…

I

…

The bookstore clerk had his eyes on her from the second she pulled her hood down. Cha'cer could practically smell the fear as his eyes traced the dark purple lines tattooed into her face to honour the halla goddess. It entertained her on some level that she could inspire such fear with only pretty purple swirls and a bit of eyeliner. She'd have thought the human feared the return of Anduril herself by the way he watched her move. He was right to worry, of course. She had every intention of robbing him blind. But it didn't excuse the casual racism. She winked at him and licked her lips suggestively before disappearing into the audio-books aisle.

Rows upon rows of antiquated cassette tapes sat on dusty shelves. Dim lightbulbs hung down from wire without any shades, the orange light reflecting off the plastic covers until the wall of labels looked like the world's most boring glass mural. She ran her fingers over the edges and shook the dust away. One long black painted nail tapped at each title she read, underlining the words. The Littlest Griffon, Elfroot in the Breeze, Swords of the Seekers, Tale of the Inquisitor, A History of Thedas... Ah. There. She tugged the tiny tape out. The cover clacked against the rings she wore on her fingers and she handled it with care as to not scratch it.

She ran her thumb over the table of contents written in small print next to the blurb. Chapter Four: Dalish History. Perfect. She squinted to see if there was any mention of the role of keepers or their firsts but nothing stood out. Just a bunch of glorified human deeds, washing over the struggles of her people. Even the qunari got a nice label of efficiency. The Dalish were a scourge to be studied and avoided; arrested whenever possible. A ten years younger Cha'cer had barely been able to contain her contempt for the shem and their power over her life. Now that anger felt distant. Nothing terribly new.

Besides being angry wasn't nearly as satisfying as depriving the shems of their hard earned goods.

She tucked the cassette tape into the top pocket of her cropped jacket, snapping the button shut with a click. She moved quickly to pick up the next tape, Tale of the Inquisitor, and studied it with great interest as the shem clerk inevitably tried to casually pretend he wasn't finding excuses to re-arrange the display at the end of the row. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as he swapped from a look of worry for his precious merchandise, to checking out her ass, to a look of hatred. She gave him an innocent smile just when he was sure she wasn't going to look and followed him breezily to the register. He scanned the item with a scowl, and she handed him a crumpled up wad of cash. He counted the change out with a long suffering sigh and handed her the receipt. She thanked him in elvish just to twist the knife.

As soon as her boots hit pavement, she pulled her hood over her ears and face again. The grey sky above was spitting rain between the tall skyscrapers of downtown Haven. The morning fog had only just been taken care of by cold sharp winds that dug into the stitches of her skinny jeans relentlessly, finding each rip and tear that could possibly lead to warm skin. Cha'cer grit her teeth and put her headphones in.

The old pocket cassette player she kept in her bag was a finicky little thing. She'd found it while dumpster diving. It had to have been over thirty years old at least. Once upon a time it had been black, but it had faded to a sooty grey with rust breathing along the edges of the metallic buttons. The labels had all worn off from use. It had to be perfectly horizontal to play anything whatsoever, and even when the cassette was brand-new, would offer a healthy dose of static over whatever she may have been listening to. She plucked at the dent in the side where she'd yanked on it too hard once until the spring door triggered and she was able to slip the Tale of the Champion inside with a click. She shut the outer door once, twice, three times before it held itself together (though not before letting out a creaky threat to let loose as soon as she hit play).

Some old shem's voice cheerfully read her the copyright license, letting her know very seriously that theft was a crime punishable by fines or even five years jail time. Cha'cer grinned to herself. A bunch of suits pushed their way past her in the way that city folks did where no actual contact was made but she may as well have been shoved into oncoming traffic. Cha'cer wove her way through like a needle. She used that marvelous scourge-of-the-city look to play a game of chicken with everyone who expected her to step aside. It added a bounce to her step each time she won.

The walk to the liquor store she worked at wasn't far if you were comfortable taking alleyways. Which she wasn't, but she was late, so she tossed a coin at one of the elven beggars on the corner and traipsed merrily past the rotting dumpsters and fire escapes.

Alleyways in Haven somehow always managed to be damp-both in colour and in texture. Without sunlight reaching through the buildings, all sorts of nasty swamps pooled up in the dips and crevices, making the walk feel like venturing through a minefield. Some woman's voice warbled through her ear pieces telling her of the heroic Seekers-a company that still existed today!-and their honourable role in finding the inquisitor. Her Keeper had told it a bit differently back when she was alive. Keeper Dashana had insisted bitterly that the Dalish elf that stood for them all was a prisoner, tortured and used as a puppet for the Chantry's means. She spoke of the ancient Lavellan like they had grovelled for the acceptance of humans. A traitor and an enemy. Such was the only history their Keeper had ever seemed intent on losing to the ravages of time.

Prisoner or no, Cha'cer still admittedly found a little comfort in the story of Lavellan, It was her heritage, however distant, and in some way made her clan slightly more significant than the rest. With all the brand names and TV soaps dedicated to the life of Inquisitor Lavellan, you'd have thought the actual living clan received the red carpet treatment wherever they went. Quite the opposite. Failing to adopt the Herald of Andraste as their leader and new god, Clan Lavellan was depicted as ungrateful and vile. Notoriety was only slightly more useful than apathy, Cha'cer felt.

Though it was certainly hard to remember this when staring down the cracked glass door of the liquor store. It was coated so heavily in 'no soliciting' signs that it looked like the signs themselves were keeping the shack of a store standing under the weight of the old brick building towering above street level. Carved stone dragons perched on the edges like ugly fire hydrants and coated in the unforgiving piss of neighborhood dogs. Only a small doormat reading 'anderan a'tish'an' gave away the elvish ownership.

Cha'cer flicked her wrist to check her overly large watch. The hour hand was stuck in place, but the minute hand told her she was only forty minutes late. Not bad.

She dropped her hood and reached into her bag to pause the cassette tape player. She took out her ear pieces and pushed the door in with her shoulder, scrubbing the bottoms of her boots off on the ancient elven words of hearth and hospitality. "Gahruil!" she called. "Don't fire me, I'm here!"

No answer. The register counter was as empty as the shop. Rows and rows of wines and whiskeys guided her as she made her way to the back room. She slung her jacket up on a crooked hook and ran a hand over the top of her head to smooth out her pitch black ponytail. The sides of her head where she shaved away the hair were starting to get fuzzy. She scratched at them and adjusted the thin silverite chains hanging from her long ears.

"Gaaary," she called the nickname affectionately. She swung around the open entrance to the storage rooms with one hand grasping the caulking just the way her boss told her not to. "C'mon, you can't seriously be sleeping. I'm the lovable delinquent, not you. You're like the mildly tolerated and extremely grumpy father figure. Father only 'cuz I think you'd look dashing with a beard."

Cha'cer's eyes glowed a faint lilac in the darkness as she struggled to see. Gahruil had adamantly refused to change out the light bulbs ever since she'd been hired. Since only elves (she and Gary) worked in the shop, the darkness wasn't entirely detrimental. Plus it kept safety inspections from their shem landlords blessedly short. It did mean occasionally stumbling over an empty cardboard box, though. Cha'cer peered through the rows and rows of dusty bottles. Sparse scraps of light pierced through the metal shelving from the back of the building where the ventilation fan whirred. The shadows of the blades danced across the ground in a soothing rhythm. A larger figure moved through the light and Cha'cer called out again. "Is there are reason we're feeling particularly creepy today?"

She rounded the last corner to where they kept their kegs and found her boss sitting on top of a pile of crates. Next to her was a tank of a woman. Broad shouldered, dark hair cut short, and a jaw that could cut glass. She wore a standard Haven City Seekers uniform and her eyes locked on Cha'cer as soon as she stepped into sight in a way she didn't like. The woman's hand reached for the gun at her waist and Cha'cer bolted, thanking Gahruil with all her might for keeping the back room darker than an archdemon's maw.

She wove in an out of the rows of bottles, hearing the woman with a heavy Nevarran accent shouting something about her impending arrest. The sharp clink of bullets was followed quickly by the shattering of glass. She could hear Gahruil shouting something angrily but didn't bother to listen to either of them. Cha'cer threw the backdoor open and let it slam behind her. The heavy aluminum door bust open after her and she heard the click of the safety of the Seeker's gun. Cha'cer froze and raised her hands up slowly swearing beneath her breath.

The Seeker snapped the metal handcuffs on her wrist and wrenched her arms painfully behind her back. The woman wasn't even winded. Shit. Fuck. "Cha'cer of Clan Lavellan, you are under arrest for seven counts of theft, two counts of vandalism, and one count of identity fraud."

"Can't we just talk about it?" Cha'cer tried between puffs of air with her most winning smile. In reward she got to experience first hand exactly what it felt like to be punched by a Seeker.

…

II

The holding cell was dimly lit and filled, to absolutely no one's surprise, with elves. City elves mostly that were being held for illegal parking or "disturbing the peace". Several looked like disgruntled secretaries or delivery boys but none of them looked as scared as the kid in the corner. Judging by the neon paint at the tips of his forefingers the kid had been caught tagging. Probably on a dare or something equally stupid. But Maker forbid the rise of Dalish gangs.

Possibly the most ridiculous notion the shems had come up with yet. And their gangs were supposedly marked by coloured bandanas. Not, weirdly enough, by the ever present facial tattoos of the actual Dalish these city elves kept getting framed as. Either way it resulted in an all time high for tensions between the Dalish and the city elves.

Cha'cer wanted to scoot closer to the kid and let him know he'd be fine. Tell him that his loving parents would be home from their jobs soon and would pick him up without a second thought. Let him know that his ancestors watched over him and that his path would be guided by the stars. His nervous glances at her tattoos told her the gesture wouldn't be appreciated, so she settled instead for fiddling with the handcuffs that remained around her wrists.

When Saevin walked through the room, the shem guards struggled to keep up. She had a burgandy wrap covering her hair and ears and framing the dark vallaslin she wore. Bright green eyes were hooded in irritation and the world's heaviest anvil couldn't have kept her from keeping her chin and nose stubbornly high. The broad shouldered woman with the braid in her hair scrambled to stay in front of her until she literally grabbed the smaller elf by the shoulders and held her still.

"First Saevin," the Seeker said breathlessly. "What I mean to tell you is that your cousin is not yet free to go."

That was a mistake. A ripple of electricity shot through Saevin's shoulders as she finally gave the Seeker her attention. With a short sharp shock the Seeker jerked her hands back but kept one outstretched. Saevin ignored it coldly. "You mean to tell me that you will double charge me for bail? I may be Dalish, Seeker Cassandra, but I am familiar with the law."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise under her breath that earned her another small shock. She scowled at Saevin who stood still and expressionless to maintain her innocence. Cha'cer watched delightedly.

"What I mean to say, Saevin-"

"First Saevin."

"-yes, of course. First Saevin. Your cousin is free to go if she agrees to the community service charge and supervision of a parole officer." Cassandra jerked a finger to where Cha'cer let out a strangled cry of frustration.

"Done." Saevin said without hesitation. The Seeker nodded, producing a clipboard and a pen. Saevin signed it with a flourish and shoved the board back at the Seeker with a little more force than entirely necessary. Cassandra pulled the keys from the elastic ring she had looped around her belt and began unlocking the holding cell. Cha'cer was already standing, holding her wrists out expectantly.

Cassandra scowled and grabbed the handcuffs roughly, speaking as she worked. "The assigned parole officer will check in on you throughout the week-"

"-unannounced, uninvited, and usually without style. I know the drill." Cha'cer finished cheerfully.

"She will check on you for the next year." Cassandra said firmly.

"What?" Cha'cer squawked. Saevin crackled next to her.

"Let it go, lethallan, we can argue with the Seeker later," she urged, taking her cousin's arm in her own and guiding her gently away from the cell.

"Do I at least get to meet the schmuck I'll be making fun of for the rest of my life?" Cha'cer demanded. Cassandra's smile could've crashed a car.

"That schmuck would be me, Miss Lavellan. Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker for the city of Haven."

Cha'cer paled considerably and was suddenly all too interested in following Saevin's lead out of the precinct. Her cousin grumbled something about shem bullshit and unlawful, visible green electricity spanning from her eyes to her cheeks and around the fingers that clutched at the burgundy wrap. For once the smog filled city air was welcomed.

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Haha so you guys know how I just finished a huge longfic? (Champion, a Fenhawke doc for those of you just joining us). WELLLLLLLL. I'm doing another. Welcome to my second ever longfic. This one is flavoured with a heaping dosage of Solavellan with some side pairings thrown in for free.

And speaking of side characters, you may notice that Nebulads very own Saevin has made an appearance! She will be a recurring character for this series. It seems only fair that I include her in the future after Nebulad included Cha'cer in the ancient past.