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The Herald is…. curious. In both senses of the word.
They hold themself oddly, conduct themself with the manner of someone terribly out of place. Already the rumor mills swirl with how being touched by divinity must have done…something to them. It makes Solas wish to seek them out.
But they find him first.
The crunch of snow under their boots has him turning, a greeting ready on his lips before they're blurting out, “I have questions.” It's hard not to laugh at the expression they make. Staring off past him, for the Herald does not look anyone in the eye, seemingly surprised at their own words.
“And I, hopefully, have answers.”
And, gods above, they were not lying. They have question upon question. First about him, (“I mean you're an apostate working with the Chantry. But I guess I am too. Hm.. Weird.”) then about magic (“..I didn't. Before I fell uh out of? The Fade? I couldn't. Do that.”) then the Fade itself, (“Why is it. Green?”) what he's seen in the Fade, (“What's your favorite place? Is it pretty? Can you show me one day?”) the list goes on.
They ask questions as if they are starving and he is more than happy to feed them until they are satiated.
But it seems they will never be. Until the topic of spirits comes up.
Solas has to admit; he's rather delighted by their responses. The way their eyes brighten as he speaks of how it once was, could be again (he doesn't say it like that of course. it would not do to frighten them away when he still has need of them.) He also has to admit, he gets a bit more animated than he means to on the subject.
“Is Varric defined by his chest hair and not his wit? Would you define Cassandra by her cheekbones and not of her faith? Or you and your eyes-” They cut him off then, a frown marring their features as they meet his gaze for but a single instant.
That instant is all that's necessary to steal his breath away, almost making him miss their words.
“My eyes?”
“Yes. You have the most gorgeous eyes. Even in the morning light they remain so dark as to almost be black…has no one ever told you that before?”
The Herald takes remarkably to blushing. A vibrant red painted all across their cheeks and he can even see the tips of their ears start to color as their expression shifts to startled delight. “I. Uhm. Hm. N. No?”
“Ah, a shame. And yet…I have to admit I'm rather glad to be the first all the same.”
Their well of questions runs dry after that, or perhaps he's merely stolen their tongue away. Regardless he can't help the smile as they don't quite flee.
—
They seek him out many times after that. Always under the guise of seeking knowledge, which he doesn't doubt is untrue. But a part of him wonders if in part they're seeking companionship and for whatever reason have found his the easiest to acquire.
Regardless he finds himself enjoying their visits, enjoying the opportunity to impart knowledge on someone oh so willing to learn. It's also rather nice keeping them from lighting themself or anyone else on fire.
That is one of the more curious things about them. He knows the majority of mages come into their magic young and yet the Herald…apparently unlocked some latent ability only after their trip through the Fade. Some of him wonders if the anchor has anything to do with it.
Alas that is not something he knows for certain. All he knows is they pick up the necessary skills remarkably quick, throwing themself headlong into learning with a half mad desperation certainly helps matters along at least.
It's a fact he mentions offhandedly one evening. “I must admit da’len I am intrigued by your seemingly indomitable focus.”
Once more their gaze meets his for only scant seconds before wandering away again. “... indomitable focus?”
The words slip from his tongue before he can consciously think them through. “Well yes, I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be..fascinating.”
And again Solas is treated to the sight of their blush but this time, the warmth of his lodgings rendering them without a cloak, he can see it spread down to their throat. He is also treated to their wide eyed stare, as if a halla stopped in front of a cart. “I. That's. Y'know I've just remembered I have to. To something now.”
This time they most certainly flee and his laughter rings out in the now empty room.
—
The pair continue on like this for some time. While the Herald does not become any less strange they slowly talk to their other companions more, yet still always seek him out most often.
Once he asks them why, an idle curiosity that has been nagging at him. Gaze transfixed on their nails as they sway where they stand the Herald hums in thought.
It takes a long moment before they find the words. “...I like talking to you. You don't. Hm. You don't make me feel weird. Or like I'm stupid. The others.” they grimace, the briefest of expressions. “They don't do it on purpose, I know. But I am..I am a lot. It is hard to bond with someone, when they are. Off putting, like I am. Varric doesn't either but he is. Friends with many people. It is overwhelming.”
“...Whoever has told you that has done you a grave disservice.” For the second time he takes their hand, but this time not to close a rift. Merely to hold. An anchor for an anchor as it were. He can't quite parse their expression as their eyes remain locked on their intertwined hands. Something..almost sad in it. “Do not mistake me da'len, you are certainly strange.”
That expression he's come to recognize, a squint that is not quite a full blown glare, annoyed and amused all at once.
“But..there is a charm to your oddities. And I thank you for sharing them with me.” A pause as he watches the faintest blush begin to form and he can't help the further tease. Taking their hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “And for what it's worth; I find you remarkably clever.”
He's delighted to observe two things then; the red of their cheeks deepening in a way that's becoming familiar and the sharp way they breathe in. Surprise and something that might be awe writ across their face plain as day.
He makes a mental note of that response. For purely academic purposes of course.
—
The Herald, Jackal he's slowly taking to calling them, (and oh how they had smiled as they said they chose the name themself. and then preened as Solas said it suited them.) is a great many things he's learned.
The one he finds the most…endearing perhaps is the word; is the way they never seem to know what to say to people. And yet to animals they show such great tenderness he can't help but to watch them in silence.
Cassandra sent him to find them as evidently they'd spent most of the morning hiding away or bristling when forced to interact and he is, quote “the one person the Herald has attached themself to for…whatever reason.” Asking about finds him in the stables, the Inquisition has managed to requisition two horses thus far and one of them was more skittish than the other. A fact that only presented itself when it arrived to Haven.
But he watches in a quiet fascination as they smooth their hand down one broad flank, murmuring softly all the while. “Oh there we go..That's a sweet love..I know, I know new places scare me too..but you're doing so good for me sugar…can I touch your neck? No? That's okay sweet doll..you're doing so good..look at you letting me pet you still..just needed a friend huh…me too little love..”
Truth be told he's spent..very little time around horses, but the creature seems calmer the more Jackal speaks to it in that soft low voice. At least til they turn their head and startle at the sight of him, eyes gone wide and cheeks pink.
They rush to gently pat its flank once more while he rushes to apologize. “Ah- forgive me, I did not want to interrupt. But it seems I have all the same.”
There is a shyness now to the way they hold themself, face turned firmly to the horse to hide. “No it's. I uh. Just didn't see you. Did you need something Solas?”
“Oh, yes. Seeker Pentaghast sent me,” they don't quite cut off a grumble fast enough and he's sure they're glaring into the distance. “Dare I ask why we're hiding from the Seeker? Apart from the usual friction.”
They give him a sidelong glance, enough to see their cheeks are still tinged a soft pink before resting their chin on the horse's back. The beast allows it with only a brief flick of the tail. “...it's a lot. The stuff she, they all, want me to do. I. I know I need to but I'm so. Tired. All the time. The kind of tired sleep can't fix, you know?”
And oh but he knows. There are no words he can offer that will suffice but he can lay a hand to their shoulder. It makes them smile, soft and sad. “...anyways. Do you wanna say hi? I don't know his name but he's a sweetheart, just a little shy.”
In the end he does say hello to the horse and gets to watch as the Herald lights up when he bumps his nose into Solas’s palm. “He likes you. Horses are. I always think they're a good judge of character. It's good he likes you.”
“Well I am certainly glad he approves, I shudder to think of the consequences if he didn't.”
And for the first time in the months since he's known them he gets to hear their laugh, high and bright, as their shoulders scrunch up. And he.
Oh but he has made a terrible mistake.
—
He intends to put it aside. Truly he does, falling for anyone, much less a human was never part of the plan.
And yet he continues to fall. Each time they look at him soft, sweet, and yet almost melancholy at times it makes his heart ache.
It is made all the worse when Corypheus arrives. They can fight (but only barely) they throw themself into the path of a templar's blade (for someone who's life is less important than their own) shaking and panting with exertion.
And then Jackal does something that truly catches him off guard.
They bar the doors to the Chantry.
The ward is clumsy but strong. Cassandra is shouting at them, Varric is pleading with them, and he cannot break the ward. (how can he not break the fucking ward?)
Their words sound as if they're underwater, everything swimming around him. “I have to do this, please I have a plan, you have to trust me, please. Listen to Cole.”
That is the last he hears from the Herald before everything passes in a blur.
That is. It is his own fault, truly, for allowing his heart to be stolen by someone so frail. And they took the anchor down with them, he will have to modify his plan. Yes. Yes, that is the most important part. The cold is from the snow's chill and that is all.
Until there is shouting (“Found-” “Quickly they're shaking-” “Move-” “How the hell did-”) such a commotion he is dragged out of revising his plans and forced to investigate and.
And they live. The Herald, Jackal, lives. Somehow.
Even wrapped in such blankets, tended to by healers, they are cold. Gods only know how long they were out there before they were found, or how long they were buried under the snow.
But slowly, slowly, color returns to their face. The blood returns to their skin, giving them less of a corpse like pallor, before steadily turning into a fevered flush. A mockery of their previous charming blushes. And then their eyes open.
Only to immediately shut tight with a groan. “.....am I dead?”
“Tragically you are not, as I imagine death would be less painful.”
“Damn. So you're not an angel. pretty like one though.” The words are half slurred as they come into awareness, blinking repeatedly as their eyes focus on him.
He is struck then, by the strangeness of it. The anchor has done..something. For now a ring of green wraps around their pupils, thrumming with a soft glow as they stare at him for far longer than they ever have. “..do I have something on my face?”
“....I thought. We thought we had lost you da’len.”
Their smile is weak but it softens his heart all the same. “Nah. I'm built different. Worse arguably but. Y'know.”
–
The next time they speak it is to the Inquisitor. A title which makes Jackal grimace as they gaze off past him, softly asking to go.. somewhere. Anywhere. Just for a little while.
He cannot help but oblige them.
Haven is the easiest, the place they're most familiar with. And still it takes them some time to grasp where they are exactly. But oh when they do…
Their eyes alight, the green glow only intensifying that much more before they're laughing. “That's so. Solas this is amazing.” He's preening as they step closer, as they tilt their head down slightly to observe him. “...Solas. I. I would very much like to kiss you. If you would let me.”
He shouldn't. He shouldn't. His heart nearly shattered at the thought of their dying and he knows what he must do but.
The way they look at him. With such adoring wonder.. he is helpless. Caught in their snare all he can do is pull them down to his level to kiss them.
They are so warm, so terrifyingly real. And when they kiss him he feels everything shift. He shouldn't, he goes to pull away.
But they pull him back into their orbit once more with hands on his waist. Kissing him with a feverish desperation, as if they were starved of him, as if they fear this will be the only time he allows it and gods help them they will take to the fullest that he gives them.
When finally he breaks away properly they're giggling, a high breathless sound. A hand that was on his waist reaches up to stroke his cheek with an expression so fond he would give them anything in that moment. “Solas. You're blushing.”
It's with surprise that he also touches his own cheek, finding the skin under his fingers is indeed warm. When was the last time that has happened?
They lay chaste kisses to each cheek now, murmuring the words clumsily but in such a way he knows they've been practicing. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”
He loves them too. And oh what a terrible thing that is to burden them with.
“...Ar lath ma, Jackal.”