Chapter Text
Arden opened her eyes and was assaulted by sunlight and every possible shade of green. She sat up with a groan. Why was she outside? Why had she been asleep outside when she had a perfectly climate controlled apartment that she paid obscene rent on? The forest was all well and good for a visit but sleeping there was a bit much, in her opinion.
She rolled slightly and felt something hard against her side. Glancing down, she saw she had a fucking dagger on each hip, and some kind of leather belt, tunic, and tight pants combination right out of the Renn Faire. Well, this actually looked a lot more carefully constructed and period accurate than those. She looked at the tunic's side seam; it was back-stitched, indicating hand-sewing. It wasn’t serged either, it was turn and felled, which seemed like a lot of work for something this simple. Serging was faster and easier, and most libraries had sewing and serging machines you could use, or at least hers did. That was...weird.
Her body looked pretty normal. That was still odd. This had to be a dream, right? She usually dreamed in third person. But would she know it was a dream then? She lifted the tunic and looked at her skin. There were still surgical scars and some chunk, and when she poked she felt the same hard muscular under layer as normal. In dreams she usually had a very different body, was frequently a different person entirely. A braid slipped over her shoulder. Long hair? Her hair was in a pixie in real life. She never dreamed of herself with long hair. Well, not her actual self. Whatever. Not a dream then, or a shitty one.
A quick look around her showed her a bow and quiver and a backpack of some kind. She had a pouch on her belt, but it had some kind of dried goods and powder sachets in it, not money.
Arden concentrated. Where had she been right before this? She didn't quite remember, so she started with this morning. It was...Tuesday. She had gotten up and dressed, and headed to her job at a non-profit. As usual, she had waited until the last second to get out of bed; her job was stressful and paid like shit. She had grown increasingly frustrated with scrambling from fire to fire, helping buy people a few months or a year before the fire came back. The systemic issues that caused the fires in the first place didn't go away so-
No, she needed to focus. She had gotten in her car and drove to work. Traffic was light as usual. She remembered getting on the last stretch of highway, because she had considered stopping to get a snack, and there'd been a loud noise.
Oh, shit. She'd been in a car wreck. She remembered the semi truck crossing the median, the sound of the tearing metal as the steel cables failed to stop it. She had tried to get out of the way but it had come right at her.
And now she was in a forest.
She cleared her mind and tried to think. A car wreck, and now a forest, clearly in a different time period, or at least near some extremely dedicated LARP-ers. How was that possible?
There were a few things she could think of. First, she was hallucinating while her synapses sparked their last connections. This was similar to some near death experiences stories, with the transportation to another place. In that vein, she could be in a coma or something. She really had no idea what people experienced during comas; that didn't seem a popular a topic as the near death stuff. Fewer people probably reported seeing angels or demons during comas; not really the clickbait places wanted.
Second, she actually was dead and she was in an afterlife or had been reincarnated. This seemed somewhat unlikely for two reasons. One, she appeared to be in an adult body, and generally reincarnation seemed to happen with babies. It would kind of fuck up the whole system if you just got shoved in an adult form. Two, the afterlife probably wasn't a Renn Faire? This was neither torture for her, nor was it ideal. She supposed it could be purgatory. But, ultimately, Arden was at best agnostic, and naturally skeptical of the afterlife to begin with. She supposed she should still consider it, though.
Third, this was some kind of alternate dimension or temporal displacement or some shit she wasn't smart enough to understand. That seemed extremely unlikely also, given that there wasn't, to her knowledge, any working theories on alternate reality travel. There were theories about alternate realities, and quantum physics had some pretty wild stuff, like the electrons that behaved differently when watched than not watched, but she just didn't have any grasp on that stuff. It wasn't her wheelhouse. She decided to call the third option "weird unexplainable shit."
She reached for other explanations but most sort of fell under the same three categories: hallucination/brain malfunction, supernatural/religious crap, or sci-fi level stuff. For now, she’d assume the first option the most likely, but wouldn’t rule out others.
She got up and pulled the bow and quiver up to put on her shoulder, but decided to unstring the bow for now, since she had daggers and frankly had never gotten very good with a bow when she'd tried them as a kid. She bent the recurve against the tree and popped off the bowstring. Better to keep it unstrung so it stayed right, especially if it might rain; that she did remember. She tucked the bow into a strap on the quiver and the string into the pack. They sat nicely on her shoulders despite the extra bulk of a cloak. Finally she put her backpack on the other shoulder. That would work.
The sun was up, and was roughly a quarter of the way to its peak. Morning, then, or it would be getting darker instead of brighter. Now she needed to decide what to do.
If this was a hallucination or a fever dream, which seemed fairly likely given that she'd woken up with supplies, then she supposed she should make the most of it. She had weapons and what looked like food; she was in a forest that probably had animals. A pause, and she noticed the sounds of birds. Good. Perhaps she should see if anyone needed help?
Arden wanted to help. She' been trying for years to help people through the legal system. At first, she had believed with the right representation, even people that weren’t intended to be served by the law could benefit from it, and sometimes they could. Most of the time, though, it was useless. The client was still evicted, the person went back to their abuser, they got behind on their mortgage again, there was nothing that could be done about their lemon car. It was a Sisyphean task that only got more exhausting. She had been looking for work that would have a more systemic or communal impact but hadn't found anything yet.
And now, she was dying or possibly already dead.
That made her angry. Pissed off, honestly. She'd tried so hard to do better, to be better, and it had gotten her nowhere. She'd barely helped anyone, it felt like, in the seven straight years she'd been practicing law. There was always another issue, another case, a never ending production line of problems that could only be solved through things she couldn't do, like pass out money or provide cleaner air and water.
Well, she was all but dead anyway at this point. She might as well see if she could help someone here in a more direct way. It didn't even matter if it was real or not at this point; on the distant chance it was, she was going to something. What were they gonna do, fire her?
Maybe she could kill a mountain lion or manage to catch some food for someone or something and save people for real. Did this place even have mountain lions? Fuck if she knew, but whatever they had would be dead if she stabbed it enough with the daggers. Probably.
She set her jaw and headed in the direction of the rising sun. Arden was going to do something helpful, goddamnit, even if she had to move furniture or find someone's lost cow or fix a fence. At least then she could die feeling fucking useful for once. With determination, she began her trek. She was reminded of the tarot cards she played with sometimes. She may not be religious, but she did enjoy folklore and the occasional bout of mysticism and woo-woo crap. Tarot had been a fun, fairly modern combination of both. The Fool, setting out on her journey, unplanned and without knowledge, but she decided it didn't matter. Everyone had to start somewhere.
Maybe two hours or so of picking through dense forest later, she was less enthused about her task. Was her mind just procedurally generating forest? Was this actually hell? God, camping for eternity did sound pretty fucking awful.
As she was considering just laying down and giving up, Arden saw a bit of a clearing. A man was struggling to walk, and gray forms were moving in the trees. Shit. Well, she wanted to help. Guess it was time.
Solas was weak, weaker than he could ever remember being. He could walk, but it was slow going, and his magic was a pathetic puff of air when it used to be a maelstrom. He had been a fool to leave his camp, but his agents did not respond to his calls in the Fade, weak at they were, and he needed some kind of sustenance now that he was back in a physical body. He had found nothing obvious in the rocky area immediately around his camp close to the ruins, and so ventured further into the surrounding woods.
And now, he felt the wolves circling.
Ironic, he thought, that the great Dread Wolf would be killed by literal wolves, or perhaps poetic. He did not know, could not think in his current weakened state, and he did not care. His only thought was to keep moving and to get back to the fire. Perhaps the camp fire would scare them away, or at least give them pause. But he had to get there first, and that posed the greatest problem. He scowled at his body, angry that it had fared so poorly in Uthenara. Even his abilities in the Fade had suffered, likely due to the Veil's separation and the lack of magic-boosting wards to assist in travel.
A crashing in the woods followed by a canine yelp of pain and distress drew his attention sharply. A wolf collapsed at the edge of the tree-line, a flash of metal and skin in the leaves. Solas heard a growl to his other side as a wolf lunged at him. He held up his staff and began to draw on what little magic he could when another form rammed into the wolf mid-lunge, a distinctly humanoid cry of triumph coming from the shape as he saw another glint of metal appear and blood burst forth from the wolf. Solas felt dizzy and disoriented as a...bipedal creature grinned up at him, covered in blood, before standing and turning to the woods. They held out their arms, making themselves look larger.
"Not so easy anymore!" they called, "Now get! Go!"
For a moment, Solas almost felt as though the remaining wolves truly understood the words. He shook his head; no, that was foolish. The wolves had merely seen the prey was no longer worth the sacrifice. The person, he looked again and thought perhaps it was an elf, but it was hard to say, turned to him. Their voice was strange, their words fast and oddly accented.
"Are you alright? You look ill. I'm sorry, I'd hoped to just scare them away, but those two began to lunge for you. I hate to kill them." They looked at the wolf at their feet. "It smells....wrong."
"A blight wolf," he said carefully, " Avoid the blood; it has the taint."
The elf, he decided finally, though their ears barely peaked out from under their hair, frowned, and then wiped their hands and face as best they could on the hem of their tunic. He was still unsure of their gender. Their clothing was nondescript, a cloak, tunic, and breeches suitable for any traveler, and their voice, while higher pitched, had a cadence he associated with men, or perhaps merely confidence and command. They were quite tall, as tall as he, which was odd for the so-called 'elves' of today. It mattered little to him; they were a potential threat regardless.
"Well, that'll have to do for now. If it doesn't, I guess I'll die." They laughed cheerfully, and Solas wondered if they had understood his words. Their accent was strange and their syntax a touch confusing. He felt himself swaying against his staff, and he gripped it with his other hand as well. They saw the movement and their face changed. They looked...concerned. They moved towards him quickly and he felt himself pull away on reflex. They stopped.
"You're clearly in bad shape; let me help you. Do you have a home or a camp nearby?"
Solas regarded them warily. He did not trust this person, but he did not have much choice.
"My camp is over the ridge." He pointed. Again there was a slight lag in their response, as if they took a moment to understand his words. Then they nodded, and put a hand around his waist, and his arm over their shoulder. His vision was blurring.
"Come on, lean on me, I can take it. You don't need to be afraid; I'm not going to hurt you." Their voice was softer now, and a bit slower. It had a caring, almost motherly sound. Solas had no choice but to use their support. Against their body, he felt the general form he associated with women, and she was quite strong. He was somewhat surprised by this, though perhaps he was misjudging her strength in his pathetic condition. When they reached his camp, nestled in a shallow indentation in the rocks that could barely be called a cave, she laid him down gently on his bedroll. She produced a pouch from her side and handed it to him.
"I, uh...don't know what all this is, but if you recognize anything in it as food or medicine, please take it."
Solas looked at her, completely confused. He picked up the pouch and saw there were strips of dried fruit and meat in it, as well as elfroot powder. How could she not know what this was? Did she steal the pouch? Had he been saved by some kind of mentally unbalanced thief?
"There appear to be both," he said carefully, pulling out some of the food. The woman looked relieved.
"Wonderful, so I actually can help." She pulled a piece of food from the pouch and took a bite, and Solas nodded and began to eat. Either the food was safe or they would both die.
The woman looked at the fire and then at the surrounding woods before getting up and gathering small branches from the ground, adding a few and setting the others in a pile well away from the fire. Solas's eyes followed her. She must have felt his gaze because she smiled at him.
"For later. You really, really don’t look so good. Pale and clammy, though I suppose you could just...look like that? God, I’m going to feel like such an asshole if you just, you know, look like shit all the time. Anyway, my point is, better to avoid expending energy when you can, yeah?"
Solas frowned. Who was this woman? It was too fortuitous that someone would arrive exactly when he needed it. He did not trust coincidence. Was she an agent of his enemies? But how would they know he had woken? How would they know where he had slept? Why would she be so...odd? Surely they knew this would raise his suspicion. He watched her carefully, noticing she lacked the disgusting slave markings he saw on the Dalish. A city-raised elf, then, or an escaped slave? An escaped slave would explain her odd mannerisms, possibly. But she lacked the fearful appearance he expected from both.
"Why did you assist me? What brings you to the woods? You do not appear to be a hunter."
She tilted her head, suddenly looking far more like an owl than any elf had a right to with her large, dark eyes and aquiline nose, her curious face held at an angle.
"Because you needed help, obviously. Or you appeared to, unless your show of exhaustion and general appearance are just a cunning ruse to trap helpful travelers." She grinned.
Solas was taken aback. She clearly had no fear of him, just as she had no fear of the wolves. Well, he reminded himself, he hardly looked like Fen’harel at the moment. He looked like a pathetic elf who could barely walk. The dark-haired woman got up and began to set down her things, looking through her pack as if she was unsure what she would find.
"I...see. You must be an experienced fighter." Perhaps Solas could get information on her background. The woman laughed without looking up.
"Nope! First time I've stabbed something in my whole life." She did not seem to be lying, or if she was, she was extremely skilled. The woman studied him again, reaching out, then pausing. "You're clearly unwell, may I feel your face for fever? Or if you want, will you tell me if you feel hot or have chills, or if you’re injured? If so, I’ll do what I can."
"I am merely exhausted," he replied curtly, still mistrustful of the stranger. She shrugged, unoffended by his suspicions.
"Well, I suppose I wouldn't trust a stranger in the woods either." She paused, then withdrew a dagger, extending it to him hilt-first. "Here, friend, now we'll be on even ground. More than even, since your stave has better reach."
Solas observed her carefully. Was this an attempt to put him at ease so he could be killed more easily. Was she an agent of the Evanuris? Or was she merely a fool? Perhaps he appeared to be in worse condition than he initially believed. He took the dagger regardless. She smiled at him, clearly pleased that he chose to arm himself against her, and Solas decided she was either an adept spy or a simpleton. The Veil had shortened the lives of elves and taken their magic; had it also taken their minds? Perhaps some of them.
"If you're alright for now, I'll let you rest. Is there a stream nearby where I could wash?" she asked.
Solas nodded, and pointed in the general direction of the water he’d seen in the Fade. He had not yet seen it himself, but he cared little if the woman got lost on her way. One less complication to deal with.
"In that direction, perhaps a quarter hour's walk, there is a stream. The water is cold, from snow melt, but clear and clean." This was all true of the memories he saw in the Fade. There was no need to clarify. She stood up, happy to trust. Had she already scouted the area? Was this a trick?
"Excellent, I'll head that way. Do you have a water skin that needs refilling?"
Solas hesitated. He was low on water, and he was so very tired. He would sleep soon regardless, and she could steal what she wanted while he did, or simply kill him. With a sigh, he nodded and acquiesced on the chance that she was genuine.
"Yes, thank you." He handed her the water skin, and looked at her. "May I ask your name?"
"Sure thing, name's Arden. What about you?"
Solas considered this. There was no reason to lie; she knew his name already or it would have no meaning.
"You may call me Solas."
Again she smiled. Solas noticed that it was not so much that she stopped smiling in-between these gestures, but that her smile reached her eyes and grew. After, her face resumed a mask of pleasantness that, while pleasing to view, was clearly practiced.
"Well, Solas, please rest. I'll return within the hour, presumably."
Solas nodded at her, and laid his head back. He was dizzy, and the nodding made it worse. He watched Arden walk away, willing himself to stay conscious long enough for her to leave his sight. Then he laid down and passed out.
Arden studied Solas, who was sleeping deeply. He looked troubled and pained even in his sleep, and he had slept for some time from what she could tell. The sun had been maybe midway to noon when she'd left him to look for the stream, and was now half past its zenith. She'd had time to experiment with her bow (it was easy enough to pull but her aim remained poor, as it had in her real life), as well as to examine what was in her pack. It appeared to be the basics: some more herbs that appeared medicinal, dried foods, bandages, clothing, a sewing kit, what looked like sharpening tools. The odder things were a book on various herbs and mushrooms, one on the history of "Thedas," and another on magic and "The Fade." Arden was relatively certain she had heard that term "Fade" before to describe a dream world or alternate plane, and that seemed to be the case here as well. This more firmly convinced her she was merely creating a fantasy as she lay dying or comatose in a hospital; having what looked like fucking lore books was way too convenient. The afterlife was, she supposed, also possible, but she still was reluctant to consider that. She thought the whole religion thing was a bunch of bullshit, and she'd never heard of an afterlife where you got to join some high fantasy shit. And she'd heard of a lot of afterlifes.
Though, she had to admit, her mind had created a beautiful setting in its compromised condition. The forest appeared to be old growth, and someone tended to its undergrowth at least somewhat. Scorch marks indicated controlled burns, she thought, given that there were few burned out trees. She wondered if there were traveling peoples or Indigenous groups in the woods. So far, she'd seen none, but the burns weren't recent from what she could tell. Lichen of some kind grew over portions. But the burns indicated there were other people in the area, tending and cultivating the forest. That was good news; chances were that there were edible plants nearby.
She'd seen a few small animals that looked like fennec foxes, and rabbits as well. Birds were plentiful from the light songs that saturated the air, but Arden struggled to make any out in the foliage. The stream Solas had mentioned was indeed cool and clear, and she saw the occasional fish in it. She wondered if she might be able to catch one with her hands. Hopefully there was something akin to catfish in the river. In the real world, catfish'd been relatively easy to grasp by the mouth if food was thrown to them (What was the called? Noodling?). They were semi-domesticated though, living in ponds near suburban sprawl and in city parks. There was as good a chance that the catfish here were of the Wells or Mekong variety; aggressive monsters who could swallow a toddler whole at their largest size. With that oh-so-comforting thought, she'd carefully cleaned herself and her blood smeared cloak and tunic in the water, watching the pink tint flow downstream.
Her mind had immediately begun to panic. Wait, fuck, would that dilute the poison enough? Did people boil their water? Should I boil this water before giving it to Solas? There're fish in it, who knows if it's clean enough. But we don't have a kettle...Well, shit. Too late now.
The impromptu laundering had left her in tightly knit pants and a thin undershirt, but the day was warm enough for it not to matter.
She'd noticed suddenly that she was not wearing shoes, but footwraps, though they did cover most of the skin. Examining her feet, Arden had seen that they had thick calluses. An odd, short laugh escaped her mouth; she had similar feet when she was a child, walking over gravel and pavement barefoot while playing. She'd never really liked wearing shoes anyway.
The book on foraging had helped her find some edible mushrooms and berries, but now that she was back at camp with him, she decided to double check with Solas before she fed him anything. She'd hate to kill the man with a fucked up mushroom after saving his life. She decided to give him some of her supplies, since it was unlikely she'd need them herself, and what she'd found, if he seemed steady enough to go his own way once he was awake. If not, she'd help him to his destination. Another Fool on a journey, it seemed.
She was curious about his stave. After flipping through the book on magic, she strongly suspected it was a mage's staff. Now back at the camp, she studied the stick, because it truly just looked like a stick with some minor carvings, and wondered how the hell it worked. He hadn’t used magic that she could tell when the wolves attacked, and he clearly hadn’t healed himself, or if he had, he was paying for the energy use. Was the stave a focus for the magic, or did it have magic in it itself? Did it really matter? Maybe she would ask if Solas seemed less wary when he woke.
Arden wasn't sure exactly what to do with the mage information, though. On one hand, the book said he was supposed to be in a Circle because he would attract demons in his sleep. On the other hand, that kind of sounded like bullshit, and this wasn't real anyway, probably. The concept of a second class of citizens held in what seemed to be a combination of boarding school and prison seemed... bad, to say the least. She wondered how many were killed from neglect and abuse, or how many lived with horrific memories and trauma.
She was surprised by the depth of the history in the book she had on it. Arden never thought herself terribly creative; even in her more "creative" endeavors she was usually just copying or borrowing source material, not doing anything new or inventive. She was a talented mimic, but not a real artist. Point in the non-coma options, she supposed.
Fidgeting with a loose thread on her undershirt, she looked at where her tunic and cloak were drying. Why couldn't her mind have created a world with a washer and dryer? It didn't matter to her that there was tainted blood all over her clothing but she'd hate to make Solas sick, even if he wasn't real in the strictest sense. That never stopped her from doing what was right before; she couldn't even choose the rude dialogue in a video game without feeling guilty. She had stopped playing them because in the midst of exploring some post-apocalyptic wasteland (it seemed like every game that was recommended to her was a post-apocalyptic wasteland, or zombies, or both), she'd be struck by how every corpse represented a unique life that was destroyed. It really ruined the fun.
Solas stirred and began to mutter in a language Arden didn't understand. She wondered if it was the elves' language, and then wondered what her mind was drawing from. Maybe it was merely gibberish, or maybe she remembered more of her childhood reading than she thought. Oh, maybe it was French? Or Spanish? Shit, it could be German. She'd taken a bit of everything. Probably just a Frankenstein of all of them.
His brow creased. Arden reached out and put a hand on his forehead, before moving it to his cheek. He was a bit too warm, but maybe that was normal for elves? With her touch, his eyes shot open, and his hand grasped her wrist, quickly but weakly.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, or tried to. His tone hinted at someone used to command or deference, but the fatigue and hoarseness betrayed his poor state.
"You were muttering in your sleep and looked pained. I couldn't understand what you said, so I checked your temperature. You feel warmer than I'd like." Arden pulled some bandage length out of her bag and wet it with some of her own water, before placing the cool, damp cloth on Solas's forehead. "That will help. Do you feel well enough to eat a bit more? I'm pretty sure I found some stuff that's edible."
Solas looked at her and spoke after a long pause, but didn't remove the cloth. Well, that was a good sign.
"But you are not certain." He stated this slowly, as if processing the words on a delay. Had he hit his head? Well, his eyes weren't dilated and there was no blood dried at his ears, but that wasn't dispositive.
"I'm certain they're edible, but the question is whether they're edible more than once." Arden saw the slightest quirk of Solas's lips in response. "I'm not terribly familiar with the area, hence the book." She held up the guide. "I found these," the book was replaced by a berry and a mushroom, "which I believe're fine. Thought I'd ask you first."
Again she saw Solas hesitate. He was clearly trying to hide his reaction but a flicker of confusion and perhaps fear still caught her eye.
"Herbalism is not my area of expertise." He again spoke slowly. Arden shrugged.
"Well it was worth a shot. If I die, please take my stuff." She popped a berry in her mouth. Solas did not hide his shock well. "I told you, I'm pretty sure these are fine, but I was hardly going to feed a sick man, traveling alone in the woods, a plant I wasn't completely sure of. Now we'll know. If I'm still alive in half an hour, good news on the berries, and I'll eat the mushroom." She pulled the dried fruit and meat from her pack. "For now though, just eat this."
Solas appeared to want to refuse or protest. She sighed.
"Look, dude, you're clearly in bad shape. You can either take a risk and trust me and/or use me to increase your chance of survival, or I can sit here and watch you get even worse because you won't fucking eat." She couldn't blame him for being cautious; she would do the same in his shoes. Still annoying as hell, though, since she actually did just want to help.
He looked at her cautiously. "I cannot decide if you are genuine and foolish, or remarkably cunning."
"Well, if I was that cunning, I would've let the wolves have you, wouldn't I? You're weakened, and frankly it... Doesn't seem like you have much worth stealing even if I were so inclined. And you aren’t exactly dressed like someone who would be worth a ransom, no offense."
He let out a harsh laugh.
"You have assessed the situation correctly, it seems." His tone had a bitter edge to it. Arden wondered if he had once been wealthy or powerful. Clear, unmarred skin, and what appeared to be healthy teeth and conformity from what she'd seen indicated at least something above the "wandering hobo" vibe he currently gave off. Maybe less the Fool than she thought.
"So I'm not sure what else I'd do other than be genuine and foolish, as you say. Seems to be working out well enough for all involved. I mean, neither of us are dead." Arden watched his face carefully. "How're you feeling?"
"Somewhat better. I thank you again for your help." Solas started to get up, and Arden placed hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. It didn't require much pressure. He scowled and sat up again, and Arden didn't stop him this time.
"Not better enough," se said, and the Elvhen man let out a short snort of displeasure. Arden rolled her eyes. Men were the same everywhere. "I have no idea what you're doing out here in this condition but whatever your destination or goal, it'll fucking wait."
Solas's face was stone. "It has waited long enough." His tone was harsh and determined. Arden felt a chill at his change in demeanor; who was this person? He wasn't just a simple traveler; his demeanor said he had a singular purpose, a goal he'd fulfill or die trying. That wasn't exactly the kind of thing a forest hermit or casual wanderer would have.
"You can wait now or you can wear yourself down even worse and wait later. A day's nothing. Tomorrow I'll go with you to wherever you're headed if it’s truly that time-sensitive, but I would prefer not to carry you there." There was no way Arden was leaving this man in his current condition; he would be killed or die from exhaustion. It would be like leaving a puppy in a snowstorm. Sure, one day it might be a wolf or something, able to survive, kill, or she supposed it could be a Saint Bernard and save you from an avalanche, but right now it wasn’t in any shape to be out there.
He clearly disagreed with her, and was about to say something else, when Arden stopped him. "Solas, I'm not leaving you to die or get maimed. I don't know you or why you're out here, but I wouldn't leave anyone in your condition. Stop being a stubborn ass and accept the help."
He bristled at this. Arden wondered exactly what had driven him here, and if he was more dangerous than he seemed or just didn't like being called an ass. She supposed it didn't matter; this wasn't real, and she would die one way or another, sooner or later. He could just be grumpy about it all if he really wanted.
"And what if I am a murderer, a monster? Would you waste your time and your life helping such a man survive?" Solas looked bitter and angry, spitting out the words like a curse. Regardless of what he'd actually done and what he might say, part of Solas saw himself as both those things: Murderer, monster. Others had called him that, too. Arden knew that tone.
She considered this. Murder wasn't automatically the sign of an inherently evil person. She'd met all kinds of people in her work, including a couple convicted murderers. Well, she supposed they were convicted manslaughterers, but they had killed someone and they thought of it as murder in the ethical sense. They regretted the deaths, and they hadn't murdered again. She'd also met enough soldiers and police who didn't consider themselves murderers or killers despite clear evidence that they were; those were more dangerous, in her estimation. The ones that acknowledged what they'd done, that hated it, they were the ones that wouldn't do it again unless forced.
As for monsters, it was rare that a truly terrible person acknowledged how terrible they were, even to themselves. Certainly some did, but for now, Solas was too weak to do anything but bark. She'd have a better idea of who and what he really was before he could bite. And, shit, a couple times she’d helped convicted sex offenders avoid eviction. Better than them living somewhere with a bunch of kids around, or being homeless and desperate. She spoke slowly, but with certainty.
"If you're really a murderer and a monster, then by letting you die alone, I'd rob you of the chance to atone or change, and I'd rob your victims of any meaningful justice. Their families can't confront a corpse, and you'd avoid having to face them. Also, I don’t like to play god; it’s pretty fucked up to think I have some kind of special knowledge that makes it okay for me to pick who lives and who dies. Better to keep everyone alive, if I can, since death is a bit of a one way street."
Solas's expression changed while she talked. She couldn't place the emotion; perhaps there were too many at once, but it did look less angry. The birds continued to sing in the background as Solas averted his eyes, sitting in silence. She continued.
"As for me, well no worries there. We all die sooner or later.” Probably sooner, in her case. There was a long pause before he spoke. His shamed face was a contrast to the bright sun, the cooling breeze, and the rustling leaves.
"Ir abelas, da'len." Arden didn't understand the words, but Solas sounded apologetic. "Your words shame me. I am grateful for your help, though I have not shown it. You show unexpected wisdom and thoughtfulness for your age. I...humbly accept your help, if you still wish to give it."
This man has clearly been alone a very long time or experienced only the worst that humanity-or whatever the equivalent term for elves was-had to offer. She had a sudden impulse to hold his hand, and went with it. Her impulses had been working well so far. He seemed less uncomfortable this time. How long had he been alone? Or, how long had touch been a dangerous thing?
Also, her age? The man was maybe 10 years older, 15 at most. Weirdo. But being a weirdo wasn't a crime.
"Of course. My help isn't conditioned on a lack of questions or concerns from you." She squeezed his hand lightly, and let it go. She noticed a brief twitch of his fingers towards hers as the touch left him, but it was quickly controlled.
"If you want, you can share any knowledge you've got with me while we travel in exchange, so you don’t feel it’s an uneven bargain. I don’t know much about, uh, anything really, to be honest with you. Pretty damn clueless, if I do say so. Plus, I love learning stuff."
The offer to learn from him seemed to spark something behind his eyes. This'd been the reaction she’d wanted, and she was pleased her idea worked. Everyone loved to share what they knew and be the expert, and this man was no different, it seemed.
She paused, "For example, I didn't understand what you said earlier. It sounded like an apology?"
Solas's face briefly seemed surprised and annoyed. He was very expressive, she realized, for someone who had not yet smiled and was clearly trying to school his features.
"You... You do not speak any Elvhen? Your elders taught you none? Do the People keep none of their culture?" Her elders taught her none? Why would humans learn-
She reached up and felt her ears. They were...not human.
"Oh shit, I'm an elf?" She blurted before she could stop herself. Well, that was fun. Another point for the dream theory; she had always thought elves were neat, at home with the forest and the animals, or tricksters akin to fairies depending on the culture. Any games that let her be an elf, like Dungeons and Dragons, she was an elf (Or a tiefling. She did like tieflings, with their cute little tails). Of course her mind would make her an elf. Seemed unlikely that the afterlife or an alternative universe would change that.
Solas brow furrowed in confusion, then he flattened his features. "You jest." Thank god, or what was it the book on the Fade said? The Maker? She didn't want to get so meta that she explained to her own hallucination that this was a hallucination.
"Yes, sorry, I suppose it wasn't that funny." She shrugged, "But no, I wasn't taught any Elvhen, or if I was I forgot it all. I was raised by humans."
Well, that was technically all true. Wait, shit, were there humans here? Seemed like yes...yes! The Fade book implied elves and dwarves were different, so hopefully the default was humans. She hoped she'd guessed right, or she hoped her mind shifted the world accordingly. Would that work? Maybe she should bring up something she was sure they didn’t have, like...googly eyes. No way they had googly eyes.
"You were a slave, then? A servant?" His voice was hard again, the anger creeping through the edges like thorned vines. Arden put her hands up.
"No! No, no, of course not. The humans, my parents, couldn't have children of their own, and I had no family to care for me. They took me in, and raised me as their own." Again, largely true."They did their best. They taught me a lot, but, as you can imagine, they couldn't teach me Elvhen."
Her parents had tried, even apologized sometimes when they had really fucked up. It was a whole lot better than most foster kids got. And they had encouraged her learning, gone on trips to museums, science centers, and national parks (partially because it was often the cheapest option. They weren't rich but it worked out) and did their best to find help on the occasions she needed it in school. Overall decent people, but clearly not able to teach her Elvhen, because it wasn't a real language.
"I have a few books with me, even." She held the three up. "I'm not sure of the...reliability of this one." She indicated the book on the Fade. "I don't have anything to compare it to for bias. But I know to look for bias, so I take everything I read with a grain of salt. And there's a history in there which, pssh, who even knows how accurate that is."
Solas took the book on the Fade from her hand, skimming it with a snort. "Bias indeed." He handed it back. "Your family sounds...very different from the humans I have met."
She nodded, "Yeah, I heard that a lot." Lucky that her story fit so nicely in. Thanks, fever dream, you've made lies of omission much easier. Definite mark in that theory’s favor. Solas looked at her.
"If you are interested in learning, I will teach you what I know of Elvhen and the Fade."
Arden knew her face lit up. It always lit up when she got to learn, even if it was all probably crap her brain was making up.
"Yes! Absolutely! Shit, this is so exciting, you have no idea."
Solas let out a tired chuckle.
"My offers to share knowledge are rarely met with such...enthusiasm."
Arden handed him the water skin.
"That's straight from the stream, but I don't have a way to boil it. The water looked clear and I didn't see a lot of fish, but there were some, and maybe oysters, so it's...probably fine?" Did dysentery exist here? Well, fuck. He had to drink something. "I drank some a while ago and don't seem to have cholera, at least. Please, drink more, and eat more. I'm even more invested in your health now."
Solas let the ghost of a smile touch his face, and took the water. Arden continued talking. She talked too much, but he didn't seem to care. Yet.
"Well, let me tell you, you're going to regret that offer soon enough. Tell me what you said earlier, repeat it please. Ear abellus da-something?"
Solas grimaced at her pronunciation, drinking from the water skin.
"Ir abelas."
"Ir abelas," she repeated, mimicking the sounds much better this time. "Ir abelas."
"Better," Solas said with approval. She preened under it. Arden craved the approval of teachers and always had. It made her a remarkable student.
"I understand it's an apology, but what's the exact translation, if that's possible?"
Solas gave an approving smile. She was asking the right questions, apparently.
"Ir means 'very' or 'great' and abelas means 'sorrow.'"
"So no subject is needed? Or is ir a version of 'very' that implies the subject?"
Solas again looked approving and impressed. Arden tried not to grin like an idiot. And they said her English degree was useless! Suck on that, STEM majors.
"An excellent question. The full phrase would be Ar ame ir abelas, meaning 'I have great sorrow,' but it is shortened. It is common to drop 'I am' or 'I have' in Elvhen, and it may be seen as more formal if you do not."
Arden nodded.
"And the other thing you said?"
"Da'len." Arden repeated it, and Solas nodded. "It means 'little child' literally, but is used with anyone younger than you."
"Da is little, and len is child?" Solas nodded. Arden frowned a bit. "Am I younger than you? I'm 33, I think. Is it rude to ask someone's age like that?"
Solas chuckled again.
"You are indeed younger than me, though I will not give you my exact age. The rudeness of the question depends on who you ask and who is asking, I believe."
"Ir abelas if I offended, uh... How would I address you? Just Solas, or is there an equivalent?"
"You learn quickly. You would use ha'hren for me, meaning elder, or respected elder. Ha means wise and hren is teacher. And you did not offend, your curiosity...amuses me." He smiled as he spoke, if only a little. It fell from his face quickly. Arden repeated the word. Solas indicated approval, but seemed to be tiring.
"Ma serannas is 'my thanks,'" he said simply. Arden took the hint.
"Ma serannas for teaching me, ha'hren."
Solas smiled again, ever so slightly, and lay down.
"It is refreshing to have an eager student."
"Well, for now we'll put the studies aside; you're clearly exhausted. Sleep more. I’m not sure what's wrong with you, but rest is helpful for most ailments.” She paused, “I'll stay awake and watch.”
She took her cloak off, and put it over him, as he grumbled a mild protest, though he didn't move. He must be utterly drained. She wondered briefly if he had something contagious; if so, she should keep him away from others. That could wait, though. Right now, Solas wasn't going anywhere.
“No grumbling. Sleep.” She smoothed the now dry cloak over him, and got up with her bow once his breathing evened out. She should probably get good with this thing if she was going to keep carrying it, or it was just dead weight. And she'd always wanted to learn in real life, so why not in this coma thing? Staying within sight of the camp and Solas, she found a tree and began practice.