What Secrets Await

Chapter 30: Vallaslin

A shocked expression escaped his usual countenance, surprised by something Ellana said, and he looked at Maeva sharply. He said nothing while Ellana continued to talk into his ear in a hushed voice.

"Very well, Inquisitor," he said finally, looking back at Ellana with a controlled face.

Ellana smiled warmly and placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Solas."

He made his way over to Maeva and sat down next to her on the bench. She'd placed the paint and brushes on a nearby table. They regarded each other silently. She could tell he wasn't happy about his task.

Maeva couldn't stop staring at the hat he wore. It was like a metallic crown that held a nest of fabric wrapped around a central spike. It almost looked like a dessert. Adding to it, Solas's voice was forcibly flat while saying, "I'm told your disguise requires a vallaslin, and I have been appointed to its creation."

Laughter burst out and Maeva slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Solas followed her gaze and remembered that he was wearing the hat, then removed it. He looked like himself again, scowl and all.

"It's a historic helmet. This was worn by the royal footmen. Now then. The vallaslin? "

Abandoning the topic, Maeva nodded and said nothing. He sighed as he reached for the paint jar and examined the color and texture with a brush. He seemed more at ease around her than in front of Ellana or the other officiants of the Inquisition. At least, that's what she told herself was the reason for him actually expressing his discontent instead of hiding it. He didn't care what she thought of him.

"Which deity's markings would you like on your face?" he asked.

"Ghilan'nain," she replied immediately, thinking of the beautiful antler symbols that had adorned her mother's forehead and cheekbones.

"Very well. Hold still."

Maeva obeyed and shut her eyes. The tickle of the brush started at the center of her forehead and swept above her brow to one side. Similar streaks followed near it, and then more on the other side of her forehead.

In the main room next to them, the business of preparation continued, footsteps and various conversations and the rustling of clothes and travel chests.

"Do you know what is the vallaslin? " he asked quietly while he worked.

"It means blood writing. The term is one of the oldest known elvish words."

"I see you've been keeping up on your language lessons," he said with a hint of smile in his voice.

"It represents alignment with one of the elven gods," she continued, "one that the person feels the most affinity to. The vallaslin is traditionally bestowed upon reaching adulthood and being accepted as a full member and protector of the clan."

"That is one way of seeing it, I suppose," he said. The painting continued onto her cheekbones.

"Were you part of a clan, Solas?" she asked.

"No," he huffed indignantly. "You should know by now that I am not Dalish."

"But don't all elves seek to gain the vallaslin, to represent their beliefs?"

"Certainly not. The Dalish have their traditions, but not all elves are Dalish, and not all follow their order."

"Like city elves?" She remembered seeing elves in Kirkwall that did not have vallaslin but the same elves also prayed at the vhenadahl tree in the alienage.