Chapter Text
There were elves. There were elves everywhere.
The buzz, murmur, and stomp of too many people drew Solas from his rotunda and he stopped short at the mouth of the hallway and stared, frowning at the blend of faces, both bare and bearing vallaslin. The Inquisition had a few staff that were elven, volunteers from this village or that alienage, but there were at least one hundred brand new souls packed into the hall at this moment, and who knew how many more extending out past the doors into the courtyard.
Sera pushed her way through the main doors with a grimace. When she spotted him, she beelined to stand in front of him, arms crossed. "There's at least twice as many outside. Bet this is your doing," she accused.
Solas blanched. "It is not. I am as bewildered as you are."
She scowled in distrust, then wheeled around and began to push her way through to the opposite end of the hall. Solas followed, and together they emerged through the crush into the hallway of the diplomat's office. The door was ajar. Solas pushed it open slowly while Sera marched in without pause.
Josephine paused mid-sentence and leaned to the side. "Oh — hello! I assume you have taken notice of our new… ah…"
"Volunteers?" Tahmina suggested with a small smile.
"I suppose that is more gentle than saying 'militia,' isn't it?" an elven man said.
Solas narrowed his eyes. The voice was familiar, the confident stance, the crop of dark hair —
The man turned and offered Solas and Sera a neutral smile. It took everything Solas had, every ounce of self-composure, to not step back, to not leave immediately. Gone was his armor and cloak; he wore instead simple garments, well-woven but plain, not unlike Solas himself, but his face was unmistakable. He'd gone to sleep beside that face for a time. It could not be.
"This is Felassan," Tahmina said, motioning towards him. "He's brought us an incredible number of —"
"Of what?" Sera cut in. "No one told me we're remaking Arlathan or whatever. Not what I signed up for."
There was a brief pause as they all traded glances. Solas was somewhat grateful for her attitude, as it gave him extra seconds to recover and try to figure out what was going on. How many of his failures would be rubbed in his face? How much of his work would be undone?
Sera glowered. "What? I know things."
Tahmina raised a calming hand. "No remaking anything. The Empress' forces are still recovering from the war with Gaspard, and she can't give us much just yet, so having fresh scouts, healers, warriors, smiths, everything — it'll be a big help. We'd be able to afford more rest for our people."
Sera gave a once-over of Felassan, eyes raking him savagely, looking for something to loathe about him. But he was a simple man, kind in the face, and not especially intimidating unless he was really trying to be, and all she could do was stick her tongue out.
"Not gonna lecture me about how to be a proper elf, are you?" she demanded.
Felassan frowned. "Not unless you ask me to."
"Hah!" Sera elbowed Solas so hard, he nearly tipped over. "So you still suck."
Solas sighed. How had this turned back on him again? Felassan pressed his lips together so as to not laugh, and did not comment.
"Whatever," Sera said, turning to leave. "Long as we're all just people doing our thing and working on Cory-frig-mus."
She stomped back out of the office, apparently satisfied with the conclusion. Solas was not quite so easy to placate.
"I deeply apologize," Josephine said, aghast. "Sera is a capable operative but she can be… abrasive."
"You'll get used to her," Tahmina said, less apologetic. "Probably."
Felassan chuckled. "A good army is made of all sorts, and united by a wise hand."
The Inquisitor flushed, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled despite herself. "I don't know that my hand's all that wise, but we've definitely got all sorts." She chuckled nervously and motioned to Solas. "Speaking of all sorts, this is our resident expert on Veil magic: Solas."
"Is he?" Felassan asked. He extended a hand. "A pleasure to meet you. I expect we'll have much to discuss."
Solas grasped his offered hand and they shook briefly. It was warm in Solas' cold palm: very alive, and not even a little dead. "I see by your markings that you are Dalish." Felassan had refused to allow Solas to remove his markings; at first it had been a matter of subterfuge so that he could move unnoticed among the Evanuris, and then… he wasn't sure why. "Are you a keeper?"
The man cleared his throat. "I was."
"Yet not everyone that has arrived with you is Dalish."
"Now I am called to a different path, it seems."
"That must be quite the story."
"Surely not as interesting as yours," Felassan redirected pointedly. "The Inquisitor tells me you assisted with the mark on her hand. How does an apostate manage such a thing?"
Solas' eyes flicked to Tahmina, who was frowning at them, unsure if she should interrupt to steer the conversation back on topic or not. "I have made an office in the rotunda if you wish to discuss the matter."
His smile did not reach his eyes. "Perhaps I will."
"Alright," Tahmina said slowly, looking between them. "It's nice that we've all met. I'm sure you'll find each other later."
"Perhaps Sera has a point. Surely we are not accepting an unknown militia simply because they are all elven?" Solas inquired, brows raised.
Tahmina frowned. "Since when do you and Sera — never mind." She shook her head to dismiss the concern. "It's not any different than half of Redcliffe's militia joining us, is it?" She gave Felassan another smile. "We really do need the support. Corypheus is churning out Venatori like roaches."
"Has Leliana been informed?"
"There is protocol, of course," Josephine chimed in, "but I see no reason to be unwelcoming for the moment."
"Solas," Tahmina said, "we can discuss any misgivings later. If you could close the door behind you on the way out, please?"
A very elegant way of kicking him out. The corner of Felassan's mouth rose up in a confident smirk. Cold dread made its way down Solas' spine as he looked between Tahmina and his former general. Would he have to flee? Did he have time to pack? Felassan clearly recognized him though how the man was alive was unclear. Surely he wouldn't expose Solas. Surely?
He had never been enemies with him, but Felassan had a charm and geniality that Solas himself did not; rather than exposure, perhaps something worse was in store: being replaced.
He nodded shortly and tore his gaze from Felassan's, and left to consider his next steps.