Chapter Text
936 DRAGON (Reia is 15)
Reia crouched down, low to the ground as she pulled her daggers out and prepared herself for their strike. Feet dug deep into the wet mud, she would hold the line here and make the bastards work it; if they wanted fresh meat to fill their bellies tonight, she wouldn’t be making it easy for them. Alert eyes do a quick sweep of the area, counting at least ten. Ten hungry and pining wild wolves, large paws slopping into the mud as they stalk back and forth – waiting for her to make a move.
The open wound on her thigh stings from dirt that has made its way in and she hisses, transferring some of her weight over to the left to compensate. The leader steps forward, pulling back its jowls to reveal sharp teeth that are ready to claw into her creamy skin. “Fenedhis,” she grunts while waiting for the pack to make its move.
“Would you care for assistance?” a sudden voice calls out to her from the forest, causing her to momentarily take her eyes off the pack of wolves and glance around for the mysterious companion that now stands behind her. An Elven man, dressed in simple clothing with a solid wooden staff fixed to his back, along with a sharp tooth pendant dangling upon his neckline.
Suddenly, she realizes that her eyes have been turned away from the pack of wolves for far too long. Quickly spinning back around, her mouth parts open in shock to see the group retreating, ears pinned back and tails quivering behind their rear legs. “How did you…?” she turns back to the man and sees him smiling, walking over towards her.
“Are you lost, Da’len?” he leans down to rest on one knee while reaching out to examine the cut on her thigh. “This is a long way from the closest Dalish Clan.” His mysterious eyes glance up at her, filled with intrigue.
Reia scrunches her forehead in confusion, unsure of how he placed her as Dalish – not having yet received her vallaslin before she was labelled as an outcast and banished from her Clan. She remains quiet, unsure if she can trust this man. Has she merely stumbled upon a larger predator? Though, she can’t understand how he caused the pack of wolves to run… he looks weak, nothing special.
“I’m unable to heal this for you,” he glances back at her wound. “My magic is still returning. I do, however, have a small supply of herbs that can clear out an infection. Would you care to come back to my camp?”
No – she shakes her head. Labelling him as a City Elf, as his face is also clear of any markings – she’s been taught not to trust the City Elves… along with other Dalish Clans… and her Clan… and the Shems. She’s been taught not to give trust to anyone without it being earned.
The elf gives her a strange look that speaks of pity and sorrow. “I have a stew simmering. Are you hungry?”
What an inopportune time for her stomach to begin growling; not able to recall the last time she had a real meal. “You can keep those daggers pulled out the entire time, if you’d prefer,” he offers with another flicker of amusement within those cloudy eyes. “I’ve told you that I’m currently without my magic, there’s not a whole lot I could do at the moment if you decided to steal the entirety of my camp.”
Reia narrowed her eyes at him, for some reason not believing that he was as helpless as he claimed. Okay, she nods. Hungry and sore from a particularly rough last few days, she’s willing to gamble on this man’s intentions at the hope of having a warm meal. She followed him through the dense forest, watching as his pulled his staff out for walking support. Who is he? She scrunched her nose at him, trying to figure out if he was friend or foe.
Friend – she settled on; for now, at least. Getting back to his camp, he presented her with a large bowl of steaming hot stew after cleaning her wound, as had been promised. “You’re alone,” he looked over at her as she finished off the first bowl before being handed another.
“How do you seem to know all these things?” she raised an eyebrow cloaked in skepticism.
He smiled, glancing off into the forest before lightly speaking, “I know the look of solitude... and you, Da’len, have it.”
“I’m fine,” she quickly spit back.
“You don’t have to pretend,” his eyes softened as he looked back at her. A few moments of silence passed between them before he spoke again. “Tomorrow, I will teach you how to hunt.”
“I know how to hunt,” she scoffed, deeply offended.
The elf raised an amused brow. “Well, then – I shall teach you how to avoid being hunted; or did I not catch you surrounded by a pack of wolves?”
Embarrassment filled her gut, mixing in with the hot stew to leave her a stammering, angry mess while attempting to come up with a witty thing to say back to him that would prove her hunting skills. She had indeed been tracked down by a pack of hungry wolves… and found herself ashamed to say that it was hardly the first time something like that had happened. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to her Keeper during training days… or, perhaps her parents shouldn’t have done all of what they did, which led to her being… No – she pushed those thoughts away. Not wanting to think about that, now.
“Your hair is unique,” the elf noted while finally digging into his own bowl of stew. Reia awkwardly shifted on the log where she was seated, finding the topic of her hair to be an uncomfortable one. For her entire life, it drew attention when it was not wanted. Split almost directly down the middle, her right side white as snow while the left was dark as the night. Somehow inherited from her parents, her mother’s silky white hair and father’s dark curls, it garnered endless teasing from the other children. The elders of her camp always spewing their allegorical bullshit that it represented the light and the darkness struggling within her, each wrestling for predominate control. She needn’t wonder which side her Clan would say, in the end, had won over…
“That was meant to be a compliment.”
She glanced up at his head, smooth and hairless. Smirking at him, she answered, “So is yours.”
Unsure of how he would take her snide remark, she prepared herself for him to become enraged; yet all that happened was a surprising chuckle as he shook his head in amusement and commended her on a sharp response.
“Tomorrow,” he pulled himself up from his seat and began heading towards his tent, “if you’re still here, I’ll take that as a yes: you’d like to learn how to hunt – properly hunt.” Half way to his tent, he turned back to look at her, “What’s your name?”
“Reia.” She couldn’t understand what compelled her to be honest with him, not bothering to even throw him a false one. “What’s yours?”
“I am Solas.” He smiled before retreating to bed.
Over the next ten months, she learned many things from Solas other than hunting – eventually learning that he went by another name, Fen’Harel… The Dread Wolf. She became an apprentice of sorts, helping him regain his strength by collecting food and water on days where he was feeling particularly weak, sitting around the campfire at night as he revealed the true story of the ancient Elven Gods to her and why it was a blessing that she had left before the ceremonial practice of the Dalish’s vallaslin. She revered him; he was her savior, the one who took her in and gave her a purpose in life.
Years later, she would look back upon these years as bewildering; unsure if that time in the forest with him were some of her most cherished memories or the beginning of the end. Perhaps meeting him was the biggest regret of her life… or, perhaps it was meeting the other man – the shemlen man whom others called the Lion of Ferelden. Either way, Reia felt unhinged and disoriented when standing in the same room with the two. Loyalties consistently called into question, delivering one betrayal after another – but to who? She hardly knew at this point.
Yet, Reia was not a victim; refused to be one. If anything, those two men may have regretted ever meeting her.
