Chapter Text
She entered Skyhold like a storm, with a wooden staff in her hand and green dalish robes on her back. The first time Solas saw her, she looked savage, with frowned brows and bared teeth, threatening to shoot fireballs as if the fortress wouldn’t endure it. She demanded to see her brother, immediately.
Ah, right. Inquisitor.
He ran out of the fortress through the bridge, screaming at the guards, before he threw himself into her arms, almost tripping the elf over. When next to each other, they looked like two sides of the same coin - his golden hair short, neatly slicked back, hers long, dense and weirdly layered, sticking in all directions. They both shared a face full of freckles and the same striking grey eyes but hers were wide and present while his seemed distant and crinkled. She spoke quickly and just a bit too loud, in harsh elven, like a mother scolding a naughty child. Quite a view it was, to see the mighty Inquisitor in this position.
The arrival of Inquisitor’s twin sister stirred up quite a storm amongst the crew. While some welcomed her with open arms, most were distrustful of the newcomer. She claimed that her clan didn’t approve of her journey to Skyhold but she herself was very insistent on staying. Atlas wasn’t particularly keen on the idea, probably from a protective kind of view, which Solas assumed based on the frown of his eyebrows as they talked the ideas through. Anyhow, it seemed like the only way she would leave would be by force and nobody felt the need to do that. Not that the Inquisitor would allow it, naturally.
“Pav’ra” she introduced herself, extending her hand to Solas as she did to others after the tensions eased. She bared her teeth in a wide smile when he said andaran atish’an and squeezed his palm with an utterly unnecessary force.
She was so painfully Dalish.
It seemed like she was trying to prove all the rumors of her kind with her behaviour. While Atlas was calm, neutral, a perfect kind of elf to break the stereotypes and lead humans into battle, Pav’ra was just the opposite. She argued with Sera about her disregard of elven heritage constantly and it was the only thing that caused conflict between the two. Aside from that, she matched the city elf in energy and utter nonsense she spewed from time to time, though it was a tad different. It was the kind of blabber one could mistake for poetry if it wasn’t said so carelessly, sometimes even sung to Solas’ annoyance. Additionally, even though a mage and the First to the Keeper of clan Lavellan, she lacked the certain seriousness with which one would expect her to treat magic. She seemed at ease with pulling pieces of the Fade for entertainment of making Krem dodge innocent attacks, much to Iron Bull’s and the Charger’s enjoyment, or simply to pull idiotic pranks with giggling Sera by her side.
She was like sunshine slipping harshly through the windows with a dawn that came too soon. And Solas hated it.
But, ultimately, some good came of her too. Solas suspected it was because of her that the Inquisitor decided to side with the mages and he himself couldn’t complain about that. Additionally, Pav’ra seemed to bring some kind of gentleness to Atlas upon her arrival. Perhaps it put his mind at ease to know she was safe. Well, as much as she could be by his side. And she was always there.
No matter their quest, wherever they went, she was there.
“Don’t you ever get tired of being so serious all the time, Solas?”
The question throws him off balance, but as usual, he keeps his composure. Quite a party Atlas put together - Sera with her blabbering and attitude and Pav’ra right beside her, Cole with his deadpan innocence and Varric adding to the fire.
“I do not understand why’d you call him Chuckles ” Pav’ra continues, gesticulating wildly with her gloved hands, staff secured on her back. “It must be an ironic jest, is it not? I don’t think I saw him smile even once!”
“I do smile” Solas responds sharply, jumping over a pile of Hinterland’s rocks. “Just not upon you.”
Pav’ra makes a face that might’ve genuinely manifest hurt if not for her tongue shooting out at him right after. Varric laughs, nudging Solas’ side with his elbow.
“He’s alright if you give him a chance, Sunshine.”
“I can perfectly see where your nickname stems from though” Solas adds, despite himself. Recently he tries his best not to engage in her provocations but his pride screams at him to defend himself, even if doing so results in such pettiness. “You burn my eyes.”
And there for a moment Pav’ra seems not to know what to say, a small second of hesitation and parted lips. A corner of Solas’ mouth curves up as Sera starts giggling, though her giggle shows how low he fell by that.
“Aura so strong, many colours shine and sparkle. It burns but the pain can be pleasant, there’s good in her light” Cole murmurs and Pav’ra throws her arm around his shoulders, squeezing their cheeks together with a wolfish smile, spirit boy’s eyes widening for a moment.
“Thank you , Cole” she says with a small jest in her voice though it seems genuine if one looks past the snark. She lets him go just a moment after, patting his back in a friendly manner, as one would do to an old friend. “It’s good to know not all kindness in this world is dead.”
“You assume-”
“Mythal’s ass, can you all just shut up?” Atlas interrupts another jab from Solas, which is a shame, because it could’ve been a good one. Everyone complies though, as the Inquisitor’s presence can be quite unnerving at times, especially with the giant sword striped to his back. He draws respect even out of his sister, it seems. Solas falls back, reminding himself to not get off track, to remember why he’s doing all this. Not to get into squabbles with a foolish mortal, for sure. “Get a room, you two. If not, keep your eyes open. We need a place for a camp.”
Pav’ra huffs in indignance and Solas could swear the tips of her ears are turning red as Sera pulls her away to scout the surrounding area. His brows furrow gently as they continue walking, Atlas rushing forward to cut them a path through the bushes.
“You should get off her back, Chuckles” Varric probes and it feels like he’s poking him with a stick. Solas just throws him a sideway glance. “She’s young-”
“So is the Inquisitor” he points out, making the dwarf roll his eyes.
“He is dark, colorful, tainted. Both weaved the same, different patterns, differently handled but both suffered.”
“Uhh- Yeah, exactly what I meant, kid” Varric pats Cole alike Pav’ra did as he keeps on murmuring, though these murmurs seem not to be for them for they are too quiet. “Look, Chuckles, I’m just saying- I don’t know what beef you two have but give her a break, alright? I know we’re all fucked up with the big ass hole in the sky and all but I don’t think she ever had to come in contact with so many, uh- Outsiders.”
Solas swallows down a few unpleasant opinions, both on the Dalish and the Dalish woman’s immaturity, and nudges instead:
“Seems like you took a liking to her.”
“She reminds me of a friend.” Varric shrugs, a small smile dancing on his lips. He pushes back a lock of hair from his face. “I’m just saying - just because you are all wise and calm, doesn’t mean everyone has to be.”
Solas knows that but doesn’t say it. It’s not about some kind of projection of his own flaws or suppressed needs but of what the elves used to be. How she embodies all he dislikes in what they are now. He saw the same fire in the eyes of the Dalish that tried to attack him, the same fire that sparkles and cracks in her irises. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t question and she wouldn’t try to understand.
But that, he keeps to himself.
Pav’ra never knew how to sing but that didn’t stop her. She’d blabble and hum endlessly as a child, rhyming of flowers and Halla, soft grass under her feet. A child born in dirt, smelling of elf root she loved to chew on despite small slaps to her hands. A child of passionate love, passionate arguments and chaotic guidance. Always aware of how many stories there are to tell, how they’re hiding right under the moss, waiting to be discovered. She spent lots of hours just digging around, telling tales to the bark, hurting the ears of other children with an unmatched rhythm of scratchy notes.
She was never strong but always flexible. Small enough to fit through cracks between trees and rocks and she always won the hiding game because nobody was looking for her. She was easy to forget but not easy to miss. Loud, too expressive, theatrical even, lower your voice, dal’en, but she never could.
She couldn’t even grow more quiet under the Keeper’s command, not even as her First. If there was a better mage in their clan, someone as eager to study and learn as Pav’ra, she probably wouldn’t be chosen. She was always too rash, too quick to jump into action, but that didn’t mean she was unwise. On the contrary, she swallowed up the knowledge with curiosity and passion, but a tendency to question, disobey. The only thing holding her in the position of the First was her magical talent and devotion towards tradition and faith.
She was always first to attend ceremonies and rites, especially interested in the dead and the Fade, dreams and the Veil, but the Keeper didn’t have the answers she sought. She slept a lot and spent the energy earned to scout and explore, always bringing back herbs and outrageous tales, surely at least half of them made up.
That’s exactly why she wasn’t chosen to spy on the humans and Altas was sent.
“You need to stay here and help prepare for the worst, dal’en.”
And so she did.
But when the letter from the Inquisition came in, she couldn’t stay still anymore. Under the cover of the night she went, a bag filled with basic supplies she would need, Dalish robes on her back. The only thing more important than her studies was her brother and if he was about to die from a magic in his palm, she’d be right beside him, no matter what.
Of course a tear in the Veil was an opportunity she could not pass, but for once she kept her mouth shut. She could do that when she wanted to, most of the time.
Ever since she arrived in Skyhold, Pav’ra couldn’t sleep. Back home, the Keeper always kept a stash of dreamless potions crafted for her, but with her rogue leave she couldn’t ask for the recipe. So, she had to endure vivid dreams or start losing sleep. Even though her interest in the Fade was great, it seemed like she couldn’t control anything happening there and it drove her mad. Perhaps the jealousy of Solas’ tales was a part of her dislike of him - he could do what she struggled with for countless years now.
So, instead of facing her fears of getting lost in the Fade again, she stays up, sipping tea in her quarters. She made a small room in the tower hers, putting up dried herbs on the walls and colouring the stone with pigments drawn from different minerals. It’s safe, close to the sky, a nice view and a library just under her nose. The stars are bright that night, moonlight slipping in through the small window.
She can’t function like this for much longer.
She needs to stay useful, by her brother’s side. She needs to show she’s capable of handling herself, a good addition to the team. She needs to protect him and she can’t do so when she’s so sleep deprived but the non-Dalish healers of Skyhold won’t know how to help her.
Pav’ra knows where the possible solution to her problem lies but her pride holds her back. Expert on the Fade should surely know how to make a potion just like the one the Keeper used to make for her. She’s not sure why, but she knows he dislikes her. He might be wary towards her as she is towards him and their personalities clash, sure, but she feels like something more hides in the dark. There’s something unnerving in how observant he is, something unnatural in the way he talks even if his voice is so pleasant to the ear.
Another sip of tea and she sighs, rubbing her temple and shutting her eyes.
No, she has to swallow her pride. Dirth ma banal. Mar solas ena mar din - the Keeper used to say to her all the time. Perhaps she was right.
Pav’ra takes a candle from the little table beside her bed. She’s wearing Atlas’ lambswool jammies and her hair is a mess but she’s not trying to bed Solas, so why would she care? She makes her way down the tower quietly, feeling like a sneaking child after bedtime, as if she’s doing something bad and scandalous in this pathetic attempt to get help.
She stops by the door to the ground floor and hesitates. It’s not too late to come back yet, the nervous pain in her stomach reminds her.
Why does he make her nervous?
She takes another deep breath and ever so gently, silently, opens the door. It’s dark inside, just a flicker of candles from the floors above them shining on the walls. Pav’ra tip-toes slowly, squinting and trying to make sense of the dark shapes around her, when she hears a groan from somewhere above.
Her eyes shoot up and she can barely make out Solas’ sleepy face out in the darkness. He looks kind of silly like that, just woken up, taken by surprise - she didn’t see it in his eyes before. She herself doesn’t look much better, a sleepless mess, her hair frizzy and bags under her eyes, candlelight distorting her face with shades.
“Delltash” he cusses and she lets out a choked, nervous laugh. “What are you doing?”
A sight of Pav’ra standing in his quarters in the middle of the night is not something Solas anticipated or awaited. He crawls out of his bedding rushingly, feeling stupidly exposed in such a vulnerable state. He slides down the ladder of his antresol and lands down on his bare feet before her and-
Oh.
She looks frightened.
He eases the tension in his face, trying not to look as mad as he truly is. Her wide eyes, a drop of something akin to embarrassment in them, choke another cuss back into his throat. In the moonlight she looks small, drowning in, he assumes, Atlas’ night clothes. The markings on her face blemish her - she would be truly beautiful without them but the physical beauty always falls back on faultful character. She clutches that candle so close to herself that he feels a need to reach out and stop her from burning the strands of inconveniently long hair.
“You look like a motherless nug” he snaps at her instead. “What are you doing in my quarters?”
It seems like his words take her out of her stupor and the well known by now frown is back. Thankfully, she also moves her hand, almost as if to punch him, saving them both a trouble of putting down a fire.
“Well, you look like-” she catches herself and inhales sharply, looking away with a frown. They stay in still silence for a few moments before she speaks again, almost a whisper, now proper embarrassment creeping up the tips of her ears in a blush. “I can’t sleep.”
Solas considers her words for a moment with unmoved expression, staring her down in doubtful analysis.
“What do you want me to do about it? Do you wish for me to lull you to sleep?” he asks with an unmistakable coldness. It must be the first time they talk one on one besides the very beginning when it was made clear how much they differ. A pang of hurt in the gaze she throws at him, makes Solas regret his words, but only a little.
“I need a, uh- Dreamless potion” she says hesitantly, not commenting on the jab. She’s not meeting his eyes, unlike usually when she seems to challenge him with her stare. She’s still holding the candle, as if she’s ready to flee at any moment, her body turned slightly towards the door.
“Dreamless potion?” he repeats, raising a brow before frowning slightly. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’d throw away a gift of the Fade even in your sleep.”
That turns Pav’ra expression into an ugly grimace, anger radiating off her. The wax slips down her palm but it seems like she doesn’t notice. For a moment she looks like she’s about to throw that candle right in Solas’ face but something seems to be stopping her. Did he hit too hard?
“It’s not that” she says quietly, clearly trying to keep her voice even and doing not that bad of a job. He watches as her gaze slips away again and then she continues talking, quieter, faster. “Ever since I was a kid I always had very intense dreams. I don’t know how to control them and I lose sleep, waking up, overwhelmed with sensations and- There’s just so much I don’t know and even though I want to , little fears get too much out of me. So. I usually drink the dreamless potions, allowing myself not to once or twice a week.”
Another beat of silence, her eyes still fixated on the door.
“I’m no alchemist” Solas says finally, a bit quieter now. She caught him by surprise and this time it’s not as unpleasant as her pulling him away from the dreamy Fade.
“I’m no use to anyone in this state. I haven’t slept properly in days.” Her response is almost a quiet bark and her eyes shoot up to meet his just for a moment before falling down again. “I need to be here. To be useful. There’s no one here who knows the Fade better than you do, no matter how much it pisses me off. If you know anything that could help, tell me. We’re no friends but we are allies.”
His eyelashes flutter as he blink thoughtfully when she bares herself before him like that. She must be desperate for she doesn’t seem like one to give up her pride easily, from what he’s seen.
“That is true” he responds after silently looking her up and down, assessing her. She truly seems exhausted and he would be foolish not to help if Atlas is going to drag her around with them anyway. “Go get a pillow and a blanket. I won’t make you a potion but I might have a way to help.”
A small sigh, almost relief, slips past Pav’ra’s lips as she looks up at him. For a moment she looks like she’s about to say something more, perhaps thank him like a cultured person would, but no. She just nods once and turns on her heel, melted wax dripping down her fingers.
This is about to be a long night.