It was day six of her new life in the Inquisition. Laisa had been given a bed in the servant's quarters, food and fresh clothing. She'd also been insulted numerous times, pushed around and otherwise outright ignored. They'd found work for her in the stables after she mentioned taking care of her clan's halla.
"I've no time for you, knife-ear!" A man had snarled at her when she'd asked after her elven friends.
"It's like an infestation of the things." His friend had said, looking at her with distaste. She wondered if they ever spoke of Lavellan in such terms. It seemed to her that everyone conveniently 'forgot' that their Inquisitor was a lowly elf.
They were right in some ways though. There were a lot of elves here, mainly as servants, but others among the soldiers and scouts and mages. Among the Dalish, she had learned to fear humans, and in this fortress, it seemed she was right.
Elven servants were insulted, and even beaten, as a daily recurrence. There were so many people, and yet she'd never felt so alone. Eagan had almost immediately been sucked back into work, with old friends. He was home. Malika spent most of her time with Varric, and together they spoke of plans to return to Kirkwall.
Laisa was forgotten, just another elf. It felt like a prison, but she had nowhere else to go. She missed the sound of her own language fluttering on the breeze, the feel of the earth beneath her feet, the presence of nature, in this place of stone and iron. The only place she found any peace was in the garden.
Even that was surrounded by stone: set in the centre of shadowy cloisters. Nevertheless, it had a sense of serenity missing in the rest of Skyhold, with a bandstand, various medicinal plants growing and trees gently wafting in the breeze. At least she could smell the flowers. It was pleasant to get away from the stench of sweat and dung, to brush the straw from her clothes. Escaping the sound of clashing swords, and shouting men was wonderful.
She sat alone, while people whizzed about her, trying not to succumb to tears. She missed her old life, within a clan, where she lived with elves, and understood customs, and was treated like an equal.
"Laisa?" A voice called out. It was raw with hope and fear. She raised her head to see Arana staring across the garden at her. No words could describe the emotion they felt as they hurtled into each other's arms, clinging tightly to one another. "How?" Arana kept saying, "How?" Laisa told her story, sitting side by side, arms linked. "Nanin isn't going to believe it!" Arana laughed, "We were sure you were dead. He hates it here." She admitted, "But it's all we have. And I enjoy the company of the other mages. I live in comfort here."
They found Nanin in the tavern. He had joined the scouts and was enjoying a drink in the afternoon sunlight. At the sight of Laisa, his jaw dropped and the drink slipped from his grasp in his haste to embrace her. "Da'len, I cannot believe it!" He seemed as if it he would cry.
Together the three of them sat in the tavern, Laisa jumping nervously at the noise. She coughed at the taste of ale, preferring the glass of wine that Arana handed her, laughing. She was introduced to a few of their friends, largely other elves who were in the mages or scouts.
That evening, they took her on their own tour of the castle. Arana seemed happier than Laisa had seen her in a long time. The Mages' quarters were luxurious, and it was clear her friend enjoyed the company of those like her, the magic, the books and research.
Nanin was more reserved. He had never approved of the elven leader of such an organisation, and his thoughts on how elves were treated here mirrored Laisa's own. They told her, standing together staring at the view of the mountains that, if anyone bothered her, she was to come to them immediately.
Other elves tended to avoid her. The Dalish were feared by many, and misunderstood. Among elves in the alienages, there were many who believed their Dalish brethren were a wandering myth. Laisa, quiet and tattooed, was an oddity to them.
She wasn't so lucky with the humans either. The stable workers saw her toiling hard and left her alone with the horses, but a serving boy persisted in pestering her until she threatened to put a dagger through his eye...and almost went through with it.
Almost six weeks had passed since her arrival, and she was tired. Her muscles ached constantly, and the loneliness was becoming too much to bear. She was heading towards the tavern, when she crossed the path of a group of Orlesian nobles. A man in particularly luxurious silks and velvet reached out and pulled her aside, his hand pawing at her while he laughed. "Knife-eared whores are everywhere!" He told his friends, who chuckled along with him. "Pretty little rabbits."
"Let go of me. Fen'Harel ma halam!" She snapped angrily, slapping his hand away, and instantly regretting it. He was a noble, and she was elven vermin. The threat had flown from her lips without thinking, and though he didn't understand the language, he understood the threat.
"Little bitch." He growled, slapping her hard about the face, the impact like a whip crack. His foot tripped her and she landed face down on the stony ground, the air knocked from her lungs abruptly.
He simply stepped over her then, feigning a laugh beneath his beautiful mask, and his friends followed suit, ascending the staircase to the throne room. She could see Commander Cullen waiting at the top, his face like thunder, but he said nothing, and the nobles disappeared.
Everyone was looking and yet for what seemed the longest time, no one came to help. Finally a gruff male voice said, "Need a hand, kid?" Varric helped pull her up. Her cheek felt puffy, bruised, where the man had hit it, and she'd skinned her elbow in the fall. It oozed a little blood. "I saw him hassling you from the battlements. Couldn't get here before it was over. Bloody Orlesians..."
"Is she okay?" Malika asked, elbowing a Qunari out of the way. It had been some time since Laisa had seen her friend. "They think they can do whatever they want and get away with it."
"Was I supposed to just let him get away with it?" She asked them, shivering as they led her to Malika's quarters. "I need to get back to work." She shook her head.
"He has to get away with it, or the Inquisition loses him as a friend. Curly knows that." Varric said, referring to Cullen. "So they'll sweep it under the rug; maybe give you some meagre payment if you speak up. It's the same everywhere."
"He's Lord Joffrey of Val Royeaux." Malika said. "I'm not letting him get away with it, I promise you that."
"Malika, we're leaving in two days." Varric pointed out.
"You're leaving?" Laisa felt like she'd been punched all over again.
"Varric and I are both returning to Kirkwall." Malika seemed suddenly sheepish. "We have lives there still, and things are settling down again. But there's still time for that Lord to get what he deserves, trust me." She glared at Varric.
"I'll see what I can do." He rolled his eyes. That day Lord Joffrey left the feast at Skyhold he had attended, drunker than expected, and had mysteriously fallen into a ruined part of the castle, where he spent the best part of twelve hours howling before being discovered.
It made Laisa feel a grim sense of satisfaction. She just wondered. They'd gotten revenge without anyone knowing the noble's unfortunate circumstances even were an act of revenge. It meant that nothing would change. No one cared about the plight of the elves. They were disposable.
Three days after Malika and Varric had gone, she discovered Solas's room. It was just off the throne room, a rounded solar that was usually kept locked, despite the many bridges and staircases coming from. There was a platform raised high and a desk. But what were most striking were the paintings that covered the walls. They were frescos, in an ancient style she'd only ever seen in elven ruins.
It was only slowly that she came to realise the frescos were events that had occurred to the Inquisition. The final painting, however, was unfinished. It depicted a dead dragon with a sword plunged into its back by the wolf standing over it. Another wolf, she thought bemusedly. The creatures seemed to stalk the edge of her dreams these days. She wondered why it was unfinished, and why this room always seemed to be sealed.
"What are you doing in here?" An imperious voice demanded. Laisa turned to find Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan herself standing there, hands on hips.
"I'm sorry." Laisa apologised. She couldn't bring herself to address someone who should be lethallan as 'my lady'. "The door was left open and so I thought I would look."
"So you didn't know that this was Solas's room?" Lavellan asked sceptically. "I remember you, lethallan: you're the elf whose life he saved."
"This was his?" Laisa asked them in amazement. "He painted them?"
"Yes." The Inquisitor took a seat, gesturing for the younger elf to join her. "I never understood the final painting. Is the wolf me, or the Inquisition? Or someone else entirely?" She sighed. "What was your name again?"
"Laisa."
"I miss him, Laisa. He was my friend, and trusted adviser from the start. He was wise, and always had my back in a battle. Now I wonder what he wanted."
"He seemed honourable to me, but so sad. He seemed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He wasn't going to help us, you know. He planned to watch and leave us all to die."
"Why didn't he?"
"I don't know." She shrugged "He was so kind to me."