Chapter Text
Jackie has taken the train across the south of Thedas many times. Too many times, perhaps, for she's weary of the uniform, unrelenting pulse of the railway. It no longer seems to matter where exactly she's travelling; every journey takes her further away from any place she could possibly call home.
But she's always gone third-class before, and in her memory the train is a blurred patchwork of stuffing that oozes from threadbare seats, air that smells preternaturally of tinned sardines, nights spent dozing in a chair and waking with a jagged crook in her neck that will take days to leave her.
Today, however, Jackie, Solas and Felassan are traveling first class. 'No point in making economies now,' Solas says, with a sharp little smile; after all, even if they somehow manage to survive their fateful mission, everything will be different by the time they return from Tevinter.
And first class, it transpires, is another world altogether. Once they've boarded the train Solas leads Jackie down a corridor carpeted in rich maroon, its filtered air dusted with a polite hint of lilac. He reaches the door labelled 12B and holds it chivalrously open, and Jackie halts for a moment, raising her eyebrows as she takes in the size and scale of their private room.
It doesn't look like it belongs in a train at all, and she has a moment of sharp, dizzy disorientation, as if she's slipped sideways into some other reality. The walls are lined in leather etched with geometric designs that seem to shiver and dance with the train's motion, and a bed spans almost the width of the carriage, its walnut headboard inlaid with mother-of-pearl detailing which tumbles in foamy whorls all the way down to the purple silk comforter. Champagne bobs in an ice bucket on the side table. Through a large window she sees snatched visions of Val Royeaux - tinsel glimpses of gold-encrusted mansions alongside the shingled slums of the alienage, all blurring into a flittering, ephemeral tapestry.
Solas is standing by the door, gazing uncertainly at her. She steps back and finds a smile for him, though the swaying of the train beneath her feet makes everything feel unsettled, liquid and wavering. 'This is very nice,' she says. 'I never knew that travelling by rail could be anything other than grim.'
His little answering smile does not quite sit right. 'You like it?'
She looks over her shoulder. 'You've certainly done well for yourself with this detective business.'
'Well enough,' he acknowledges. 'I am good at what I do.'
She rolls her eyes. 'The number of times you have pointed this out to me, Solas, in the course of our relatively brief acquaintanceship - '
This time the smile seems more natural. 'I think it bears repeating.'
He withdraws his pocket watch from his waistcoat, peering down at its diamond face. 'My apologies,' he says. 'I was in rather a hurry this morning. Allow me a moment?'
'Of course,' she says, and she sits down on the overstuffed velvet sofa at the end of the bed, picking up a fashion magazine from the side table. Solas crosses into the bathroom, and through the open door Jackie glimpses sultry curves of marble, gleaming brass taps, the bright blade of a mirror. He doesn't close the door, so she watches as he takes off his cravat, and then his waistcoat. Opening his shirt at the neck, not looking at her, he picks up a little silver razor from beside the sink and begins to run it over his scalp, followed by a descent toward his jaw.
She doesn't know what to make of the casual intimacy of the muscles shifting beneath his shirt, the little sandpaper sound of the blade scraping over his bare skin. She never really saw him like this on the cruise - everything there was always so rushed, so liminal and incidental - and to be present in this moment feels strange to her. As if the way he tips his head as he drags the razor beneath his chin is a vulnerability beyond everything else that they have so far shared.
He opens a bottle and dabs its contents along the hollow of his throat, and Jackie smells the faint mist upon the air - moss and musk and ragwort. She shifts, averting her gaze as if she is not allowed to look. It occurs to her suddenly that she has never done - well, this. They are on their way into hostile territory where they will either bring down a nation or die in the attempt, and yet somehow what seems most unfamiliar is the sight of a man shaving before her with so little self-consciousness.
Jackie has had lovers before, of course, but no one who would travel with her, who would comfortably share a space. Cullen was the first person who was ever willing to acknowledge her in public, and even there his manner always seemed to communicate that he was doing her a favour. With Solas - well, with him it feels almost the other way round. And she ought to like that but she feels unbalanced, ungrounded. This has happened so quickly and all of a sudden the gilded, luxurious room seems strangely small.
She is shy, perhaps. Or merely adrift. Her mother has told her often enough that she is rash and impulsive, and of course she always denies it hotly but in her heart of hearts she knows that Deshanna is right - if nothing else, this journey certainly proves it. Here she is, throwing herself into a dangerous mission with a man she has known only the tiniest fraction of her life. Perhaps it is a little insane that the few days of their acquaintanceship weigh so heavily against all the rest of her experience, or perhaps that is just a damning indictment of how insubstantial her existence felt before she met him.
Even now the train is hurtling ever closer to the militarized border that separates the north of Thedas from the south. Jackie has been beyond the Veil only once, but it was enough to confirm that the Tevinter territory beyond is deeply perilous, a land of merciless extremes presided over by a brutal authoritarian regime. She is putting her life into Solas' hands by crossing the Veil once again with him.
Unwillingly, she remembers: she is only here because she forced the truth out of him and insisted that he bring her. If she had not figured it out, he would have vanished without a word.
She's tried to reconcile herself to that, but the knowledge is a little cold terror murmuring through her veins. She can't hold this fear within herself forever. She can't go the rest of her life trying to stay five steps ahead of him in case he attempts to martyr himself again.
Jackie doesn't doubt that Solas cares for her. She's seen the way he looks at her; pleading, yielding, disbelieving. He's in love with her - she knows that, even if he doesn't. She just still isn't sure it will be enough.
***
Solas has only just finished shaving when there comes a knock at the door. He looks up, startled, and then - much to Jackie's disappointment - begins buttoning his shirt back up.
'Let him in, please,' he says over his shoulder, so Jackie crosses the room and opens the door for Felassan, who smiles winningly at her and then strides into the room and throws himself down on the sofa, lighting a cigarette for good measure.
Solas, still adjusting his cravat, casts a faintly disdainful look over his shoulder at Felassan's turned-up jeans and black T-shirt. 'I am surprised they allowed you on the train thus arrayed,' he says reprovingly. 'You will have to dress more formally for dinner.'
'If you want to see me in a suit, Solas, you can just say so,' Felassan says, taking a long drag from the cigarette. 'Anyway, it's time. I want to hear about this plan of yours, and I'm sure you're absolutely dying to tell us how brilliant it is.'
'It is not my work alone,' Solas says stiffly, but he leaves the cravat half-tied and sits down on the edge of the bed, looking over at Jackie and Felassan. 'The people in my network have been working toward this moment for many years. It is a collective effort.'
'The false modesty is not convincing in the slightest,' Felassan says, rolling his eyes, 'but never mind. Please proceed.'
Jackie sits down at the dressing table, looking expectantly over at Solas. He sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose. 'Well,' he says. 'As you know, at the end of the last war Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain betrayed their fellow Evanuris and made a deal with the Archon to share power in northern Thedas. The world was told that the Evanuris had all been executed, and therefore Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have been in deep hiding for many years, never staying in one place for long. My people tried many times to penetrate into their inner circle, but it was impossible to get close to them. That is why I found it necessary to provoke another war.'
'The war changes things?' Jackie asks.
Solas nods; the hollow of his throat is still wet, glistening halycon in the shifting light from the sconces above. 'One cannot direct a war from the road. There is a need for staff, security, infrastructure. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have been forced to come into the open, to some extent - though of course they will not reveal to the general public that they are alive, they have set up a more permanent base. They now have a compound off the northern coast of Rivain, a place called Tearstone Island. So that is where we must go.'
Jackie looks down, her hand curling around the edge of the dressing table. Absently she watches her own fingers turning white. It's starting to seem very concrete, all of a sudden: staff, security, infrastructure. Perhaps some part of her had not quite understood the reality of what they are about to do. Perhaps she was too busy being in love to feel the weight of it.
'How do you plan to get onto the island?' she says, trying to keep her voice light, business-like. 'It will surely be well-guarded.'
'Very much so. Trying to approach surreptitiously would be futile - we would be blown to pieces in the water.'
'Well, thanks for that image,' Felassan mutters.
'We must infiltrate it,' Solas says, ignoring him. 'We will win their trust and then strike when they are unprepared.'
'I take it you have a plan,' Jackie says.
'Naturally.' Solas steeples his fingers, and she catches a faint hint of smugness lingering at the edges of his expression. 'We have been preparing for a long time. I have an agent in Minrathous, an elven woman who has been working for a number of years in the household of a magister named Zara Renata, one of Ghilan'nain's principal allies in the city. My agent has become one of Zara's most trusted servants.'
'And how does this help with Tearstone island?'
'Now that the Evanuris are setting up a more permanent home base, they have requested that Zara send a secretary to serve among the women of Ghilan'nain's court. My agent has been selected for the role.'
'There are only women in Ghilan'nain's court?' Jackie asks.
'Indeed. That has always been her preference.'
'All right, so that gets your agent onto the island,' Felassan says impatiently. 'But what about you? And us?'
Solas folds his hands in his lap. 'Well. Once she is established on Tearstone island, my agent will commit a murder. It will be showy, dramatic, attention-grabbing - something so unusual that the Evanuris will summon me to solve it.'
'You?' Felassan says sceptically. 'Why you?'
'Because I am the most acclaimed detective in Thedas,' Solas says, now more than a little smug, and it is wildly infuriating but it is, unfortunately, also true, and therefore Jackie is not able to come up with a snarky retort.
'But they think you're in the south,' she says instead. 'Why would they ask for you?'
'Because we are going to Minrathous in order to spread the word that with the coming of war I have defected to the north,' Solas says. 'Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will certainly hear of it - they have eyes everywhere in Minrathous. And then, in their moment of need, they will summon me.'
'They must know you fought against them in the last war. They're not going to believe that you want to help them now.'
'Well you see, I have had a change of heart,' Solas says complacently. 'Having lived in the south for some time, I have become disillusioned by the treatment of the elves there.'
Felassan snorts. 'Well. That at least is believable. I'd say we're all pretty disillusioned.'
'Indeed,' Solas says. 'So now I have come to regard the Evanuris as the only hope for a better future for the elvhen people. I will, of course, be appropriately regretful for the mistakes that my youthful idealism led me to make, and will offer suitable apologies.'
'That's quite some risk, Solas,' Felassan says, his nose wrinkling. 'They'll be predisposed to suspect you, and if you don't convince them they'll just do away with you. You might be a good detective but that doesn't make you invaluable.'
'I have laid the groundwork,' Solas says. 'The Evanuris have always kept an eye on prominent elves in the south, and we have been feeding them reports of my growing doubts for some time. Besides, I can act a part convincingly when I need to.'
Felassan blows air between his teeth, crossing his arms; Solas glances a little nervously at him, then moves on hurriedly. 'I assure you, the story has been practiced and rehearsed to the smallest detail. We are well prepared.'
'Wait,' Jackie says suddenly. 'That's why it was so important for you to be on the cruise, away from the border when war broke out. You wanted to make doubly sure that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain would have no reason to link you with the Dread Wolf.'
'Precisely. Just in case any rumours or gossip had come to their ears, I felt it best to conclusively separate myself from the title.'
'You'd better be pretty damn sure they don't know who you are,' Felassan says. 'If they realise they have the Dread Wolf in their grasp - '
'They will not know,' Solas says confidently. 'They will look at me and see an absent-minded intellectual with few practical abilities beyond my narrow field of expertise. They will not imagine that I could have any interests beyond detection.'
His self-assurance is comforting, but nonetheless the plan is much more dangerous than Jackie had hoped. 'There seem to be a lot of contingencies,' she says, frowning. 'And your agent is all right with that? Murdering someone just to get you onto the island?'
Solas looks calmly at her. 'Merrill has killed before. Many times, in fact. We all have.'
The silence that falls between them then is weighted by too much history, too much violence that Jackie can only imagine in blurred, naive outline. Felassan must have killed as well, she thinks; he fought alongside Solas in the first war. She wonders suddenly if she too will have blood on her hands before this is all over. She wonders what the first death will cost her, and who she will be by the time it is done.
But then Felassan clears his throat. 'That only gets you onto the island. Is this the part where you suddenly inform us that you intend to leave the two of us behind in Minrathous?'
Solas' brow wrinkles. 'I - no. In fact, my suggestion is that Jackie and I should represent ourselves as a married couple. When they summon me to the island I will insist that my wife should be allowed to accompany me, and I believe that they will be willing to accommodate such a request.'
Jackie's eyebrows rise. 'I would not usually entertain a marriage proposal quite so soon after making a gentleman's acquaintance. But I suppose it has been a rather eventful couple of weeks.'
Solas makes a face at her, but Felassan is frowning. 'And what about me?'
Solas hesitates. 'Well - I can attempt to ask that my friend should also be allowed to accompany me - '
'They're not going to agree to that,' Felassan says dismissively. 'Just a friend. They won't see why that matters.'
The crack in his voice is not quite well enough disguised. Solas and Jackie both look at him, and for a moment the air of the compartment - its clean starched edges, its polite patchouli odour - threatens to split open, trembling upon the verge of an acknowledgement that none of them is anywhere near ready for.
Solas clears his throat hastily. 'Well!' he says. 'If they decline, then the alternative is for us to have you brought to the island with Elgar'nan's new staff, much like Merrill. We can certainly create a false identity for you, though it may take a little work to determine how to get you onto a list of trusted people.'
'So what you're saying is that you plan to leave me behind in Minrathous while you figure out what comes next.'
Solas' mouth twists. 'Well - '
But Felassan is standing up. For a moment Jackie thinks he's going to lose his temper, but instead he closes his eyes for a moment, then shoves his hands into his pockets and turns away. 'No, fine, I understand. This has all happened quickly. There hasn't been much time to work it all out.'
'Fel,' Solas says, his gaze heavy as he watches his friend across the carriage. 'Truly, it would not have been my preferred solution. I will do everything I can to have you join us as soon as possible, I give you my word.'
'I know,' Felassan says heavily, his jaw tight, his face turned away. 'It's just - never mind. I'm going to the viewing car. I want to watch when we cross the river.'
'Fel - '
'It's all right,' Felassan says dully. 'Really.' Then he turns away and goes out before either of them can stop him, and the door swings shut behind him like a punctuation mark. Its crack shivers something loose, unbound and unspoken.
Jackie leans back in her chair, feeling the train's low, shivering ostinato pulsing through her very bones. 'We can't leave him on his own in Minrathous,' she says. 'Not after he came all this way.'
'It's not too late. We haven't crossed the border. He could still go back if he doesn't like it.'
'Solas,' she says, and now she turns to look at him. 'Come on.'
Solas' mouth sighs. 'Yes. But I - this is all very delicate, and I cannot perform miracles. When we meet with Merrill I will see if she has any better ideas.'
'Right,' Jackie says. She glances sideways at him, and then away. There is something else she wants to say, but she cannot quite pin down the words. She does not even know what the subject would be. Her chest feels strange, pulling back into itself like a sea anenome, closing up against the dry, cold air that pours over them from the ventilator in the roof.
It doesn't make sense for her to feel this way, she tells herself. It is not as if they are really getting married, and besides, accompanying him into such a bitter extremity is surely an act of much greater trust.
Still, the thought chafes at her. She was engaged to be married before, and it always felt like a cruel mockery of what she had imagined love might be. Perhaps she is being childish, but she doesn't want to connect Solas with that - the stilted, legalistic words that Cullen once spoke to her, the declarations that always felt like manacles.
But she reminds herself firmly that they cannot linger in the hinterlands of undefined affection any longer; early as it is, circumstances have compelled a choice. By coming with him on such a journey she has made this real, and she will have to face up to what that means.
Solas takes his glasses off, withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket to polish them and then setting them carefully beside the ash-tray. 'In any case,' he says, his voice growing firmer. 'Perhaps we could speak of other matters.'
She turns to look at him. 'Oh? And what would you like to speak of?'
'Well. Perhaps speak is not quite the word,' he says. 'I thought perhaps we could investigate how the train compares to the boat, as a location to - ah, spend time together.'
Despite her preoccupation, she can't help smiling. 'We've already done that on a train,' she points out.
His nose wrinkles. 'Well - yes. But it was rather hurried and crude.'
'I enjoyed it well enough.'
He smiles faintly. 'I'm glad to hear it. But I do believe that I can offer better.'
'I'm not sure I believe that.'
He arches an eyebrow. 'Reverse psychology will not work on me.'
'You say that, but every time I've tried it on you it has worked superbly.'
He raises an eyebrow. 'Miss Lavellan,' he says. 'I will shortly proceed to give you exactly what you so clearly want. But I want to emphasize that I am doing it because I always intended to, and not at all because of your blatant attempts at manipulation.'
'So clearly?' she says, trying to sound indignant, but unfortunately Solas' tone is making her knees feel weak and so the words come out rather more shaky than she would like. Solas smiles complacently.
He rises to his feet and crosses the room to her - but then, to her surprise, he kneels beside the chair so he is looking up into her face, and he leans in, his breath warm against her ear. 'I know there is a great deal going on,' he says in a low, resonant voice, 'but we have this journey at least to be safely together. I would like to make the most of it.'
She tries to find a reply, but to her great irritation every single word she knows seems to have fled from her mind. Solas' lips trace along the curve of her neck - merely a gossamer, butterfly touch, yet somehow the shivers run all the way down her spine. Her skin is suddenly resonant, flagrantly alive. His fingers are on the buttons at the back of her dress, moving precisely, carefully; his thumb brushes electric along her shoulderblade, almost as if by accident, but she feels the intent in it.
He looks up at her - pleased with himself, smiling, so infuriatingly gods-damned cocky. And yet his eyes don't quite match the smile. Beneath it all, swathed in soft violet, she glimpses something so very raw and wounded.
She decides that she will allow it.
***
Dinner on the train is a formal matter, so Jackie dresses accordingly, in a sleek dress of powder blue satin with a slender waist and flared hemline, together with a silver chain draped low against the cowl neckline. She dabs a little perfume on her wrists - honey and geranium - and makes a not entirely successful attempt to tame her curls, then goes out of the bathroom to find Solas waiting for her.
From the way his eyes go wide when she emerges she infers that he likes the effect. He himself is in white tie, and it cannot be denied that she rather enjoys that effect too. He steps closer to her, his hand lingering along the curve of her hip where the satin clings with a breathy, glittering static to her skin; she allows the caress for a moment, but then shakes her head at him. 'Insatiable,' she says, and then, 'Come on, let's not be late.'
They find Felassan sitting by himself at the table that has been prepared for them, a substantial affair of carved wood with a truly excessive number of curlicues tumbling from its crenellated mouldings. It is set about with dimpled leather armchairs heavy enough that they will not shift when the train turns, and the ceiling above is panelled with arched mirrors, so when Jackie looks up it is as if she is gazing at ghostly apparitions of the three of them, stretched and streaked a cool silver by the train's subtle sway.
Felassan leans back in his chair, a cigarette in his hand, sipping gin from a diamond-cut glass. He is in a suit and tie, as Solas directed, his hair caught up in a sleek shining ponytail, and he is really quite exceedingly beautiful with the smoke curling about him. In the low light and the dim reflections he seems ageless, mysterious, utterly unknowable.
Solas and Jackie join him, and a young man arrives shortly thereafter to take drink orders, so Solas is soon supplied with a whiskey and Jackie with a violet gin and tonic. She finds the carriage clouded with too many scents; a seaweed tumble of fish and fennel offering brief, disorientating hints of the ocean, along with a note of burnt sugar from the pineapple tarts being flambeed over the other side of the car. The odours ought to be appetizing, but somehow they all jar oddly against one another.
Solas clears his throat, and Jackie and Felassan both look at him. 'Yes?' Jackie says, because it is clear that this presages some kind of announcement.
'I wanted to - ' Solas takes a sip from his whiskey, as if the drink might be able to find the words for him; his stiff, frozen expression communicates quite clearly the sentiment that in all the history of Thedas nothing has ever been more difficult to utter than this.
'Yes?' Felassan says, one eyebrow rising in faint amusement.
'I am very grateful that you are here,' Solas says, the words issuing from him in a quick, graceless tumble. 'That you are both here. It is - ' He turns to gaze out the window as if there is something very fascinating to be seen there, and blinks hard, his fingers drumming restlessly along the edge of the table. 'I will never forget it.'
Jackie has an almost irresistible urge to lean over and hug him, but she desists, in recognition of the fact that he put so much effort into very carefully arranging his pocket-watch and cravat. When she glances over at Felassan's face she glimpses a naked, aching softness there - a lingering memory, perhaps, or something not quite yet a memory - but then his eyes crinkle and he laughs, almost managing to create the impression that he is not moved at all. 'Of course. We would never let you.'
Solas clears his throat again and swirls his whiskey, so the ice clinks like tumble of cold coins against the glass. There is music playing somewhere in the background, Jackie realises - a distant, purple-tinted jazz. 'Well,' he says stiffly. 'Good. That is - I simply wished to - '
'Am I interrupting?' The voice floats across the carriage, and Solas looks up, his cheeks a little pink. Then his eyes widen - and when Jackie follows his gaze, she sees why.
Dr Dorian Pavus is standing beside their table, his eyes widened in a not quite convincing pretence of innocence. He wears a suit of olive-green velvet together with a monocle that almost certainly does not serve any practical purpose, and his moustache tips are curled into fine points. He was always very careful with his presentation, Jackie recalls, but his style feels different here compared to the cruise - still elegant, still entirely self-assured, but in a less overbearing way. She wonders if perhaps his costuming when they met on the boat was always in service of distracting attention from his past as a Tevinter nobleman.
He tips his head to meet Solas' gaze with a faint smile upon his lips. 'I believe that I am the fourth member of your dining party,' he says airily, and then before anyone can protest he sits firmly down beside Felassan. 'Besides which, someone needs to save your poor friend here from having to be the third wheel - wouldn't you agree, detective?'
Felassan laughs a little too brightly, leaning so far back in his chair that the front two legs leave the ground and Jackie is briefly concerned he will topple over. 'My hero,' he says. 'I'm delighted you could join us.'
Solas, however, appears decidedly less amused. 'This is not a joke, Dr Pavus. Did you follow us from Val Royeaux?'
'Not at all. I joined the train at Montsimmard.'
'But I take it that your presence here is not a coincidence.'
Dorian smiles. 'Well, I spoke with your agent. Captain Iron Bull, I'm sure you remember. He happened to let me know that some - ah, mutual acquaintances might be passing this way.'
'And what exactly did you do to induce him to tell you that?'
Dorian's eyebrows arch. 'How graphically would you like me to describe it?'
Solas clears his throat hastily. 'I - never mind. What are you doing here, Dr Pavus?'
'As I said on the boat,' Dorian says. 'I recently became aware of some rather disturbing facts about the leadership of my homeland. I am quite as unhappy with the situation as I am sure you are, and since I presume you have a plan to address the situation, I want to make sure it succeeds.'
'I told you that I would reach out if I needed your help.'
'Yes,' Dorian murmurs. 'But with the greatest respect, detective, you do not strike me as a man who is particularly good at asking for help.'
Solas blinks at him as if mortally offended, though Jackie cannot help feeling that this is quite unreasonable, given that she has never heard a more accurate diagnosis in all her life. 'You got that right,' she says to Dorian.
Solas casts her a slightly wounded look, which she meets with a raised eyebrow. He looks away hastily.
Dorian grins with evident satisfaction. 'Well,' he says. 'In any case, I've had word - I'm sure you've heard as well. Things are getting very messy at the border - the authorities are more determined than ever to prevent anyone from crossing the Veil. But if you come with me as my guests we can simply drive across and I'll vouch for you all at the checkpoint. It could not be simpler.'
'I have means of getting across the Veil,' Solas says stiffly. 'I have traversed it many times before.'
'I have no doubt, but at a time like this it's always going to be risky. And you have enough risks ahead of you, I should imagine. Why not just skip this one?'
Jackie is watching Dr Pavus across the table; she finds him sympathetic, it has to be said, and yet there's a little nagging voice in the back of her mind that says he is a little too good to be true. 'Dr Pavus,' she says. 'I have to admit, I find myself wondering why exactly we should trust you.'
Dorian smiles. 'Well done, Miss Lavellan! That almost sounded like a sincere question. So let me answer honestly: I simply don't see what other choice you have. If I were not on your side I could betray you to your enemies at any moment.'
'Is that a threat?'
He grins broadly. 'Jacqueline! I would never presume to make threats in such esteemed company. What I mean to say is simply this: either you can trust me, or this mission has already failed, so I propose that we dispense with the preliminaries and simply assume that we can in fact trust one another.'
Solas rubs his forehead. 'You, Dr Pavus, are - '
'An ass? You would not be the first to say it, detective.'
When Jackie looks aside, she sees that Felassan is grinning. 'I like you,' he informs Dorian. 'You can stay. Ignore him, he'll come round. I for one will be quite happy to drive across the Veil rather than scrabbling through the mud.'
Solas sighs, lighting a cigarette irritably and clamping it between his lips as if it has personally offended him. 'And you will do all this for us out of the goodness of your heart,' he grinds out. 'For no recompense whatsoever.'
'The freedom of my country and the fall of the Veil will be recompense enough,' Dorian says gaily. 'Though if you'd like to throw in something a little extra, I've always wanted to see a demonstration of these elven customs I've heard so much about. Is there any dancing naked in the moonlight scheduled in the near future?'
Solas' lips twitch faintly. 'I - ah, well, I will be sure to let you know if there is.'
'How delightful.' Dorian reaches for his glass and holds it aloft. 'Well. To friends new and old.'
Jackie, Solas and Felassan exchange glances - and then, as if on some unseen signal, they raise their glasses together. The clinks of ice and the faint background of shifting fluid shimmers through the carriage, like silk whipped across a blade. Outside there is only darkness, the faint rise of the hills seeping into obscurity against the moon-stripped horizon.
Dorian smiles, sits pleasantly back. Solas looks sideways at Jackie, his mouth twisting. They have another ally, it seems; she can only hope that they will not live to regret it, if they live at all.
***
When she and Solas return to their compartment together Jackie is a little tipsy, and she might have hoped for the kind of tipsiness that brings self-assurance, but unfortunately it turns out to be only the kind that drags buried things to the surface.
She swallows the little fears down, sits at the dressing table. Gazing into the mirror, she slips the satin strap of her dress off her shoulder and considers in a detached way the way the line of the bone meets the curve of the ear. She can smell her own honeyed perfume on the air, and it seems somehow foreign to her - as if she is not truly here, not entirely within her own body.
A streak of trepidation shivers down the back of her throat, sinking roots deep into her chest. The mirror catches silver, burns cold.
'What do you suppose happens after this?' she says suddenly, the words taking even herself by surprise.
She can't see Solas' reflection, but she hears him clear his throat behind her. 'After - '
She leans in closer to the mirror as she fumbles with her earring. It's strange to see her own face in such detail; the little cracks in her lipstick, the soft, stippled texture of the pores. She feels alien to herself, unmoored. Were there good reasons for her to be here, she wonders dazedly, or is she just fleeing another inchoate terror?
'Once it's done,' she says. 'Once the Evanuris are dead and the Veil is gone.'
'I don't want to - ' She doesn't look around at him, but she hears him take a deep breath. 'We are going into great peril, Jackie. There is a good chance that we will not survive to see the end.'
'I know that, but why shouldn't we imagine?'
'Because - ' He pauses a moment, and she wonders what uncertainties linger in that pause. 'I must be prepared to make sacrifices, if it comes to that,' he says at last. 'I cannot allow visions of the future to engender hesitation.'
She puts the earring down and frowns into the mirror. She still cannot see his reflection; it is as if she speaks her terror into a cold, empty room. 'That sounds like an excuse.'
'I assure you, it is not.'
His voice is too smooth, too assured. She can never quite tell when it is real.
She removes the other earring and lays it into the soft velvet heart of her jewellery box. Then she gets to her feet and goes over to the window, as if there is something to see other than darkness out there. The night is so very black and it whispers seductively to her, beneath the train's insistent rhythm.
'Jackie?' Solas says, and for a moment she thinks his voice sounds smaller, but that may be merely her imagination.
She takes a deep breath, then another. Perhaps it was a mistake to come, she thinks. It has been such a short time. She has always been too impulsive.
But she is here now. They have not yet crossed the border, and yet she feels it in her bones: there is no turning back. One way or another she will see this journey through to its end.
'Let's go to sleep,' she says softly, and then, still without looking at him, she slips the dress off her shoulders. Not for provocation, merely in the hope of some quiet, some ease. She hears Solas' breath expelled behind her, shaky and grateful. She wonders what his eyes look like, but cannot bring herself to meet them.
Instead she simply goes into his embrace. The doubts still whisper beneath her skin but she will not allow them, not tonight. Solas holds her, and they slip beneath the covers, and the train hurtles toward the border but the night is theirs, soft sighs and warm skin and yielding lips. She is here, in his arms. She will not allow herself to imagine what is yet to come.