much. I sure as hell don't want to be one."

Rowan found a small metal cup. She opened the tea bag and took a big smell. A smile crept across her face. It was a simple herbal mix of lemongrass, mint and chamomile. The Keeper had given her the pouch to help with the young archer's terrible seasickness on her trip to southern Thedas. She also told Rowan where to find it in the south.

Feeling slightly homesick, she added the tea leaves to her cup and poured in the hot water. These days the tea helped her unwind more than any ale or wine. She'd gotten into the habit of having a cup a night before bed. Rowan stared into the fire, her mind filled with plans for the next day.

A knock sounded at the door. Rowan rolled her eyes. "For Mythal's sake. It's that servant again. I'd like to find out who made her try to wait on me hand and foot and put a boot up their arse." She opened the door without looking up.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll let you know in the morning if I need any..."

A calm, slightly musical voice interrupted her. "I know it is late, but did I come at a bad time?"

Rowan looked up to see Solas, looking slightly amused. "Oh, Solas. Sorry, I thought it was that servant. Er, won't you please come in?" She was thankful the dim light hid her blush.

"Tea?" Rowan offered. "It's an old recipe from home. It helps me sleep."

Solas smiled. "No thank you. I prefer water. Or a good wine, although I do not recommend it before you depart tomorrow."

He sat down in front of the fire, with the catlike grace inherent to all elves. Rowan watched this with another pang of homesickness. "I take it that you haven't had much of a moments peace, Herald of Andraste." He said the last with a slight smirk.

Rowan returned to her spot by the fire, and sipped on her tea. She was acutely aware of Solas eyes on her. "By June's ugliest creations, don't remind me. I hate crowds, I'm not a huge fan of humans and seeing a city elf..." She stopped. "Well, let's just say that a semI-frozen river and two days of tracking angry Templars from Kirkwall would be a relief in comparison."

Solas gave her a sad smile. "Indeed, the People have fallen quite far from who they are. They cling to pieces of the past, ever convinced of their certainty. Or they go into the cities and give themselves over to the service of humans. We have been far greater than that. We will be again.  At least, that is my greatest hope." Rowan watched the look on his face, an odd mix of confidence and regret.

He shook his head slightly and gave her that mysterious smile. "But the state of the People is a conversation we can continue at another time. I only came by to see how you are doing."

"Same old day, different thing. You know, I'm only considered the savior of southern Thedas, a holy figure. Oh and that's by the same people calling for my head a month ago." She smiled bitterly. "At least no one's called me "knife ear" in the last few weeks. That's something, right?"

Solas face softened, showing concern. Rowan looked away, unused to the sympathy. "I'm not asking you to repeat things you say to deflect your feelings or to distract others from their questions. I'm asking about you, Rowan. Are you alright?"

"Yes. No. Sod it, I don't know. " Rowan set down her cup and stood up. "None of this makes any sense. You'd figure if I was in the Fade I would have remembered it. A non-mage in the bloody Fade." Her voice raised slightly, reflecting her frustration. "I know I was sent here to see how these blasted shems were going to affect the lives of the Dalish. Again. Instead, I wake up with this damn magic embedded into my arm. I don't know how I got it and I never wanted this!" She took a deep breath. "It's true, it's isn't it?"

"What is true?" Solas asked.

"That you can never go home again. Damn it, I wanted to go home after this. Instead, I know that the person responsible is going to come for me. I know that I'll never be safe where ever I go." She paused. "I hate this place. I hated the ocean. I despise most of the humans here. I want to go home."

"Home to the clan that decided you were an outcast? An outcast simply for a bit of ink and asking the questions you should have?" Solas gave her a slightly penetrating look.

Rowan chuckled. "It sounds so petty outloud. Yes, yes I did. I wasn't happy but I was content. I had my place in the clan. I brought home rams and would keep us safe from the Templars. I knew where I stood. Now?" Rowan sat back down, reaching for her cup. "Now I don't know if the humans are going to kill me when they are done with me."

Solas smiled, gently stroking Rowan's head. "Remember how you told me you wouldn't let anyone harm me after this is over?" She nodded. "The same arrangement applies to you."

Rowan glared at the fire. "You mean because of the Mark."

"No," he said. "It's because you are an interesting and capable member of the People. Such qualities need to be preserved. At any cost." It was Solas' turn to stare into the fire. "Do not waste your life on regretting what should have been. Focus your efforts on what could be. We should explore the past and learn from it. We should not go forward blindly."

Rowan smiled. "Words of wisdom, spoken by one that's likely lived it." She cracked a huge yawn, stifling it with her hand. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Solas climbed to his feet and offered his hand to Rowan. She set down her cup on the small bedside table and gave another yawn. When she stood up, she found herself face to face with Solas. He had a gentle and open look. She blushed again. "Forgive me. I don't know if I've ever been this tired."

Solas smiled. "It's been a trying few days. You're committing no offense."

Rowan gave him a sleepy and grateful look. "Thank you." She gave a tired sigh. "I'm going to Redcliffe Castle tomorrow. Alexius is nothing but trouble and I want to find out what he's intending to do. This time magic worries me."

Solas began to walk towards the door, beckoning Rowan to follow him. "This concerns me as well. Anyone that can manipulate time in such a fashion is someone to be watched carefully."

"Would you go with me? To Redcliffe Castle?" Rowan cringed at the slight note of fear in her voice.

He smiled at her. "You didn't need to ask." Solas arrived at the door and stopped to look at Rowan. She yawned, no longer able to hide it. "But that is a matter best left for the morning. You need your rest." He opened the door.

"Solas," she said. He stopped and looked at her. "Thank you for coming by and seeing how I was doing. You make me feel more like myself instead of some human's Herald."

He took her hands lightly in his. "It is good to hear. For what it's worth, you make me feel like a person instead of the "elven apostate." Get your sleep and I shall see you in the morning." He let go of her hands and began walking into the cold night.

"Good night, Solas." She shut the door, glancing at the fire. She thought had more fuel to it, but it had burned down to smoldering embers while talking with Solas. It was perfect for sleeping. Rowan crawled into the bed, burrowing herself under the warm blankets. Her last thought before dropping off, "Well, at least I'm not alone anymore. May Mythal and the Old Wolf guide me. And may the Maker stay away." She fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamed that she was back home in the Free Marches, running through a forest. She was running along side with a wolf, a dream she'd had many times. Strange thing though. This time the wolf had Solas' eyes.