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Chapter Text

What had he done?

The rifts were spreading like ripples in water, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He’d sat by the unknown elf for days, watching his mark burn on her hand, and struggling to contain the spread of his magic through her body. A few hours earlier, he’d finally succeeded in trapping it, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Eventually, the mark would kill her.

At least by then, he thought bitterly, as he sent another wave of magic at a nearby demon, it wouldn’t matter. The world would be gone long before she burned, if they couldn’t find a way to stop what he had begun.

“Nice shot, Chuckles!”
Varric fired a volley of arrows over his shoulder and he heard another demon fall behind him.

One more attempt, he’d told himself. One more attempt to close the rifts and then he would flee, as far away from here as he could get. Wherever that was, he would find a way to stop this. He alone could discover the secret to stopping the fall of the veil.

It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

The demons poured from the rift, and he reached out with his magic in a futile attempt to close it. It wasn’t enough. Nothing he did was ever enough.
“Behind you!”
He spun, just in time to see the Seeker Cassandra dash into the fray, closely followed by the elf, his mark still glowing on her hand.

Despite himself, and the demons, he stilled to watch her. She was a rogue, and she slipped into battle as gracefully as if it were a dance. While Cassandra parried and lunged, she pirouetted, a slim dagger in each hand as she span and leapt between their assailants, her long auburn hair bound in a single plait, and following the rhythm of her movements a step behind.

He didn’t think beyond his immediate need to know whether or not there was any hope left. As soon as she was within touching distance, he caught her by the wrist, the pulse of his own magic leaping up his arm.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

He forced her hand into the air and the anchor reacted, sending a stream of energy into the rift that burned hot as it left her. For a single moment, the magic trembled as though about to give up, and then he suddenly felt her focus join his. An emotion he couldn’t identify leapt between them at the point where their hands were joined, and he knew she was fighting the Fade for control.

An instant later, a sound like rock fall and wind rent the air, and to his relief and astonishment, the rift sealed itself shut.

There is hope.

She pulled her hand away and turned to him, bright green, cautious eyes searching his face.

“What did you do?”

He met her gaze, the mask of the calm apostate hiding Fen’Harel’s shame.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

She quirked an eyebrow and he suppressed the ridiculous urge to laugh. The world was ending and she should be dead, and yet here she was, questioning him with such a subtle gesture.

“Well, at least this is good for something,” she said dryly, and the light in the scar crackled.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” – My magic. Mine. – “I theorised the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake. And it seems I was correct.”

Cassandra stepped forward.

“Meaning, it could also close the Breach itself?”

I don’t know.

“Possibly.”

The elf looked back at him and he watched her steadily.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

Some expression passed over her face too quickly for him to identify it.

“Good to know,” Varric said from behind her. “And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

“Do you have much experience of being ass-deep in things?”

The dwarven rogue laughed, and Solas felt a spark of surprise at how easily the joke came to her lips.

“Varric Tethras,” he introduced himself. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along.”

“Are you with the Chantry, or…?”

Solas couldn’t help himself then. He laughed.

“Was that a serious question?”

“Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

Cassandra frowned.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly, that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am,” Varric grinned. “Lucky for you, considering current events.”

The elf smiled.

“It’s good to meet you, Varric.”

Solas raised an eyebrow.

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.”

“Aw, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

He shook his head and turned to face her instead.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means,” Varric interrupted. “I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

He felt the full focus of her gaze then, and met her scrutiny with a mild expression, watching her as closely as she watched him.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all.”

It was a statement, not a question, but there was the weight of curiosity behind her words.

“Solas is an apostate. Well-versed in such matters,” Cassandra said distastefully, and once again, he resisted the urge to rail at the terrible fear of magic he’d awoken to find in this new world.

“Technically, all mages are now apostates Cassandra.”

“And what do we call you?” Varric asked. “Personally, I’m thinking Ember, given that fire trapped in your hand.”

“Ember?” She smiled. “I suppose it’s better than Chuckles.”

Solas folded his arms.

“Varric finds my lack of humour at our situation disappointing,” he said. “While I find his excess of humour as distasteful as dancing at a funeral.”

She gave him a wry expression.

“The Dalish do dance at funerals,” she said. “A celebration of life, rather than a mourning of death.”

“Smart,” Varric nodded. “So, is it gonna be Ember, or..?”

“Ellana,” she said. “Ellana Lavellan, if you really want to know.”

“Not that I’m not excited to swap life stories,” Cassandra drawled. “But we must get to the forward camp quickly. There are people who need our help.”

Without waiting for an answer, the Seeker began to stride up the hill, and Varric followed in her wake.

“Well, Bianca’s excited,” he said as he left.

Ellana hesitated and Solas waited for her to start moving.

“Bianca?”

“His crossbow.”

They fell into step a short distance behind, and she shook her head with a smile and glanced at him again.

“How much do you know of the Fade?” She asked.

“My travels have allowed me to learn a great deal, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I could with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

“That’s a commendable attitude.”

“Merely a sensible one. Although sense appears to be in short supply right now.”

She studied him.

“Is something the matter?”

“You’re not Dalish.”

He smirked.

“No.”

“But you’re not a city elf either.”

He didn’t answer, and she pressed on.

“How is it, that an elven apostate with a special interest in the Fade, of no clan or alienage, just happens to be nearby when an explosion tears a hole in the sky?”

He met her gaze, his eyes piercing.

“Serendipity.”

“Is that so?”

He readied himself for a fight, but when he looked back at her, he found her expression more playful than accusing.

“It is,” he replied calmly. “And I might also ask how a Dalish rogue came to be at the Conclave, and emerge from the Fade with a glowing mark on her hand which has the power to close the rifts, despite said rogue having no magical talent.”

“I’d like to know the answer to that question myself.”

They walked in silence for a while, but he couldn’t resist questioning her further.

“Forgive my curiosity,” he said at last. “But you seem unexpectedly calm, given the situation.”

To his surprise, she laughed. A true laugh that lit up her face as they crested the hill.

“Calm. Is that what I am?” She asked.

“It’s what you appear to be.”

She came to a stop as they approached the bridge, and he waited, taking in the flush of her cheeks from the cold and the tightness in her shoulders.

“Honestly? I have no memory. From just before the Conclave until waking up in that prison cell, it’s a blank. What I do know, is that I’m a Dalish elf taken prisoner by a group of heavily armed shems, who think that I killed their Divine, along with everyone else.”

A shadow passed behind her eyes as she watched Cassandra and Varric walking ahead of them.

“I’ve got a bundle of magic burning in my hand that feels like fire and ice and electricity all bound into one, and I’m walking towards a tear in the sky that’s pouring demons out into the world.”

She sighed and met his eyes, and he saw fear and confusion warring in her face.

“I’m fairly certain that if I stop to think about all of this I might start either laughing, crying, or screaming, and I’m not sure that I’ll be able to stop once I do. Right now, I’m maintaining as much detachment as I can, and if that looks like calm then I’m glad. Mostly, in my head, it feels like a running sarcastic commentary I’m trying very hard to keep going, because when it stops, I’m not sure I’ll be much use to anyone.”

He softened.

“Then feel free to continue your sarcastic commentary with me, if it helps.”

They started walking again, the camp coming into view.

“Thank you,” she said, and then glanced at him mischievously. “Chuckles.”

Chapter Text

They fought their way through the mountains. He admired her choice to take a cautious approach, rather than charging for the temple head-on, and when they came upon the lost scout group Ellana dove into battle with a fierceness he hadn’t expected.

They made short work of the demons, and this time she raised her own hand, sure and steady against the rift. He felt the magic burn in the air, and allowed himself a wild moment of true hope as the second hole in the sky closed for good.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this,” he said, unable to keep the note of admiration from his voice entirely.

But what he really wanted to say, was:

How? How can a Dalish rogue wield my magic through her hand? How are you still alive? How did you take this gift? And how will you use it now that it’s yours?

“Let’s just hope it works on the big one,” Varric said.

“Keep me alive until then and we’ll find out.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job of that on your own, Ember. Though maybe I should call you Flame. You sure you’re not secretly a spy?”

She grinned wickedly, except now Solas could see what he couldn’t before. He could see that it was an act. Bravado covering fear. Wit outshining panic.

“There’s no secret, Varric. I was sent to spy on the Conclave. My clan learnt long ago that ignoring the humans only meant they could surprise us. We follow their politics as closely as we can, and that way we know how to stay one step ahead of them.”

“Is that so? Ingenious, but I wouldn’t let Cassandra hear you say that.”

But Cassandra was already helping the Lieutenant to her feet.

“Thank the Maker you arrived. I don’ think we could have held out much longer.”

“Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant. She insisted we come this way.”

“The prisoner? Then you…?”

Ellana smiled hesitantly.
“Closing rifts and saving soldiers. It’s what I do, apparently. Today, at least.”

“Then you have my sincere gratitude.”

Cassandra rested an arm on her shoulder.

“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can.”

“At once,” she agreed. “Quickly, let’s move!”

As the soldiers left, Solas stepped forward and scanned the horizon.

“The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well.”

“Then let’s hurry, before that changes.”

This time, Ellana took the lead, and they followed as she slipped her way down ladders and descended towards the temple. As they walked through scorched stone and snow, Cassandra began to speak softly.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

Ellana didn’t answer, but Solas watched the questions rise in her mind and saw the tension in her muscles as she picked her way forward. Bodies frozen in perpetual screams and smouldering in the cold air met them as they entered. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning flesh, and had to steady himself as memories of wars millennia ago threatened to overwhelm him. He had fought too much in his life, and all, it seemed, simply to see the same carnage again.

Lost in thought, a gentle hand on his arm made him flinch.

“Are you ok?” She asked softly.

He pulled away.

“Fine, thank you.”

She turned from him before he could see the expression on her face, and when she spoke, her voice was small.

“I’m glad one of us is.”

Ahead of them, the rift morphed and changed in the air, great tendrils of green pulsing through the sky as though it were breathing. The sight made his heart ache. The magic of the Fade was as comforting to him as a warm blanket on a cold night, but this was the Fade twisted, corrupted, and torn asunder with no care and no love for the wonders it contained.

Leliana arrived while he stood, lost in his bitterness, and he watched distractedly as Cassandra instructed her to send her men to circle the temple. He could feel the perverse magic on his skin, and it made the air in his lungs hot and uncomfortable, like trying to breathe through smoke. At his side, he felt Ellana’s unease as well, and wondered if his mark somehow gave her a similar sympathetic reaction to the Fade’s magic.

“This is your chance to end this,” Cassandra said, fixing her with a steely eye. “Are you ready?”

She squared her shoulders.

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there?”

Solas shook his head.

“No. This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” she replied.

“It isn’t confidence. It’s an educated guess.”

She smiled.

“Then I wish I had your education.”

“If I’m right, perhaps there will be time for me to share it with you later.”

As soon as he’d spoken, he wanted to take the words back. He was Fen’Harel! The Dread Wolf! Not some apostate teacher of strange elves who stole his magic without a thought. What was he doing?

“We need to find a way down,” Cassandra said, before Ellana could answer. “And be careful.”

Yes, he thought to himself furiously. Be careful you don’t say something you regret.

But then the voices started.

Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.

Ellana leapt gracefully to the ground and approached the rift, and they followed as the anchor began to spark.

Someone help me! a woman’s voice called through the Fade, and the ghost of Ellana’s voice echoed back.

What’s going on here?

Cassandra frowned and stepped forward.

“That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…”

The rift ruptured and spread, and all of a sudden, they were staring at shades of a memory, blooming in the air. Solas watched with a bitter, sinking feeling, as a man wreathed in shadow rose up, opposite an old woman wearing Chantry robes as she struggled to free herself from magical bonds.

As he looked, Ellana entered, her expression severe.

“What’s going on here?”

“Run while you can!” The Divine called to her desperately. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder,” the shadow man intoned. “Slay the elf.”

And then the rift breathed again, and the image was gone.

Cassandra rounded on her at once.

“You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she..? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember,” Ellana insisted, but Cassandra’s grief made her unpredictable, and Solas moved to put himself between them.

“These are echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.”

He studied the twisting mass of rift energy and felt the borders of the magic pulse against his own.

“This rift isn’t sealed,” he said at last. “But it is closed. Albeit temporarily.”

“So, what do we do?”

“I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra straightened and called out to their men.

“That means demons. Stand ready!”

Despite his misgivings about this world, Solas couldn’t suppress a hint of admiration as the soldiers moved into place. The infantry drew their swords and joined Varric on the lower ground, and all along the walls, the sound of arrows leaving quivers and bow strings being pulled taut met his ears.

When they were ready, he nodded at Ellana, and with a deep breath, she pulled back her arm, and focused the anchor on the rift.

At once, the sky exploded. Ellana was knocked backwards, and through a haze of green light, he saw a pride demon enter the battlefield. It roared its anger and the ground trembled around them.

“Now!” Cassandra cried, and they attacked.

Arrows flew from the walls. Soldiers rushed forward with their swords at the ready. But as he levelled a volley of spirit energy at the creature, it was Ellana who drew his gaze. She bounded up the side of a fallen pillar, her steps light and sure-footed as she launched herself from the edge, and leapt at the demon’s back with her daggers clutched in her hands.

The demon roared as her blades found their mark, and it tossed its head back as she clung on, her feet scrabbling for purchase on its skin. The soldiers took the initiative, sending a stream of arrows into its exposed neck as it twisted and tried to free itself. With a cry, Ellana kicked her feet against its body, pulling her blades from its back and dancing lightly out of its reach.

Solas sent a barrier to protect her as it flung out a powerful arm, but he needn’t have bothered. Too fast for his eyes to follow, she wreathed herself in shadow, and the next time he blinked, she was standing on top of a wall and cutting wildly at the demon’s waist. Before long, the beast fell back, collapsing onto its knees under the sustained assault from the soldiers.

“Now!” Cassandra called. “Seal the rift!”

Ellana leapt from the wall and rushed towards the pulsing green light, her hand raised ahead of her. He watched as the stream of magic left her, and braced himself as he channelled his will into hers. Once again, he felt a flickering connection between the two of them, so slight that had he not been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed. It was weak, and quiet, but it was definitely there.

This rift was stronger than the others, and she bared her teeth as she forced more energy through her hand.

Come on, he willed. You can do it. You have to.

She let out a cry as the rift pulsed, and for a terrible moment, he thought she would fall. But then she braced herself more firmly and in the next, a great rush of magic that smelt like smoke and heat burst from the anchor, and the rift sparked and then vanished. Above them, the Breach dimmed, and as the magic began to stabilise, he let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

A cheer went up from the soldiers, but his eyes were fixed on Ellana. She swayed on the spot and turned to face him, her face pale and her eyes glazed.

“Solas,” she breathed.

He rushed to her side, and before he knew what was happening, she’d caught hold of his hand and gripped his fingers weakly.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded.

And then she collapsed into his arms, unconscious.

Chapter Text

He stayed with her. Of course he stayed with her, although he didn’t know why the sound of his name on her lips, spoken like a hope, made his heart clench so painfully in his chest.

She had no reason to trust him, and yet, as she’d felt her strength fail, it was him she’d called out to. It was his hand she’d twined her fingers with. It was him she’d trusted to keep her safe.

The irony wasn’t lost on him, and as he sat by her bed for the second time, he allowed himself a bitter moment of self-hatred, far away from the eyes of the rest of the Inquisition. This was his fault. All of it. Not just the mark on her hand, or the rifts, or the Breach, but this whole, painful, broken world and everything in it.

This world, where this fierce, strange rogue scarred her face with slave markings to honour the gods who would have despised her. This world, where the elves had no home and the true People were all but gone. This world, where everyone moved through their lives like Tranquil, never knowing the beauty of the Fade, the sublime joy of its endless magic singing through everything, like pure freedom on the wind.

He had to fix it. He had to. And for now, that meant stopping what he’d started. He had to save this world to bring his old world back. And he had to save Ellana to do it.

That was what he told himself as he sat, guilt-ridden by her bed. It was what he promised the People as he sent cooling balms of frost across her feverish forehead.

But on the third night, when it seemed she still would not wake, he curled up in a chair across the room, and fought the urge to weep.

This was wrong. The whole world was wrong, and even as his mark sparked and burned through her body and the spectre of demons haunted the whole of Thedas, he allowed himself a moment of self-pity. A moment of pity brought on by the simple memory of her hand reaching for his.

How long had it been since he’d held someone’s hand?

Oh, he’d found friends in his spirits in the Fade. He’d even indulged himself with some of them, in the slightly strange way such couplings happened beyond the veil. But even before his long sleep, his world had been one of war and sacrifice for centuries.

There had been a few who’d sought to share his bed, but he’d decided long ago that he would never take a former slave, no matter how willing. Even then, he couldn’t help but feel that there was a certain feverish gratitude in their desire for him.

“Let me please you, Lord Fen’Harel. Let me please you for setting me free.”

Sex based on gratitude, for a freedom returned that should never have been taken, turned his stomach almost as much as if they’d still been in bondage. And it wasn’t as though the members of the Evanuris were queuing up to partner with him, while he raised his rebellion against them.

In the darkness of the shack they’d given over to Ellana’s care, Solas admitted to himself, for the first time, the simple fact of his loneliness. And he grieved for how pathetic he was, that the weight of her hand in his had awoken in him such a desperate need for more.

He didn’t desire her, although she was graceful. He didn’t burn for her, although it had been far too long since he’d allowed himself that kind of pleasure.

With a bitter, slightly hysterical laugh, he realised that he simply wanted to be held – by anyone. He wanted someone to put their arms around him and let him cry on their shoulder; to let him grieve for what he had done, and lost, and what he was going to have to do in the future.

Above all else, he wanted to be comforted.

He, the Dread Wolf, was pining for a hug.

If only the People could see him now.

He wrapped his arms around himself and watched the flickering light of a lamp as it danced across Ellana’s sleeping face. Her fever had finally broken, and he had made good progress on stabilising the mark in her hand.

He could leave now, he knew, and she would probably wake in a few hours time. There were a thousand other things he could be helping with, now that Cassandra had officially turned them into the Inquisition.

But she had taken his hand and asked him to stay with her, and he didn’t want to leave. Outside of these walls he was the inscrutable elven apostate, feared, or distrusted, even though he was needed.

At least in here, in the dark, while she slept, he could be Solas. And he could admit to himself, that he needed a friend.

Chapter Text

She woke in the early hours of the morning, while he was dozing on the edge of the Fade. The sound of her stirring drew him back to consciousness, and he opened his eyes to find her staring at him with a sleepy smile on her lips.

“I’m not dead then?” She asked, her throat dry. “You must be a better healer than you look, hahren.”

One side of his lips quirked up in response.

“No, not dead. Not yet. What kind of a healer do you take me for, da’len?”

She laughed softly and then winced, and he drew his chair up the side of the bed while she struggled into a sitting position.

“Are you in pain?”

“That is usually what this face-”, she grimaced exaggeratedly. “-means.”

He thinned his lips in an effort not to smile.

“Does the mark trouble you?”

She settled herself against the pillows and flexed her hand experimentally.

“No, the mark doesn’t hurt most of the time,” she said. “Only when I’m trying to close the rifts.”

His eyes were drawn, as always, to the crackling of his magic under her skin.

“I just feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of Halla, that’s all. Ungrateful creatures.”

He suppressed another smile.

“Aren’t the Halla revered by the Dalish?”

“Of course. But that doesn’t mean I’d let them trample me.”

Shaking away the lightness that had settled in his chest as she chatted – chatted to him, as though he were simply a friend - he leant forward to examine her.

“May I?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She grinned wickedly at him in jest, and to his horror, he felt the tips of his ears redden in response.

What in Thedas was happening to him? He couldn’t be this starved for connection, surely?

“Are you blushing, hahren?” She asked delightedly, and there was no mockery in her voice, even as she laughed at his expense.

He shook his head, his eyes twinkling, and let his magic dance over her skin, examining her for any lingering injuries.

“I assure you, if I am, it’s merely at the thought that a woman as young and beautiful as you would lower herself to consorting with an apostate, da’len.”

Now it was her turn to blush, and he felt a certain gratification that he had been the one to bring the colour to her cheeks.

“You think I’m beautiful?” She teased.

“I didn’t think that was in doubt,” he answered honestly, and found he rather enjoyed that he was able to stun her into silence.

“As far as I can tell,” he said, sitting back again. “There’s no lingering damage from the mark, merely the usual recovery from a fever to come. With a healing potion and some more rest, you should be fine.”

She stretched her neck until it cracked and then folded her hands in her lap.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“It’s been three days since we brought you back from the temple.”

Her eyes widened.

“Three days? Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes,” he answered simply.

She dropped her eyes to her hands.

“Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

It was the truth, or at least a part of it, but when she looked up at him again, there was such vulnerability in her eyes that he almost wished he’d lied.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and for once, there was no attempt at humour in her voice.

He hesitated, and then decided he had to know.

“Why did you ask me to stay?” He asked. “There were plenty of other people you could have turned to who would have kept you safe.”

She looked at him with a curious expression on her face.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He shook his head.

“Not to me.”

She dropped her gaze back down and twisted the blanket through her fingers.

“I know you’re not Dalish,” she said at last. “And I should probably be wary of the elven apostate who seems to come from no-where and knows entirely too much about the Fade.”

She smiled at him a little then, and he nodded to acknowledge the point.

“But you’re…” She sighed. “Well, you’re elven, for one thing, even if you’re not the kind of elf I would usually recognise as being like me.”

He suppressed another smile. If only she knew how true that was for him where she was concerned.

“But,” she continued. “I’m surrounded by armed shems, and dwarves, and people who think I murdered a lot of other people, and there’s magic running through me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. If what Varric said was true, you saved my life when other people might have left me to die. And while you’re not Dalish, you are elven. You understand what it’s like to be looked at with hatred simply for who you are.”

He nodded, even as he mourned how true that was, and for how long it had been true for him.

“And you seem to understand more about what’s going on here than anyone. You helped me seal the rift, and I felt your shield on me when we fought.”

She looked up at him with a kind of openness he hadn’t thought to look for.

“I suppose what I’m saying, Solas, is that I trust you.”

He swallowed, the guilt rising through his chest like fire and threatening to choke him.

You shouldn’t trust me, he wanted to say. You should despise me.

Instead, he said:

“I’m glad.”

And then a thought struck him suddenly.

“What did you mean, you felt my shield on you?”

She looked away quickly and he saw her jaw clench.

“Only mages should be able to feel magic that strongly,” he pressed. “Especially in battle.”

She didn’t answer.

“Ellana?”

She gripped the blanket tightly, and he saw the fear in her eyes when she glanced up at him again.

“Da’len,” he said gently. “Tell me.”

She froze, and then her shoulders slumped in defeat and she held out her hand, her palm facing upwards. A moment later, a ball of electricity crackled into life and hovered there, and as he watched, she flicked through fire, ice, and spirit in quick succession, before letting her hand fall empty again.

For a long moment, he was silent.

“That’s not possible,” he said at last, and that, at least, made her smile.

“Aren’t you a hedge mage?” She grinned. “I’d wager you’ve never seen the inside of a Circle in your life, but you know more about the Fade than anyone.”

“But you don’t even carry a staff.”

She laughed.

“Of course not. It would be pretty difficult to hide that I was a mage if I walked around with a staff strapped to my back.”

He rubbed a hand over his face and frowned. It wasn’t often that new discoveries threw him, but the idea that a mage without a staff could manage to hide for all of these years, in a world in which magic had been so muted by the veil that even he struggled to draw on its power, challenged everything he thought he knew.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain this to me, da’len,” he said honestly.

She nodded and chewed her lip thoughtfully, while he watched her in silence. Eventually, she seemed to find a starting point, and sat up straighter to begin.

“You know that Dalish clans can only have two mages?”

He nodded.

“Well, I’m my clan’s third. Except, we don’t really know whether I’m a mage in the same way other mages are mages, if that makes sense?”

“Not really, but go on.”

“My magic is… different to other mages I’ve known. I tried with a staff, at first, but it was like the…” She waved her arms, searching for the word. “It was like the wave wouldn’t come.”

He nodded his understanding. It was the same way he conceived of his magic – like drawing on a pool of power until it flowed like a wave through his body and out again.

“I didn’t manifest any magical ability at all until I was twelve,” she said. “And even then, it wasn’t as strong as other people’s. I can’t work it through a staff, but I feel it all the time. And…”

She hesitated.

“Go on.”

“And I think it might be less about using magic for me, than about feeling it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said honestly.

She sighed, searching for the words again.

“I feel my magic here,” she pressed a hand over her heart. “But I feel other people’s magic everywhere. I can feel the Fade rifts, like smoke and heat and burning where the rips are. And I can feel other people’s magic, too. The Templars feel heavy, clunky, like they don’t really trust the power they have. And you, I felt your magic before I saw you. That’s how I knew you were different.”

His heart pounded.

“Different how?”

“Different to everybody. Your predominant skill is Spirit, that much is obvious. It’s light, and somehow a little bit like Spring and Autumn rolled together. Next is fire, which doesn’t make sense, because yours doesn’t feel hot like a flame, it feels warm like the Sun. But there’s something else different for you. It’s like your whole body is singing. Like you’re more magic than not, but like some of it’s missing.”

Her eyes cleared in shock, and she suddenly beamed at him with the joy of her revelation.

“That’s it! It’s like half of you is still in the Fade. Like you’re only partly here with everyone else, and the rest of you is somewhere else.”

His mouth felt dry and he was sure he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. This wasn’t possible, and what’s more, it was dangerous for her to know so much. He cleared his throat.

“And the mark?” He asked. “What does the mark feel like?”

She frowned down at her hand.

“It feels Fadey.”

He huffed a laugh that took him by surprise.

“Fadey?” He asked incredulously. “And, pray tell, what does Fadey feel like?”

She grinned.

“Like Spirit, but not. Like Spirit, but more so. Like dreaming when you’re already inside a dream.”

His heart ached. That was what it felt like. An endless dream that you never had to wake up from, where magic was a natural as breathing and the normal laws of the world didn’t apply.

He shifted in his chair.

“Remarkable,” he said sincerely. “Although I’m afraid I can’t feel your magic at all.”

She shook her head.

“People can’t. It’s too weak. I can use it in close quarters and it’s come in handy a couple of times, but I can’t cast like other mages. I could…”

She blushed and he raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“I mean, it’s only fair really,” she went on. “I could share mine with you, if you like. Just so you can understand mine as well as I can understand yours.”

He stilled, wondering if she knew quite how intimate a thing she was offering him. In Elvhenan, the ability to feel another’s magic was simply natural, as though they were all engaged in playing the same song together. But the gift of a shared channel of magic between two people, however temporary, was something reserved for only the most beloved of loved ones.

She was looking at him so openly now though, that it was clear to him she couldn’t possibly know what she’d just offered him.

He should say no. He should tell her that it was a thing too special to share. But the gaping loneliness she had opened in his chest with a simple touch of her hand, felt like a yawning void inside him. He was hungry for the touch of another’s magic. Desperate to feel some small connection to what he had lost.

He couldn’t help himself. He nodded.

She smiled at him and reached out the hand without the anchor, and he hesitated only a moment before resting his fingertips on her upturned palm.

It was merely the barest touch, but in the next instant, he felt it; her magic leaping through his fingers and rushing up through his arm.

He gasped, his body filled with another’s melody for the first time in millennia. It ran through his veins like water, cooling and soothing the parts of him that were empty. It was light – lighter than his – and somehow still sad.

It felt like ice and electricity, both warm and cold, and suddenly he realised what the emotion he’d felt from her was, when he’d grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand to the rift. She was protective. Down to her core; down to her very magic. Her will was to protect, and it rushed into him now, this sensation of safety and calm and – his throat grew tight – home.

A moment later, she pulled back, and as the void opened up inside him again, he very nearly threw his arms around her and begged her not to let him go. Instead, he fought back the well of grief that threatened to drown him, and schooled his face into a practiced mask of calm.

“That was…” He swallowed. “Very informative.”

She laughed, a simple sound that proved, beyond doubt, that she had no idea what a gift she’d just given him; or what she’d just taken away.

“You are full of surprises, da’len,” he said softly.

She smiled at him.

“Of course I am. I’m a rogue mage.”

Her face fell and she looked at him anxiously.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

He shook his head and drew in a steadying breath.

“Never,” he promised.

Chapter Text

She didn’t think she’d ever get used to this. The way people stared, some with fear, most with awe, and some still with hatred that even stabilising the Breach couldn’t erase.

The Herald of Andraste.

Was that what she was?

Cassandra had reformed the Inquisition, and its banners now hung from every wall of Haven.

Leliana, the inscrutable Left hand of the Divine, had sent word far and wide, and even now, the sound of swords being hammered and armour being shaped rang through the cool air.

Josephine Montilyet had arrived seemingly from no-where, to conduct a spate of negotiations with diplomats and families that Ellana had never even known existed.

And Cullen – she smiled to herself when she thought of him – the most bashful commander she could have imagined, had taken to asking her five times a day whether or not she had everything she needed.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she needed. Or, she knew that he couldn’t give it to her.

What she needed was to go home. To leave the cold of Haven for the forests. To run far away from the sickly green glow of the Breach in the sky, and pull the mark from her hand so she could pretend that the fate of the world didn’t rest there.

But then, she looked at the people around her. Not the ones who looked at her with fear and awe, or even with hatred, but the people like Cassandra, who looked at her with hope. It was disconcerting, to spend so much time around shems, and realise that these ones, at least, weren’t monsters.

She wandered through the cold streets, familiarising herself with the armourer and the smithy, and spending a pleasant few hours talking with the apothecary and collecting elfroot for their stores. That, at least, was something small she could do to help.

But she knew that soon it wouldn’t be enough.

Cassandra had said that Solas believed a second attempt at sealing the Breach might work, if only her mark had more power. But that kind of power wasn’t easy to come by, and they needed to ally with the rebel mages or the Templars to channel it.

Cullen, of course, wanted the Templars to suppress the Breach, but both Cassandra and Leliana had argued for the power the mages could bring. To her, both sounded risky, and it would require the Inquisition to take sides in a war she had tried very hard to keep herself out of.

It didn’t matter yet, she reminded herself. Not now the Chantry had denounced them all, and her, specifically.

The thought made her sick and dizzy with fear. She had spent her whole life hiding from the shems, and now she was watched by them everywhere she went. She was in danger here, despite Cassandra’s assurances and Cullen’s bewildered kindness.

No matter what else people thought she was, everyone knew her as a Dalish elf, and it would take nothing at all for their fear to turn into violence. Especially if they knew her secret.

She sat down on a frost-streaked wall and felt her heartbeat flutter against her ribs. It was reckless, to have told Solas about her magic. More reckless still, to have shared it with him. And since he’d left her to sleep that night, she had the distinct feeling he’d been avoiding her.

Well, it was less of a feeling, and more like he was definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, avoiding her.

She hadn’t seen him since she’d woken, and whenever she spotted him from a distance, he disappeared as soon as she approached.

“Don’t mind Chuckles,” Varric had laughed. “He’s not much one for socialising.”

But he’d socialised with her before, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he, after all, sat by her bed for three days simply to make sure she was safe? Although, now she thought about it, that wasn’t really socialising, so much as silently watching.

She smiled wryly to herself. Maybe he just wasn’t so comfortable with a friend who was capable of talking back.

Her face fell again and she sighed. It would have been nice for him to have sought her out. He was the only other elf here – strange and secretive as he was – and she had just been declared a heretic. Surely, if anyone could understand the fear she felt, it should have been him?

At least, she thought, he couldn’t avoid her forever. Cassandra wanted her to talk to Mother Giselle, a Chantry cleric tending to the refugees in the Hinterlands who might be persuaded speak on behalf of the Inquisition. They were scheduled to leave today, a small team made up of her, Cassandra, Varric and Solas.

Their scouts had already moved ahead, and now, she was simply waiting for the signal to leave.

***

It was impressive, really, how little one man could say whilst still being unfailingly polite on the surface.

It took a full day’s walk to reach Scout Harding’s Hinterlands camp, and while Varric had told stories and bickered with Cassandra constantly, Solas had hardly looked at her.

She’d tried, a couple of times, to ask him about his trips through the Fade, but even that topic of conversation had only drawn a couple of wistful sentences from him, and ended once again in silence.

By the time they reached the camp, she was exhausted, her muscles still aching from the fever and her feet pinched and sore in the new shem boots they’d given her to wear.

She was grateful when they finally settled around a fire for the night, and she could stretch out in the glow of the flames and send a subtle wave of mana through her body to soothe the twinges in her limbs.

If she hadn’t already been hyper-aware of his silence, she wouldn’t have noticed the sudden tension in his body as her magic raced through her, or the way his eyes flicked to her face from the other side of the campfire, before hurriedly looking away.

“It feels good to get out of Haven,” Cassandra said suddenly, and Ellana sat up and crossed her legs.

“I’m just glad no-one here's calling me Herald,” she admitted, reaching out with a stick to settle a log further into the fire.

“You still don’t believe you’re Andraste’s chosen?” The Seeker asked.

She stifled a laugh and shook her head.

“I’m a Dalish elf, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter. I believe the Maker sent you to us in our darkest hour, and many others feel the same.”

“Does it matter that I’m not one of them?”

She could feel Solas’s eyes on her, but didn’t meet his gaze.

“I suppose not,” Cassandra said, although she didn’t look convinced.

“Are you holding up all right?” Varric asked suddenly. “I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

She smiled at him gratefully and shook her head.

“I just keep thinking that none of this should have happened.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Varric agreed. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“It shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to have been in there and lived,” Solas said quietly, and all eyes turned to him.

“Chuckles! Good of you to join us,” Varric said. “I was beginning to think you’d turned into a Tranquil.”

Solas’s lips turned up into something that could almost have been a smile.

“Just because I do not feel the need to fill my days with idle chatter, doesn’t mean I’ve not been paying attention, Master Tethras.”

“So how do you think I survived?” Ellana asked him. “You’re the Fade expert, after all.”

He watched her through the flames, the light dancing over his skin and making his eyes sparkle in a way that made him seem somehow more powerful.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “You are a mystery, da’len.”

Despite herself, she smiled at the endearment, and thought she saw a flash of something soft in his eyes before he looked back into the fire.

She sighed.

“All I know is that the Breach needs to be sealed, and the sooner the better.”

“If it can be sealed,” Varric said. “I’ve got to say, I’m impressed with you, Ember.”

“Why?”

“If I were you, I’d have considered running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognise where this is going.”

“What makes you think I haven’t considered it?”

Cassandra’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t?”

She smiled gently at the Seeker.

“Of course I did. But then I thought about all those people who died in the valley.”

She raised the hand with the anchor on it and studied it thoughtfully.

“For whatever reason, it seems I’m the only one who can close the rifts, and we’re all doomed if they stay open.”

She let her hand fall with a sigh.

“If I can stop more people from dying, then I will. Just don’t think that I haven’t thought about running every second since I woke up in that cell.”

Varric grinned.

“That might be the smartest thing I’ve heard since this mess started.”

“Well then, we really are screwed,” she replied.

Varric laughed, and even Cassandra shook her head with a wry smile, but it was Solas’s eyes she sought out, as he watched her thoughtfully through the flames.

Chapter Text

Ellana felt the Templars before she saw them. The lyrium in their veins, heavy, clunky, and somehow still powerful, roared across her skin. A wave of adrenaline and fear consumed her as she saw the refugees fleeing and realised they were caught in the middle of the fight.

If they didn’t do something soon, they were all going to be slaughtered.

“Quickly!”

She didn’t wait for her companions to respond, wreathing herself in shadow and slipping into the midst of the fight like water through air.

She slashed hard and got two quick strikes into the back of one of the Templars before the others realised she was there. By then, Cassandra and the rest of her group had caught up.

The Seeker lunged quickly and blocked a blow with her shield. She could feel Varric’s arrows whizzing over her head, and heard muffled cries as more Templars fell. And she could almost taste the power of Solas’s barrier blanketing them all, even as he sent volleys of fire into their attackers.

She span, peering through the haze of purple magic that was flying like lightning through the air. A scream met her ears, and she whipped around just in time to see a woman attempting in vain to shelter her son from the out-of-control magic, as a Templar backed them towards a wall.

“No!”

She didn’t think; she only acted. Quick as a flash, she Fade-stepped through the fray and placed herself between them, raising both of her daggers to catch the Templar’s blade. The force of it brought her to one knee, but she twisted and parried another blow without falling.

“Run!”

The woman pulled her son away and fled, using Ellana’s body as a shield for their escape, but the Templar was too quick. He sent a stream of neutralising energy towards her, and she felt Solas’s barrier vanish an instant before a shield smashed into her.

The air left her body in a rush as she was slammed into the rock wall, and the crunch of her muscles straining against the stone was followed by a sickening lance of pain through her chest. She let out a cry and slashed wildly with her free hand, drawing blood from the Templar’s neck and causing him to stagger back.

She slipped to the ground through the gap as he retreated, gulping for breath and lunging up with her dagger. It glanced off the side of his armour and she had to roll out of the way as he brought his sword down hard.

She gasped, her vision growing hazy as she struggled to draw in enough air through the pain in her chest. With a burst of energy, she kicked him backwards, the impact sending another sharp spike of agony through her ribs.

Sweat pouring from her face, she pushed herself back to her feet, just in time to block another blow from his sword. She twisted out of the way, aware that she was too slow even as he levelled another attack at her back. She drew back as far as she could and waited for the steel to pierce her armour – except the blow never came.

Instead, the sound of metal on metal met her ears, and she turned just in time to see Solas cast himself between them, his staff blocking her from harm and his expression furious. With a burst of magic that she felt singing through her blood, he sent a wave of Spirit energy into the Templar that blew him off his feet, and sent him careening into the ground, already dead.

She slumped back against the wall, her heart pounding and her muscles straining. The fight was over, and towards the ramshackle houses she could see Varric and Cassandra already lowering their weapons.

She turned to Solas, ready to thank him, but when he whirled to face her his expression was incensed.

“Is it too much to ask that you try not to get yourself killed the first time we venture into the field?”

She gaped at him, and then felt her own anger rise in response.

“Would you have had me leave them to die?”

“I would have had you think!” He practically snarled. “You and only you hold the key to stopping the Breach, and you would have thrown it all away to save two people!”

“And what kind of person would I be if I let a child die simply because I was too cowardly to intervene?”

“You would be a person still alive for long enough to save the rest of the world!”

He advanced towards her and she resisted the urge to flinch, the anger on his face so unlike the mild-mannered man she’d come to expect.

“And who are we saving the world for if not for them?” She spat back. “What would it matter to her that the world is saved if her child still lies dead in her arms?”

She thought for a frightening moment that he was going to shake her, but instead, he raised his hands and sent a stream of cooling mana through her body that made her sag against the wall in relief.

The fight went out of her, and she watched him warily as he directed his magic to her injuries, his face still drawn into a scowl and his jaw clenched tight.

“You’ve cracked two ribs,” he said at last. “I’ve done what I can for them, but it will take a few days for them to heal fully.”

His hands ghosted down her sides and she suppressed the urge to shiver at the sensation.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes seeking his.

He met her gaze, and she glimpsed concern warring with anger, and a fear she didn’t understand, before he closed himself off from her again.

“I couldn’t just leave them, Solas.”

He sighed, and the tension left his face, to be replaced by the same deep weariness she’d first noticed during his vigil at her bedside.

“I know, da’len,” he replied. “But sometimes we have to make terrible choices if we are to achieve a greater good in the end.”

She wanted to ask him whether he’d ever had to make a choice like that before, and how would she know when she had to do the same. But then Cassandra called them over to Mother Giselle, and the moment was gone.

She approached the woman with a sense of caution, if only because of her religious garb, but it was clear from the way she tended to the wounded soldiers that she wasn’t here simply because of politics.

“Mother Giselle?”

She stood to face her.

“I am. And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’m told you asked for me.”

She gestured for her to walk a little way away, and she fell into step at her side.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I’m familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you. Some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, so senselessly taken from us…”

“What happened was horrible,” Ellana agreed, the ache in her ribs throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

“Fear makes us desperate. But hopefully not beyond reason. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

“Are you sure that won’t just make it worse?”

She smiled knowingly.

“Because you are not human?”

“That too.”

“Let me put it this way. You needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need.”

Ellana nodded and looked out over the encampment thoughtfully.

“It’s good of you to do this.”

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us. But I hope. Hope is what we need right now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us, or turn it to our destruction.”

“That’s what worries me. I’ve never sought this kind of power,” she bit her lip and looked away. “I don’t think I want it.”

Mother Giselle smiled.

“I saw you defend that woman and her child. You leapt to save them without a thought for your own safety. Perhaps the fact you don’t want this power, is proof that you should have it.”

With Solas’s words still ringing in her head, she found that she couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“In the meantime, there is much here that still needs to be done to help these people.”

“I will do what I can while I’m here,” she promised.

“I am glad to hear it. There is so little in this world to bring hope of late. Perhaps you are the beacon we need.”

Chapter Text

They stayed for a week in the Hinterlands at Ellana’s insistence, and for most of their time there, Solas struggled to sleep.

During the day, they followed in her wake as she moved with grim insistence through the hills, drawing on seemingly endless reserves of some fevered energy in her effort to help the refugees.

On the first day, their group hung back as she hunted the rams in the hills above the encampment. Her training as a Dalish hunter leant a grace to her movements that rivalled any he’d known, and in a few short hours she’d amassed an impressive collection of ram meat, pelts, and leather for the refugee’s stores.

They sought out missing family members, restocked herb supplies, delivered medicine, and she wept when they discovered one of their scouts had been killed.

That night – the fifth night – she wandered far from the fires of their camp, returning only when the flames had dwindled down to nothing but embers, and Varric and Cassandra had retreated to their tents.

Solas stayed awake, although he told himself he wasn’t waiting for her.

In fact, it was partly true. Since the Templar attack, he’d had trouble slipping into the Fade to sleep, and his detachment from it grated on his nerves more than he could have anticipated.

It had always been a relief, to fall gratefully beyond the veil, shaking off the limits of this strange new world and allowing himself a few blissful hours to bask in the lightness of the magic beyond.

Now, whenever he lay down to rest, he found his thoughts kept returning to the image of Ellana falling beneath the Templar’s blade, and the primal rush of panic he’d felt, that he wouldn’t reach her in time to block the killing blow.

What disturbed him most about the memory, was that in that moment, he hadn’t feared for the anchor. It wasn’t the justifiable panic that his magic would be lost, or that the world would fall, that had sent him leaping to her defence. It was simply her. He hadn’t wanted to see her die.

Sitting alone by the smouldering coals, he scrubbed his face with his hands and barely stifled a groan of frustration. He was exhausted. He desperately needed to sleep; to seek his friends in the Fade and cast off the ache in his body.

But sleep wouldn’t come. The image of her falling kept playing through his mind, and a single thought kept rising whether he wanted it to or not.

She is real.

He rested his chin on his hands and closed his eyes, as if in pain.

When he’d first woken from his long sleep, the horror of the world had nearly undone him completely. For weeks, he’d wandered between villages and homesteads and cities, desperately seeking someone – anyone – who felt as though they were real.

But there was no-one. They didn’t exist. It was like moving through a world of Tranquil, and he was the only person who could feel what they had lost. At first, he thought he might go mad with the grief of it, but then he realised that it was, in some ways, a gift.

If they weren’t real, then his path forward was clear. He had to destroy this world to restore the old one in its place.

During the year since, he’d barely spoken to anyone. He’d sent his agents far and wide, learning all he could of the world he’d found himself in. He’d spent whole days still drifting in the Fade, mourning what had been lost, and planning for its return.

But now, this mortal Dalish woman was challenging everything he thought he knew. She was real. And since she’d shared her magic with him, he could feel it constantly, just as he would have been able to in Elvhenan.

It wasn’t the same as when she’d channelled it through his body, but he felt the brush of her energy against his skin whenever she healed herself, or when it flared in the midst of a battle.

He saw the light in her eyes when she saw something that pleased her, and the grief that consumed her when they’d found the scout’s body.

Her efforts on behalf of the refugees were nothing short of remarkable, and with every laugh, smile, and fierce fight for justice, she was chipping away at his certainties without even knowing it.

Sitting around the campfire at night, she had a way of drawing people out; of making them share things with her, and then of sharing things with them in return. He’d watched, amazed, as Varric regaled her with story after story, drawing peals of laughter from them all until the night air rang with their happiness.

He’d seen her cut through Cassandra’s reticence with nothing more than a joke at Varric’s expense and a subtle wink in the Seeker’s direction; a camaraderie he wouldn’t have thought she’d seek.

And she’d fought him, passionately, when his fear for her had got the better of him, and he’d suggested she should have left the refugees to die.

Another twinge of guilt pricked at his nerves as he remembered the look on her face. And, of course, he didn’t really think she should have abandoned the woman and her child. He was simply frightened for her, and then frightened by the fact that he was frightened for her.

He sighed. He seemed to spend all of his time these days scared of something.

He covered his face with his hands again and tried desperately to stop the thoughts swirling through his head. After so many days of constant travel and fighting, and precious little sleep, he was tired to his very bones.

He missed the Fade as he would miss water or air, and he knew he’d been operating under unsustainable levels of stress even before he’d added exhaustion to the list.

Why else did he feel as though he could quite happily break down and sob where he sat?

He drew in a deep breath and sighed heavily, and that was when he felt the brush of her magic nearby.

“Solas?”

He let his hands fall and sat up straighter on the log they’d been using as a bench.

“I thought you’d be in the Fade by now.”

She walked steadily into the camp and sat on the other end of the log, watching him with concern. Her eyes were tired and he suspected she’d been crying, but the smile she gave him was genuine enough, and he returned it without thought.

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” he replied wearily.

“You weren’t waiting up for me, were you? Because I promise I didn’t go far enough to get into any trouble.”

He shook his head.

“No, it’s just…” He sighed. “I find myself unable to sleep very well recently, that’s all.”

She laughed.

“Isn’t that a bit of a problem for a Fade walker?”

He didn’t even have the energy to join her in the joke.

“It is,” he said heavily.

He felt her focus on him and stared away into the fire’s embers, the light still bright to his too-tired eyes, and his limbs as heavy as lead.

“Right,” she said, and he looked up in surprise as she got purposefully to her feet. “Sit on the ground.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You. Ground. Now.”

He could only comply as she placed her hands on his back and forced him to sit on the floor, while she took his seat on the log.

“May I ask what you’re doing?”

“I’m going to give you a massage.”

He tensed at once.

“I don’t think-“

“I wasn’t asking, Solas. You’re exhausted, and-“ he tensed even more as she ran her hands along his back. “-And Fen’Harel’s tits! Your back is as rigid as a poker. No wonder you can’t sleep.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“Should you really be bringing the Dread Wolf’s tits into this?” He asked. “What if he hears you?”

He felt her chuckle behind him.

“I’m sure Fen’Harel has better things to do than worry about me.”

He stifled another wave of laughter before it could begin. If only she knew how often the Dread Wolf found his thoughts turning to her, and how she’d kept him from his sleep.

“This’ll go easier if you take this off,” she said, plucking at his tunic.

He felt his body turn rigid, and she placed her hands soothingly on his shoulders in response.

“Don’t tell me you’re bashful, hahren?”

He sighed. He had no idea how they’d got to this point, but clearly, denying the Herald of Andraste anything was impossible, once she’d decided she was going to do something.

He shrugged out of his tunic, shivering only slightly as the cool night air hit his skin and Ellana’s fingers rested lightly on his shoulders.

“Ok?”

“I suppose.”

She laughed again, and as her fingers began to move across his skin, he melted into her touch.

She started at his shoulders, her thumbs lightly massaging the tension out of his neck, and then working down his shoulder blades in firmer circles, stopping to focus on the knots she found as she moved lower.

He fought the urge to lean back into her as she sent gentle pulses of magic through the thickened areas of muscle, and slowly, the tension in his body fell away.

He let his head drop forward, and shuddered with pleasure as she stroked soft patterns down the back of his neck, and gently dug her fingers into the groove above his collarbone, until the knots there released and he let out a soft groan in response.

Part of him knew he should stop her. That he was allowing more from their growing friendship than he should. But it had been so long since anyone had touched him with this simple care, and he was so desperately tired.

His eyes flickered shut and he tried to memorise the feel of her stroking him, soothing away the deep ache that had settled in his muscles while her magic tended to the rest.

There was nothing sexual in what he was feeling. Just the simple comfort of being cared for by someone who asked for nothing, apart from his friendship in return.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there for. But eventually, she rested her hands on his shoulders and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of his head.

“You nearly left me for the Fade then, Fade walker,” she said softly, and he managed a small grunt in response. “Come on, time for bed. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble sleeping.”

His limbs felt like water as she helped him to his feet, and he barely had enough co-ordination left to take his tunic from her and stumble into his tent.

“Sleep well, Solas,” he heard her say behind him.

And then he fell forward onto his bed roll, and slipped gratefully into the Fade.

Chapter Text

Val Royeaux was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and after the cold of Haven and the feverish battles of the Hinterlands, it felt like another world entirely.

Here, money seemed to speak louder than words. Orlesians strolled by in expensive clothes, whispering between themselves as they entered the gates. White stone buildings rose up on all sides, and Ellana had to steel herself against the urge to run back the way they’d come.

If she’d felt exposed in Haven, here, she felt naked. It would take nothing – nothing at all – for these finely-dressed shems to arrest her, or even worse, kill her where she stood. Unconsciously, she felt her eyes drift to Solas, who looked far calmer than she felt.

She shouldn’t have brought him with her, she realised with horror. She was the Herald of Andraste. He was nothing more than an elven apostate to their eyes, and she suddenly felt as though she’d walked them both right to their deaths.

“Just a guess, Seeker,” Varric said as they entered. “But I think they all know who we are.”

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

She met Solas’s eyes, trying to convey without words that she was sorry, but he merely looked at her and shook his head, as if to say he didn’t understand.

“My lady Herald.”

The woman in the Orlesian mask took her by surprise and she tensed, but Cassandra spoke before she could embarrass herself.

“You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?”

“The Chantry Mothers await you, but so do a great many Templars.”

“There are Templars here?”

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

Cassandra squared her shoulders.

“Only one thing to do then.”

The Seeker lead them forward, and Ellana followed, even as she envied her apparent calm.

Outwardly, she maintained her composure, but internally, she was scanning for an escape. On the day they’d left Haven to come here, Chancellor Roderick had fought with Cullen on the Chantry steps, and their alliance was already hanging by a thread.

Now, at the seat of the Chantry’s power, the still Orlesian air felt like a powder keg, ready to explode at any moment.

As if to prove it, Cassandra caught the arm of Leliana’s spy.

“Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… Delayed.”

Again, Ellana’s eyes sought out Solas, and he looked back at her with his forehead furrowed in question.

Leave, she wanted to tell him. Get out of here while you still can.

But instead, she let Cassandra lead them into the marketplace, where a crowd had gathered at the base of the stairs to watch a Chantry Mother, flanked my Templars, speak.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!”

The crowd began to murmur and Ellana schooled her face into calm, even as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

“Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say, this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her own selfish greed.”

“Do you know everything the Maker commands?” She replied, and was amazed that her voice didn’t shake. “Look up in the sky. I alone survived the Breach, and I can end it.”

Cassandra stepped up to her side.

“It’s true. The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“It is already too late.”

A battalion of Templars approached, and the crowd let out a cry.

“The Templars have returned to the Chantry,” the Mother said. “They will face this Inquisition, and the people will be safe once more.”

Ellana opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, one of the Templar soldiers ascended the steps, and struck the Mother viciously around the head. She fell with a shocked cry, and only Solas’s hand on her arm prevented her from drawing her daggers.

“Was that display supposed to impress me?” She asked instead.

“On the contrary,” the Templar leader replied. “It wasn’t for you at all.”

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra began. “It’s imperative that we speak with-“

“You will not address me.”

“Lord Seeker?”

He turned to face her with a sneer.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages.”

Unconsciously, Ellana found herself taking a step to position herself just in front of Solas. She shouldn’t have brought him here. He was in more danger than any of them.

“If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late,” Lucius decreed. “The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

She played the only card she had left.

“And what if I really am the Herald of Andraste?”

“You have nothing. No influence. No power. And certainly, no holy purpose.”

One of the Templars stepped up to his leader and tried to sway him, and Ellana felt a small rush of hope. If Lucius’s control wasn’t as absolute as it seemed, then maybe they would get out of here alive.

She cast a glance at Solas, who was watching the proceedings with a mild expression that she couldn’t understand.

Don’t you know how much danger you’re in? She wanted to ask him. Can’t you see what I’ve got you into?

“I will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void,” Lucius announced. “We deserve recognition. Independence.”

He looked at her scornfully.

“You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition, less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

She watched them go with a feeling like falling, and resisted the urge to take Solas’s hand and run; to get them both as far away from the city as possible.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric said, and she had to bite back a near-hysterical laugh in response.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra asked.

“Do you think he can be reasoned with?”

“I hope so. If not him, there are surely others in the Order who don’t feel as he does. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

The thought of getting out of the city was such a relief, that she very nearly ran to the gates, and had to remind herself that she was still being watched as she maintained a steady pace.

Adrenaline thrummed in her veins, more potent than any in battle. At least during a fight, she knew where to block and parry.

Here, in the sculpted courtyard surrounded by Chantry Mothers, nobles, and Templars, she was impossibly out of her depth, and had no idea where the blow would fall, or which direction it would come from.

She strode as quickly as she dared, her nerves singing with repressed energy, but just as they crossed the threshold and she started to feel they might be safe, a woman’s voice called from behind them.

“If I might have a moment of your time?”

She stiffened, keeping her face neutral as she turned.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra asked in surprise.

“Leader of the mage rebellion,” Solas said. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

No more dangerous than it is for you, Ellana wanted to say, as her eyes scanned for an ambush.

“I heard of this gathering and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

“I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave,” Ellana replied.

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “You were supposed to be, and yet somehow you avoided death.”

“As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

“So, you think the Templars are responsible?”

“Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses, if he’s concerned about them at all. You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us? So, yes, I think he did it. More than I think you did it, at any rate.”

“And what do you want in exchange for the mage’s help?”

Fiona smiled.

“Oh, I haven’t promised the Inquisition our help yet. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come meet with the mages. An Alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lady Herald.”

As Fiona turned back to the city, Ellana started to walk again, as quickly as she dared. They crossed the gates, and still no attack came.

Varric and Cassandra fell into speculation about the Lord Seeker’s behaviour, but she kept her eyes forward and gritted her teeth in silence.

When they reached the halfway point of the bridge, she felt her muscles tremble to run. She could sense Solas’s eyes scanning her face from her side, but if she turned to look at him she knew she’d break and start to flee.

She nearly whimpered as they finally crossed out of the city and she saw their horses, tethered in a line where they’d left them.

“Should we make camp near the walls, or-?”

“No.” She cut Cassandra off before she could finish. “No.”

She was on her horse before any of them could question her.

“We get at least as far away as that ridge before we stop riding.”

She pointed at the first line of hills along the horizon, and before any of them could object, she kicked her heels and her horse took off.

The wind whipped through her hair as she rode, hard, her heart pounding and the sound of her friend’s horses galloping behind her.

She would never, she vowed, be put in that position again.

Chapter Text

Solas knew that something was wrong. He just didn’t know what.

As soon as they’d stepped into Val Royeaux, he’d felt the change. Ellana, normally so fearless and controlled, was trembling with so much nervous energy he could feel her magic sparking over his skin.

At every moment, he’d felt her eyes darting to him, as though trying to convey something she didn’t dare speak out-loud. But no matter how he’d tried, he couldn’t fathom what it was that had made her so upset.

Now, she was riding at the helm of their group, urging her horse so quickly over the road that it was all they could do to keep up with her. As a copse of trees rose ahead to their right, she veered off the path and lead them over the hill, the horses’ hooves kicking up grass as they galloped.

Only when she’d lead them to the edge of the trees, where a stream ran behind them nearby, did she finally pull up on the reigns and climb unsteadily from the saddle.

He was next off his horse, slipping down onto solid ground and ignoring the aching in his legs as he approached her.

Her hands were shaking, and for a frightening moment he thought she might cry.

“What in Andraste’s name was that?” Cassandra said, and he heard her feet hit the ground behind him.

Ellana looked at him helplessly and he held up his hand for Cassandra to stay where she was.

“If it’s alright with you, Cassandra, I think our Herald needs a moment.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Varric brought his horse to a stop behind her and shook his head.

“Not now, Seeker,” he met Solas’s eyes. “We’ll set up the camp. You two go get some water or something.”

Feeling undeniably grateful for Varric’s tact, Solas placed his hand gently against Ellana’s back and guided her through the trees towards the stream.

When they were far enough away that he was certain they couldn’t be heard, he perched on a boulder by the water and watched her as she paced agitatedly.

“Da’len,” he said gently. “What’s the matter?”

Her eyes flicked to his and then away again.

“Something frightened you,” he pressed. “What was it?”

“You, of course!”

He felt as if she’d slapped him, and climbed to his feet again in shock.

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” She scrubbed her hands over her face and turned to face him. “I’m such an idiot. I had no idea. I should have… I could have… Oh, gods, Solas.”

He shook his head, bewildered.

“I consider myself a fairly intelligent man, da’len, but I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“I took you to Val Royeaux!”

She stared at him, as if waiting for him to make a connection he could scarcely see the shape of.

“Ellana-”

She held up her hand and he fell silent, while she took a few steadying breaths and attempted to regain her composure.

“I took you,” she said, more evenly this time. “An elven apostate mage, allied with the Inquisition, into Val Royeaux. Into a place where Templars patrolled the streets, the nobles would stab you just as soon as look at you, and the Chantry practically declared war against us.”

She stared at him, and the pieces suddenly fell into place. She was worried about him.

She, a Dalish elf, had just walked into the Orlesian capital and declared herself the Herald of Andraste to a battalion of armed Templars, and she was worried they were going to hurt him.

His gaze softened, and he felt such a great rush of affection for her that he very nearly pulled her into his arms.

“Oh, da’len,” he said softly.

“Solas,” her voice cracked. “Solas, I’m so sorry.”

And then she was suddenly throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest, and he froze even as he felt his stomach flip.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, I-”

“Hush now, lethallan. It’s alright.”

He brought his arms around her and held her close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she trembled against him.

They stayed that way for a while, his chin resting on top of her head, the scent of her hair, like citrus and spring, thick and comforting in his nose.

This was dangerous, he knew. Far more dangerous than Val Royeaux had been. Because as he held her, and felt her warmth pressed so tightly against him, the weight of his affection for her sang in his veins.

I want to keep you safe.

He tightened his grip on her, ever so slightly, as though he could keep the world at bay simply with the barrier of his arms.

Eventually, her trembling stilled, and with a profound sense of loss, he stepped away and held her gently at arm’s length.

“Ellana,” he said, and she met his gaze with panicked eyes. “I knew exactly what I was walking into when you invited me to Val Royeaux. If I had been at all uncomfortable with accompanying you, I would have made my feelings known.”

“But I didn’t even think. As soon as we got there, I realised, and I couldn’t-”

“Lethallan,” he said firmly. “My safety is not your responsibility. But your safety is my responsibility. Without you, we do not stand a chance of closing the Breach. I made my decision knowing very well what could meet us there, and I was well prepared to defend myself should the need have arisen.”

She rested her hands on top of his arms and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze was clear, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“You’ve never called me lethallan before,” she said quietly.

He smiled.

“No, I have not. Does it bother you?”

She shook her head, and he let go of her and took a small step away to give her space.

“I didn’t think you considered yourself to have much in common with the Dalish, that’s all.”

“I don’t,” he said simply. “But perhaps I’m beginning to find I have much more in common with you.”

The smile that answered him made his chest light, and he couldn’t help but return it with a smile of his own.

“I promise,” she said. “I will never take you back there again. Not like that. Not ever.”

He reached into the pocket of his tunic and brought out a crumpled letter.

“I’m afraid, lethallan, that we may be returning sooner than you think.”

Her face paled.

“What? Why?”

He handed her the note.

“It seems that someone called Red Jenny is eager to meet you.”

Chapter Text

He’d been proud of her. Proud of how she’d steeled herself and ventured back into Val Royeaux not once, but twice, and come out on both occasions with two new Inquisition allies who couldn’t be more different from one another.

Vivienne, leader of the Loyalist mages, haughty and glamorous with a shard of ice in her veins that he found both admirable and infuriating. Indeed, he couldn’t help but think that in Arlathan she would have been a political force to be reckoned with; but if anything, that made him like her even less.

And Sera, a member of a shadowy organisation called the Friends of Red Jenny, and an elf who was not an elf at all. In all of his long life, he’d never met anyone who baffled him more. Crude, sharp-tongued, quick to anger and slow to forgive, more shem than elf and more child than adult, she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

Despite the obvious benefit of having these new allies, he wished, uncharitably, that he’d never persuaded Ellana to return to Val Royeaux at all.

Particularly now that he found himself pressed into a corner of the Singing Maiden tavern in Haven, trapped between a domineering Vivienne and an increasingly drunk Sera, while Ellana, Varric, and Cassandra sat opposite them and blocked his path to the door.

“I’m just saying, darling,” Vivienne said. “If you’re going to run this Inquisition properly you absolutely must cultivate a sense of style.”

Ellana choked on her drink and Solas hid his smile behind his cup.

“Run it? I’m not running it! I’m barely managing to keep up with it. If anyone’s running it, it’s Cassandra. I’m just along for the ride.”

“And that statement, darling, is why you must start dressing to impress. If people are to believe you’re the Herald of Andraste, they need their symbol to look the part. No offense, but battered tunics and leather boots aren’t exactly an inspiring sight.”

“Full offence taken,” Ellana grinned, and Solas realised she was flushed with drink, as Sera broke out into giggles beside him.

“Ha! Full offence taken!”

Vivienne raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Yes, terribly droll.”

“Oh yes, terribly droll!” Sera mimicked. “But why should you get to tell her how to look, anyway? She might be the Herald or she might not, but she’s already got her glowy hand thingy. No fancy clothes can top that, can they?”

She knocked back a gulp of her drink and leant round Solas to brandish her finger at Vivienne, and he pressed himself into the wall to avoid getting jabbed in the side of the head.

“And look, full offence meant, Vivvy, but the little people aren’t gonna follow someone just ‘cos they’re covered in jewels and wearing fancy skirts or any of that shit. Plus, she’s too elfy, right?”

Solas frowned, even as Ellana erupted into peals of laughter, her cheeks flushed bright with heat and ale.

“She has got you there, Vivienne,” she said with mock-solemnity. “I am very elfy.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with cultivating appropriate fashion sense.”

“Buttercup here’s got a point,” Varric said. “It’s already enough that the Inquisition raised a Dalish elf to the status of Herald – no offence, Ember-”

She waved her hand dismissively.

“None taken.”

“-but if you start draping her in expensive fabrics and parading her out like a noble, that’s gonna piss off a whole lot of folks who aren’t ready to see an elf raised so high.”

Solas felt an unpleasant weight settle in his stomach, even as Ellana smiled good-naturedly in response.

“Varric’s right,” she said. “I’ve spent my entire life being hunted by shems in one way or another, and I already feel like I’m walking around with a target painted on my back. There’s no need to add social-climbing-upstart to my list of elfy crimes.”

Sera snorted into her cup.

“Ha, elfy crimes.”

Cassandra frowned.

“Is that really how you feel? Like you have a target on your back, even here?”

Ellana rested a consoling hand on the Seeker’s arm.

“Don’t worry about it, Cass. I know you’ve done a lot to fight for me, and I know you and Cullen keep a close eye on things. But you can’t be around every time someone calls me a knife-ear or spits on the ground when I pass.”

Her eyes widened.

“They do that? Here? In Haven?”

Ellana’s smile turned sad, and Solas fought back a wave of guilt and shame for this world that he’d created.

“They do it everywhere, Cass. I’m used to it.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s right!”

“Eh, Seeker. You aren’t gonna start some elfy rights campaign as well, are you? ‘Cos, I’m just sayin’, we’ve got enough to be getting on with, what with all them demons, you know?”

Cassandra looked as if she were going to argue, but Ellana squeezed her arm and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She drained her drink.

“But that still doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to go dressing me up like an Orlesian noble,” she warned Vivienne pointedly.

The mage sighed.

“If you say so, dear, but do think about at least doing something with your hair.”

“Oh, I’ll think about it. I just don’t think you’ll like how I think about it.”

Sera started to cackle, and just like that, the conversation moved away from the elves, and Solas once again found himself desperately scanning for a way out of his seat.

***

In the end, it was Ellana who finally gave him the escape route he’d been looking for. By now, Sera was slurring her words, and Varric was telling another one of his stories, and the tavern had filled with Inquisition soldiers and locals all swarming at the bar.

Solas, still trapped against the wall and nursing his second drink of tepid ale, had a headache, and was struggling to hold onto his mild-mannered apostate mask as Sera leant against him blearily.

It was hot, and stuffy, and loud, and he had never been much one for socialising, even in the days when he’d thrown grand parties in his temples that would have rivalled even the most decadent of Orlesian gatherings.

“Eh, you’re an elfy elf, right?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you referring to me?”

Sera laughed drunkenly.

“Yes, it is you to whoooom I am referring.”

Across the table, Varric chuckled into his drink and Solas resisted the urge to scowl.

“I think you’ll find,” the dwarf said. “That Chuckles is the elfiest elf.”

“Really?” Vivienne asked. “I thought of him as more of an unwashed hobo.”

He sighed, looking around for Ellana, who had got up to go to the bar some time ago and showed no sign of returning.

“As much as I would love to stay and enjoy your childish attempts at humour,” he said, attempting to get to his feet with some difficulty in the cramped space. “I find I would much rather be anywhere else.”

“Awww, don’t go! What will we do without our elfiest elf?!”

To his considerable horror, Sera flung her arms around him and attempted to pull him back into his chair.

“Sera-”

“Aw come on, Elven Glory, where’s your sense of fun?”

He struggled to detach her arms from his waist, and people at the bar began to grin and point. This was undignified. It was childish. And he was trying to keep a low profile, damn it!

“Sera, if you do not unhand me right now-”

“What? Are you gonna do some elfie magic trick?”

He huffed, and glanced around for help even as the rest of his table descended into uncontrollable giggles.

“Fenedhis.”

“Sera,” Ellana warned, stepping up to the table and setting down a tray of drinks. “Put down the apostate.”

“Yes, you don’t know where he’s been,” Vivienne said demurely.

This entertained Sera so much, that she dropped Solas at once and slid onto the floor in a wave of laughter.

Fighting the blush in his cheeks, he straightened his tunic and stepped over her and away from the wall.

“Thank you for your help, lathellan. It seems that Sera is immune to normal social practices.”

She smiled and linked her arm through his.

“It’s ok, I was leaving anyway,” she looked back at the table. “Varric, can you make sure Sera finds her way home later?”

“Will do, boss!”

Solas steered her towards the door before they could be waylaid any further, and she beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling.

“How long have you been dying to get out of there?” She whispered.

“I suppose you’ll think me incredibly rude if I say, from the moment I sat down?”

To his secret delight, she simply laughed, and when they stepped outside and the cold night air washed over his face, he finally felt as though he could breathe again.

She dropped his arm and he placed his hands behind his back, and drew in a grateful breath.

“You’re not much of a people person, are you?”

He smiled.

“On the contrary, I find people fascinating.”

“Watching people in the Fade doesn’t count as socialising, you know.”

“That is a matter of opinion. But we are socialising right now, are we not?”

They strolled along the quiet streets, and he watched her sway slightly as she walked, her head tilted back to look at the sky.

“I am socialising,” she said. “You are observing.”

They reached a low wall and she hopped onto it, staring at him with a soft expression that made his heart flip.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? You observe.”

He kept his hands behind his back and made his face as impassive as possible.

“If you say so,” he replied mildly. “Right now, for instance, I’m observing the Herald of Andraste being drunk on duty.”

She threw her head back and laughed, her pale neck exposed and delicious in the moonlight.

“When else am I going to get drunk? Herald is a full-time job, you know.”

“So it would appear.”

Her laughter quieted and she looked back at him, the moon behind her and her face softened in the half-shadows.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” She asked him quietly.

“By deciding to travel to Redcliffe?”

She nodded.

“As an apostate mage, you can hardly believe that I am unbiased in this matter.”

She smiled.

“No, but Cullen’s a former Templar, and he’s had no problem with telling me what he thinks.”

“Is the Commander troubling you?”

“No, it’s just… I value his opinion, and I know he’d rather we met with the Templars. I was just wondering if you think I’d made a mistake by seeking out the mages instead.”

“If you value Cullen’s opinion so much, it shouldn’t matter to you what my feelings are on the matter,” he replied, more sharply than he intended.

Her face fell and he cursed himself for his lack of tact.

“Cullen is the head of the Inquisition’s forces,” he tried again, more delicately. “So I fail to see why the word of an unwashed hobo would lessen your concerns in that regard.”

She smiled a little at his self-deprecating joke, but her eyes swept over him consideringly anyway.

“I see no unwashed hobo here.”

He stilled, a spike of panic running through his blood. Did she know? Had she discovered something? He studied her closely, but saw no sign that she realised the weight her words carried.

“Don’t you?” He asked mildly.

She shook her head.

“What do you see?”

She smiled.

“I see my friend.”

Chapter Text

He thought he’d acclimatised to their travels by now. After the trip to Val Royeaux, and being stuck in Haven’s cramped base of operations, he’d been absurdly grateful to return to the Hinterlands with Ellana and Cassandra.

But Sera, the newest member of their party, had made it another matter entirely. While he couldn’t deny that she was skilled with a bow, her constant jokes about elfiness and her proclivity for pranks, had turned their formerly-quiet evenings by the campfire into a test of endurance.

By the time they’d recruited the Warden Blackwall and were travelling back to Haven, Solas was quite sure he’d bitten his tongue hard enough to leave ulcers there for weeks.

So, when Ellana approached him and said they’d be bringing her with them to the Storm Coast as well, he hadn’t been able to hide his displeasure.

“Do you think that wise?”

Ellana smiled as she settled herself comfortably into what he’d come to think of as her chair, in his small bedroom in Haven.

“Not a fan of our resident Jenny, Solas?” She teased. “I’m sure I couldn’t tell.”

“I don’t doubt her skill in combat,” he replied. “Merely her social skills.”

She laughed.

“I’m not sure you’re the best person to comment on someone else’s social skills.”

He folded his arms, although his eyes were soft.

“While I might not be the most sociable member of the Inquisition, I doubt anyone would accuse me of having poor manners,” he said. “Sera, on the other hand, is a perpetual whirlwind of insults who takes far too much delight in chaos, and doesn’t know when to let something go.”

“She’s also young, and new here, and eager to help.”

“She’s not that much younger than you are, and you don’t go around behaving like an infant.”

She smiled fondly at him.

“No, but I suspect Sera and I both learnt to cope with chaos in very different ways.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, that I had to grow up quickly. I had my clan to think of, not just myself, so when my people were killed or we had to move again, I didn’t have a choice but to put my childhood behind me. From what I can tell, Sera’s been on her own, and she coped with the chaos by laughing in its face.”

She sighed, and Solas felt himself soften.

“Honestly, there are worse ways she could have survived, and worse things she could have become, don’t you think?”

“When you put it that way,” he admitted. “I suppose I can’t really argue.”

She smiled and bounded back to her feet.

“Then it’s settled. Have your pack ready because we’re leaving tomorrow,” she glanced back at him. “I’ve never met with a Qunari before. I’m kind of excited!”

Despite himself, he smiled at her enthusiasm as she slipped out of the door. Perhaps the trip wouldn’t be so bad after all.

***

The trip was worse than even his most grim and fatalistic predictions could have prepared him for. While the meeting with The Iron Bull and his Chargers was a success (despite Sera’s constant woofing), they found themselves fairly quickly over-whelmed by deepstalkers as the light faded.

After close to an hour of battling to clear out the nest, a storm blew in that meant leaving the coast was impossible, and pitching their tents even moreso.

“Well, the veil sure is salty here!” Sera screeched over the sound of the wind, as a gust of rain and seawater drenched them for the thousandth time.

“Was that meant to be a joke at my expense?” He replied, grimly trying to hammer the final tent peg into the ground as the canvas flapped around him.

“What’s the matter, droopy-ears? I thought it’d take more than a little rain to make a hobo apostate lose his sense of humour!”

He finally succeeded in securing the tent, and straightened to wipe the water from his eyes as the gale whipped around them.

A few metres away, Ellana and Cassandra had just managed to put up the second tent, but black clouds were now rolling in and it was getting too dark to see.

“I think this is all we’re going to manage!” Ellana called, her voice spirited away by the storm. “Any objections to sharing tonight?”

“Nah, it’s about time we all got a little cosier. Ain’t that right, Solas?”

Sera sent him an exaggerated wink and descended into giggles, and he couldn’t help but look towards Ellana with an expression that bordered on pleading.

Please, he willed. Anyone but Sera.

If he had to share a tent with her, he wasn’t sure that either of them would make it through the night with their sanity still intact.

“Ok,” Ellana said, taking charge. “Sera, you bunk down with Cass. Me and Solas will take this one.”

“’Course. Should’ve known the elves would want to stay together,” she said, rolling her eyes.

But at that moment, a bubbling roll of thunder rumbled through the sky, and before long, they’d all ducked into their tents to escape the downpour.

On any other occasion, he might have considered the propriety (or lack of it) in sharing a tent with Ellana. But by the time they’d both managed to peel off their soaking clothes and struggle into something drier, with their backs turned firmly towards each other in the dark, he was so cold and exhausted he could hardly think of anything beyond the fur blankets in his pack.

Shivering, he draped them over himself and huddled down as deeply as he could, and through the gloom, he saw Ellana do the same.

“Dread Wolf take me,” she hissed, her teeth chattering. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold.”

He forced the image that the Dalish phrase had conjured out of his mind before it could take root.

“I’m sure I must have been at some point,” he agreed. “But I confess, I’m having trouble remembering when.”

“Nice easy trip to the Storm Coast, then.”

“Next time we go anywhere, I’m demanding an Inn.”

She laughed then, and despite the shivers that wracked his body, he smiled at the sound in the dark.

“Sleep well, Solas,” she said.

“You too, lathellan,” he replied softly.

But in the end, he didn’t sleep. Not at all.

Ellana, it seemed, had no such problem, and after a few minutes, he heard her breathing settle into the unmistakeable rhythm of a slow and steady rest.

But for him, the Fade wouldn’t come. He’d perfected the art of slipping into the trance required for his travels millennia ago, but the simple fact was, he didn’t know how to sleep when he was this cold and this damp and this sore.

In Elvhenan, he’d never had to deal with the cold. With magic as natural as breathing, there was no reason to suffer in freezing temperatures, and no amount of water that couldn’t simply be dried in an instant.

One of the worst things about waking up in the new world, was that he’d had to contend with the elements. In the first few weeks of his travels, he’d felt as though the icy cold of the caves he slept in, and the incessant dripping of the water down his neck, was punishment enough in itself.

And, weak and heartsick as he’d been, the pouring rain and his sodden clothes had been a fitting accompaniment to the tears he’d cried alone, as he mourned what he’d done and what he’d lost.

Now, lying in the dark as the wind pounded against the walls of the tent and water pooled beneath him, and his body simply refused to warm up, he felt the wretchedness of his situation all over again.

It was pathetic, really, he mused, that the Dread Wolf couldn’t cope with a little storm. Or, he admitted, quite a big storm.

But there was nothing that reminded him so much of what he’d lost, as the cold working its way into his muscles, and leaving him as helpless to its pain as any mortal.

Once again, he felt the horror of it; of being the only one who understood what was missing, and of not being able to go home, because home simply didn’t exist anymore.

What he wouldn’t give for his magic back, or even for a fire, or for Ellana’s hand in his, and-

He cut the thought off at once, but the simple fact of his loneliness rose again just as forcefully, and as he shivered, he felt bitter, self-pitying tears well behind his eyes.

He closed them at once, refusing to let them fall, but in the dark, he could hear Ellana’s steady breaths close by, and he itched to wrap his arms around her and hold her close to him for comfort.

He wondered what she’d say, if he woke her simply to wrap his arms around her, or of whether she’d laugh at him if he admitted he simply wanted to be held.

The next breath he drew sounded ragged, even to his own ears, and he burrowed into his furs and fought to calm himself in silence.

A moment later, he felt Ellana stir, and his whole body went rigid as she rolled to face him.

“Solas?” She asked, her voice soft with sleep. “Are you okay?”

He nodded in the dark, even though she couldn’t see him.

“I’m fine, lathellan,” he said, and was glad that his voice was steady. “I just can’t seem to warm up. Don’t trouble yourself. Go back to sleep.”

She was silent for a moment, and then to his panic and joy, she shifted her bedroll closer to him and opened her arms.

“Come here,” she said softly. “Or your shivering will wake the whole camp.”

“Ellana-”

“I wasn’t asking, Solas.”

He hesitated for only a moment, and then he allowed her to pull him into her arms, and settle his head in the crook of her neck. He slipped his own arms around her and felt her tuck the blankets around them both more tightly, and then his nose was filled with the sleep-warm scent of her, and her body was soft beneath his.

“Fenedhis, Solas, you really are freezing. Are you a mage or a reptile?”

He laughed softly against her neck and felt her hum happily in response.

“I confess, I’ve never much enjoyed the cold.”

“That much is obvious.”

He bit back a whimper of need as she began to rub soft circles on his back with one hand, and run her fingers lightly over the nape of his neck with the other.

“Relax now,” she said. “You’ll warm up soon. I’ve got you.”

The words, spoken so gently and with so little guile, made his throat grow tight, and he held her more tightly to him as the tension melted from his body.

You have no idea how much I’ve longed for this, he wanted to tell her. You have no idea how little I deserve it, or how grateful and guilty I am that you’re here.

But of course, he couldn’t say anything. So instead, he let his body sag against hers, his nose pressed against the soft skin of her neck, and his arms wrapped tightly around her, while she held him protectively as though he were something precious.

In the secret dark of the tent, he pressed himself just a little bit closer to her, and let himself be comforted. And, if she heard the pained sigh of relief that left his body as he finally drifted into sleep, safe and cared for for the first time in millennia, she never mentioned it again, and he didn’t remember it when the sun rose the next day and he woke up, peaceful and warm in her arms.

Chapter Text

Redcliffe was in the hands of a magister. Alexius had sent word to the Inquisition shortly after Ellana had decided to recruit the mages, and despite Cullen’s misgivings, they couldn’t ignore this new threat.

“We’re not going to abandon the mages to someone from Tevinter,” she’d argued, and the arrival of Dorian from house Pavus and his offer to help them, had sealed her decision.

Now, standing before Alexius as he sat, too comfortably, in his throne, Ellana already felt her temper fraying. The rift at the entrance that had warped time around itself had left her more exhausted than she’d expected, and as Felix stepped forward to reveal his betrayal of his father, she braced herself for the attack.

“Father, do you know what you sound like?” Felix pleaded.

“He sounds like the sort of villainous cliché everyone always expects us to be,” Dorian said, striding forward to stand at her side.

It could have been her imagination, but she thought she saw Solas frown as the Tevinter magister placed himself between them, and she caught his eye to reassure him that it was alright.

“Dorian,” Alexius smiled. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this, and you turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“That’s who you serve?” Ellana said. “The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?”

“Soon he will become a god. He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric ocean to the frozen seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona protested.

“Alexius, this is exactly what we talked about never wanting to happen,” Dorian said. “Why would you support this?”

“Stop it, father. Give up the Venatori,” Felix pleaded. “Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No. It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you.”

“Save me?”

“There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple.”

Felix shook his head sadly.

“I’m going to die. You need to accept that.”

But Alexius didn’t listen.

“Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life.”

And that was when the Inquisition forces struck. Their soldiers attacked, the Venatori guards fell, and then Alexius’s hand glowed green.

The next thing Ellana knew, Dorian had cried out and blocked the spell, and they were sucked through a vortex of green light, and out of the world they knew.

*

They landed in water, inside a stone chamber with great shards of red lyrium twisting through the air. At once, they were under attack. Dorian fought fiercely at her side, but as she looked around, all she could think was that the rest of her friends weren’t with them.

Solas. Where is Solas?

As the final guard fell Dorian turned to face her, his eyes sparkling.

“This is incredible! Awful, terrible, a thoroughly damnable situation to be in, but I think Alexius moved us through time.”

Ellana stilled.

“Did we go forward in time, or back? And how far?”

“Those are excellent questions. We’ll have to find out, won’t we? Then we can figure out how to get back. If we can.”

Solas. Where is Solas?

“There were others in the hall. Could they have been drawn through the rift?”

“I doubt that it was large enough to bring the whole room through. Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They’re probably still where and when we left them. In some sense, anyway.”

She nodded, swallowing down her panic as they stood beneath the glow of the crystals.

“We have to find out what’s happening here.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Lead on.”

But as they picked their way through the submerged dungeons, her heart fell further and further. This future – because future, it surely was – was monstrous. The walls were riddled with red lyrium that felt like flames over her skin.

The first prisoner she recognised was the Enchanter Fiona, and that was when she knew what else she’d find if they kept on searching.

“You’re alive!” The mage greeted them, her voice high with disbelief. “I saw you disappear into the rift.”

Ellana felt nauseous.

“Is that red lyrium growing from your body? How?”

The woman’s eyes were dead as she spoke.

“The longer you’re near it, eventually, you become this. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

She thought she might throw up, but Dorian stepped forward urgently.

“Can you tell us the date? It’s very important.”

“Harvestmere, 9:42, Dragon.”

“9:42? Then we’ve missed an entire year!”

“We have to get out of here,” Ellana said. “And go back in time.”

Fiona sagged against the wall.

“Please, stop this from happening. Alexius serves the Elder One. More powerful than the Maker. No one challenges him and lives.”

She felt fear, icy cold in her veins, and fell back on the only coping mechanism she knew. She grinned, even as Fiona leant against the bars of her cage in pain.

“I’ve never fought a god before. This should be memorable.”

“Our only hope is to find the amulet Alexius used to send us here,” Dorian said. “If it still exists, I can use it to re-open the rift at the exact spot again. Maybe.”

Fiona wheezed.

“Good. You must try. Your spymaster, Leliana, she’s here. Find her, quickly, before the Elder One learns you’re here.”

But as they moved through the cells, there was only one person Ellana both yearned and feared to see. She couldn’t explain what her feelings were for Solas, for the secretive, fascinating apostate who had first raised her hand into the sky and helped her to seal the rift.

She only knew that she felt better, and safer, when he was around.

Other people thought he was haughty, and rude, and far too serious, but she knew now that he was anything but those things. He could be funny, and kind, and what looked to so many others like condescension, was really just a passionate desire to share the things he’d learnt.

She’d got used to slipping into his quarters and curling up in a chair while he read, and of listening to his stories about the Fade. She loved the way his voice would soften and his eyes would turn distant, as though recalling something truly beautiful, while he spoke of ancient memories and cities long lost to time.

And beneath it all, beneath the stern manner, and his quiet wisdom, she sensed something else in him – a deep sadness she didn’t understand, and a quiet need for friendship that he struggled to express.

She wanted to give that to him. More than anything, she wanted him to feel safe enough to ask for it.

In their tent on the Storm Coast, she’d felt his distress like a physical weight. And when she’d finally given into her urge to comfort him and nestled him gently against her, the way he’d clung on so tightly, as though afraid she might disappear, had very nearly broken her heart.

She knew that that Solas – her Solas – was still waiting for her a year in the past. But that meant that in this world, somewhere, there was another Solas, and she ached to save him.

But it was Cassandra they found first.

“Maker forgive me, I failed you. I failed everyone,” the Seeker cried, and Ellana felt a wave of hatred for what Alexius had done.

“We’re going to fix this, Cassandra. We’re going to stop this from happening,” she vowed.

And then the soft voice she’d both longed and dreaded to hear, cut through her heart like a knife.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Solas.

She ran, leaving Dorian with Cassandra and rushing through the corridors until she found him, his face tight with pain and his hands white against the bars of his cage.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, and then shook his head in disbelief. “We saw you die.”

“Solas,” she choked, and then she was opening the prison door and stepping inside, and as she came closer he held up his hands and backed away as though afraid.

“The red lyrium,” he explained. “If you’re near it for too long-”

But then he cried out and doubled over, his palms bracing himself against the wall as the agony brought him to his knees.

“Oh, gods, Solas.”

She didn’t care about the red lyrium. She wasn’t going to be here long enough to be affected by it. She already knew that she’d die first.

And so, she dropped down to her knees beside him and pulled him against her chest, and he clung to her as waves of pain wracked his body and the glowing red light shone out of his eyes.

When the attack had passed she pulled back so she could see his face, and he twisted his hands into the fabric of her robes and met her gaze with anxious eyes.

“How?” He asked. “How is it that you’re here?”

She realised her own eyes were filled with tears only when her vision started to blur.

“The spell Alexius used, it sent us through time. We’ve only just got here.”

“Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late!”

“That’s the plan. Dorian’s letting everyone else out now.”

She cupped his face with her hand and he leant into her touch imperceptibly.

“You look terrible, Solas,” she whispered, and he laughed, a brittle, terrible sound that made her heart clench.

“I am dying, I believe.”

She clutched him tighter.

“Don’t say that.”

His face gentled and he ghosted his knuckles across her cheek.

“It is true, lathellan. But seeing you again,” he shook his head. “It is more than I deserve.”

“No,” she shook her head, a tear escaping and dripping onto his hand. “No, I’m not going to let you die.”

She pressed their foreheads together as tears slipped down her cheeks and his eyes began to shine.

“I’m going to save you,” she promised.

“The only way you can save me now is by making sure this future never comes to pass.”

He pulled back and held her face gently between his hands, wiping the last of her tears away with his thumb as he did.

“I will not pretend that the idea of my non-existence doesn’t disturb me a little,” he smiled gently. “But this world is an abomination. It must never come to pass. And I have spent so many months wishing that I could return to the moment before Alexius sent you from my sight.”

He closed his eyes, as if in pain, and she rested her hands on top of his.

“I have seen a great many painful things in my life, lathellan, but I confess, none have been quite so terrible as that.”

“Solas,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes, and she leant forward and brushed his lips against hers. His hands tightened around her, and when she pulled back, he was looking at her with an expression that bordered on awe.

“Vhenan,” he breathed, and then he was kissing her back, and his lips were soft and tender and hungry against hers, and she pressed herself to him and fisted her hands into his tunic as though she could hold him there forever and never have to be parted.

When they broke apart at last, there were tear tracks on his cheeks, and she felt, suddenly, that she would happily die, if it only meant he’d never feel hurt like this again.

“Vhenan,” he said once more, and the word was like a prayer on his lips.

“Emma lath,” she whispered, and he let out a sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath and could now finally breathe, as he leant his head against her shoulder.

When he looked back at her, his gaze was clear, and there was such affection in his eyes it made her heart flutter painfully in her chest.

“I do not deserve you,” he said, his voice rough. “For so many reasons. But I am a prideful, foolish, selfish man, and I have never been able to reject any of the kindnesses you showed me.”

She smiled and kissed him tenderly once more, and then helped him to his feet.

“I will do what I can to help you return to your time.”

He placed his hands on her hips and softened his voice.

“But my only regret will be that if you succeed, I will never know how perfect a kiss could be.”

Her heart swelled and she leant up to capture his lips once more, but the sound of Dorian clearing his throat behind her made them jump, and they broke apart guiltily.

“Hate to ruin the moment, but unless we get a move on, lover-elf here is going to die and we’ll never be able to get back to a time when he and the whole world isn’t already dying.”

She reached for Solas’s hand instinctively, and he threaded his fingers with hers as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“My apologies, Master Pavus,” he said. “Spending a year contemplating an agonising death does change one’s perspective, somewhat.”

“So I see.”

Ellana squeezed his hand and then let go reluctantly. She had to stay focused on getting them out of here. If she didn’t, there was no hope for any of them.

“Have you found everyone else?” She asked.

“Everyone except Leliana.”

“Then let’s go. We will end this before it’s begun.”

She met Solas’s eyes determinedly.

“I will save you, emma lath.”

Chapter Text

“Leliana!”

The once-beautiful spymaster hung in chains, her skin thin and sagging around the skeletal bones of her face. But she was fighting.

Her gaze fixed on Ellana, she drew her legs up and locked them around the neck of the man who’d been torturing her, and Ellana watched with a mixture of pride and disgust as her friend twisted in the air, and snapped his neck.

As he fell to the ground, she rushed forward and plucked the keys from his body.

“You’re alive,” Leliana whispered, as she hurried to free her.

“That was impressive.”

The woman that looked back at her was not the woman she knew, and a fierce hatred lit her face from within.

“Anger is stronger than any pain,” she said. “Do you have weapons?”

She nodded.

“Good. The magister’s probably in his chambers.”

Dorian watched her warily as she selected a bow.

“You aren’t curious how we got here?”

She turned to face him, her weapon on her back.

“No.”

“Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One, it was never meant to be.”

“If we get back to the present and stop Alexius, then you’ll never have to go through this,” Ellana promised.

“And mages always wonder why people fear them,” Leliana said. “No-one should have this power.”

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Dorian agreed. “Before the Breach, nothing we did-”

“-Enough,” Leliana warned, her voice dangerously low. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

Ellana clenched her hands at her sides. She wanted to undo this. Every fibre of her being wanted to hold Leliana the way she’d held Solas, but the torture she’d endured had made her angry; she had survived by turning herself into something hot and unfeeling, like a forest fire burned inside her skin.

She couldn’t blame her. And she couldn’t help her. It had happened. It was real. Just as it was real for Solas – her, Solas – locked in his cage and burning from within all alone.

She wanted to fix them. She wanted to save them. She would do whatever they asked.

They fought together, as they had done before, through the warren of castle corridors and decaying rooms. But now, her friends were different, each carrying a pain they should never have had to bear.

And she was different because of it.

With every shudder and every cry her friends let out, she burnt with anger, and by the time they reached the throne room and she caught sight of Alexius on the dais, she knew she could tear him apart.

“Look at what you’ve done, Alexius. All this suffering, and for what?”

He didn’t turn.

“For my country, for my son. But it means nothing now. I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked softly. “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

She took a step forward, her hands clenched at her sides.

“It does matter. I will undo this,” she vowed.

He seemed to shrink in front of her eyes.

“How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else.”

He raised his head.

“The Elder One comes. For me, for you, for us all.”

In a flash, Leliana was behind Felix, still dead-eyed and staring at the ground. She pulled him, unresisting, to his feet, and held the dagger at his neck.

Alexius let out a cry.

“Felix!”

Dorian gasped.

“That’s Felix? Maker’s Breath Alexius, what have you done?”

“He would have died,” Alexius said, a note of pleading in his voice. “Dorian, I saved him.”

He reached out a hand to Leliana.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Hand over the amulet and we let him go,” Ellana said.

Alexius nodded and reached for him.

“Let him go and I swear you’ll get what you want.”

But Leliana’s expression was cold and unfeeling.

“I want the world back,” she hissed.

And then she slit his throat.

The cry that tore from Alexius as Felix’s body hit the ground was inhuman, and he struck out with his magic and sent Leliana flying backwards.

Then they were upon him.

Ellana fought as she never had before, lunging forward and then falling back to defend her weakened friends. With every cast, she saw Solas buckle and then rally, pain etched into every line of his face.

She stayed close, parrying the blows and circling him as though her very presence could give him strength.

When Alexius eventually fell, Solas slumped heavily against his staff, and she pressed her forehead to his and felt his hand rest gently against her hip in response.

“I am alright, vhenan,” he smiled, even as a sickly sheen of sweat shone on his skin. “Do not worry yourself on my account.”

She pressed a swift kiss to his forehead as Dorian started to speak.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” He said sadly. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications. He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

Ellana rested her hand on his arm.

“This Alexius was too far gone, but the Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with.”

“I suppose that’s true. This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous,” he said. “That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to re-open the rift.”

Leliana rounded on him.

“An hour? That’s impossible! You must go now.”

Before she could respond, the ground began to shake beneath them, and Ellana reached out to Solas without thought. He gripped her hand as the walls shook and stones began to rain down around them, and met her gaze with a fierce love that took her breath away.

“The Elder One.”

“You cannot stay here,” Solas said, and then a look passed between him and Cassandra that made her blood run cold.

He squeezed her hand and let go.

“We’ll hold the outer door,” he said. “When they get past us, it’ll be your turn.”

She shook her head and reached for him.

“No, I won’t let you commit suicide.”

“Look at us,” Leliana said. “We’re already dead. The only way we’ll live, is if this day never comes.”

She looked towards Dorian.

“Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Leliana and Cassandra turned towards the door as Dorian fell back to power the amulet, but Ellana caught hold of Solas’s sleeve and pulled him back to her desperately.

“Solas, please don’t do this.”

Tears shone in his eyes and he cupped her face with his hand and leant in to capture her lips. She pulled him to her greedily, parting his lips and tasting his tongue on hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He pulled back from her with a pained sigh and tangled his hand in her hair.

“Vhenan,” he begged. “You must let me do this. It is the only way.”

She shook her head, clinging to him as tears fell down her face.

“No,” she said. “No. I am going to save you.”

He let out a choked laugh and kissed her gently.

“You already have,” he said, his expression warm and open. “I have made so many mistakes. Destroyed so many things. And now, at the end, I find I can finally redeem myself.”

She pressed herself to him, her vision blurring and her shoulders shaking, and he brought his face to hers and kissed the path her tears had made.

“I would die for you a thousand times, vhenan,” he whispered. “Now, let me go. I will see you again, in another life.”

“Solas,” she sobbed, as her fingers loosened their grip. “Ar lath ma.”

He kissed her softly.

“Ir abelas, ma sa’lath.”

And then he stepped away and she let her hands fall helplessly to her sides.

“Dareth shiral,” he said, and smiled at her gently as he followed Cassandra out into the battlefield, and the heavy stone door closed behind him.

She choked on her sobs and a wave of grief rose in her chest with such force that she thought it would drown her.

Solas. Her Solas.

She loved him. How had she not realised she loved him?

The sounds of battle raged beyond the walls, and to her right, Leliana knocked an arrow in her bow and faced the shuddering doors.

“Though darkness closes I am shielded by flame,” she chanted.

Ellana drew her daggers and took a step forward; she couldn’t let them die for her. She wouldn’t.

“No!” Dorian pulled her back. “You move, and we all die!”

Beyond the walls, she heard Cassandra cry out, and Solas’s voice echo bleakly through the air.

“Cassandra, no!”

She choked on a sob. Her friends were dying, and there was nothing she could do.

“Solas.”

A bright light shone from beyond the doors, and then they blew open with a crash, and a host of Venatori flanked by waves of demons poured into the room.

Leliana let her first arrow fly.

“Andraste guide me.”

Another arrow found its mark.

“Maker, take me to your side.”

Solas, where was Solas?

Ellana felt the tears burn on her cheeks and didn’t care that everyone could see. Had he already fallen? Was his body lying out there, broken and alone against the cracked rock?

An arrow flew through the open doors and Leliana cried out as it pierced her shoulder.

“Leliana!”

Her hands were tight on her daggers, and only sheer force of will kept her feet planted where they were as Dorian’s magic pulsed behind her, and Leliana pulled the arrow from her flesh, and drew her daggers to fight.

It was chaos. The demon army swarmed through the doors, and beyond, she could see them marching in an endless, abominable wave of terror as far as the eye could see.

This truly was the end of the world, she realised with sickening fear, and it had happened because of her. Because without the mark on her hand, they were all doomed to this terrible fate.

She had to save them.

“Nearly there!” Dorian cried, just as Leliana fell beneath the weight of the Elder One’s army.

“No!”

The spymaster's gaze locked with hers as the demons descended on her, and Ellana whispered I’m sorry as the light left her eyes, and she died.

She faced them, ready to fight, and then all of a sudden, an explosion blew through the wall and Solas flew backwards into the room and hit the ground, hard.

“Solas!”

Only Dorian’s hand on her arm stopped her from leaving her position and dooming them all; but all she could see was him.

He struggled to his feet, lashing out with his magic and backing up towards them as he defended their escape. Blood trailed from the back of his head and red light shone in his eyes. But he was still Solas. He was still her apostate.

How could she leave him here to die?

“The rift is ready, we have to go!” Dorian yelled and attempted to pull her backwards.

“Solas,” she reached out to him, Dorian tugging her back and her hands straining desperately forward.

He turned, and she watched as his eyes shone with yearning and his face twisted in pain.

“Solas,” she begged. “Come with me. I can still save you.”

He shook his head and cast again, two more demons falling in his wake. But there were too many of them, and he was going to be over-run.

With a last burst of strength, he repelled the nearest wave with a blast of Spirit energy, and then he dropped to his knees, spent.

“Emma lath, please!”

His eyes locked with hers and the ground trembled beneath them.

“Run, vhenan,” he said.

The last thing she saw as Dorian hauled her through the rift, was Solas raising his face to the sky as the demons fell upon him, and his blood turned the trembling stone red.

Chapter Text

They emerged again into the time before. Sunlight was streaming through the castle’s windows, and Alexius’s face was pale with shock. She felt the tears dry on her face, heard her heart hammering loudly in her ears, and trembled with a desperate grief she could only bury beneath layers of anger and duty.

She would not fail them in this.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian grinned, as though they hadn’t just lived through the end of the world. As though her heart hadn’t just been pulled from her chest.

Alexius dropped to his knees, defeated, and she fought the urge to strike him down where he knelt. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to tear him limb from limb, to make him suffer the way he’d made the whole world suffer.

She wanted to scream in his face and rake her nails through his skin.

Do you have any idea what you did? She wanted to scream. Do you know how you tortured my friends?

But of course, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. This Alexius, she reminded herself, as her hands tightened into fists, hadn’t done anything yet.

But it had happened. It was real. She had watched her love die.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” She snarled through gritted teeth.

He was a coward. Her friends had sacrificed themselves to bring them here, had lived through Hell, day after day, and he wouldn’t even fight.

“You won,” he said heavily. “There is no point in extending this charade.”

She wanted him to fight. She wanted an excuse to push her daggers through his neck – to replace Solas’s blood on the stone with his and wash the memories away.

“Felix,” Alexius whispered, and his son knelt at his side. His son, that Leliana had killed, in another life.

Ellana’s head span.

“Everything’s going to be alright, father.”

“But you’ll die,” he protested brokenly.

“Everyone dies,” Felix replied, and Alexius bowed his head.

“Alexius, you will be taken into the custody of the Inquisition,” Ellana said, her voice ringing clear and true. “There, you will be judged for your crimes.”

Her soldiers approached.

“Take him away.”

Adrenaline hummed through her body and she looked around the room, her eyes falling on Cassandra first, and then, on Solas.

He looked back at her mildly, the same hidden smile in his eyes she’d come to expect, even though his face remained impassive.

You died, she wanted to say. You called me your heart, and then you died.

“Well,” Dorian said, looking nervously between them. “I’m glad that’s over.”

But of course, it wasn’t.

King Allister marched into the room, and just like that, the mages were to be banished.

“But, we have hundreds who need protection!” Enchanter Fiona protested. “Where will we go?”

Ellana drew in a steadying breath and fixed her Herald’s mask firmly over the grief in her chest.

“I should point out,” she said dryly. “That we did come here for mages to close the Breach.”

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian said. “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

“I suggest conscripting them,” Cassandra spoke up. “They’ve already proven what they’ll do if they’re given too much freedom.”

But Solas shook his head.

“They have lost all possible supporters,” he said, and the low hum of his gentle voice nearly brought tears to her eyes. “The Inquisition is their only remaining chance for freedom.”

“It seems, then, that we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer,” Fiona said.

Ellana felt the eyes of the room on her, and the weight of her responsibility crackling in the palm of her hand. This is what her life was now – what it had to be, if she was ever going to save them.

She hesitated. It was true, that the mages had allied with Alexius, but it was also true that they’d had no idea what he planned.

She looked at Fiona, still waiting calmly for her judgement. Like a shadow, the Fiona that had begged for her to save them as red lyrium had grown from her body, swelled before her eyes, and she shook the image away before it could take root.

She looked at Solas, and felt the hope sizzling behind his mild expression. He would not want her to take their freedom away.

She squared her shoulders. She didn’t want to take anyone’s freedom away. She was not the Elder One, and if she was to lead anyone, then she would lead them of their own free will, not order them into submission.

“We would be honoured to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.”

Behind Fiona, Cassandra’s eyebrows drew into a frown, but she felt Solas’s pride as though it were a physical warmth, and she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

“We will discuss this later,” Cassandra warned, and she nodded her understanding.

“I pray that the rest of the Inquisition honours your promise then,” Fiona bowed.

“The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. We can’t fight it without you, and any chance of success requires your full support,” Ellana said firmly.

“I’d take that offer if I were you,” King Allister agreed. “One way or another, you’re leaving my kingdom.”

Fiona nodded and turned towards her.

“We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people, and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

She nodded, and as the preparations were made to leave, she strode out of the room as quickly as she could.

“Herald?” Cassandra asked as she passed her, but she didn’t reply.

She needed to get out. She needed to get away from them all before she lost control of herself entirely.

She felt Solas start to follow her and heard Dorian telling Cassandra to give her some space, and she picked up her pace until she was practically jogging.

They died. They all died.

She left the castle walls and broke into a run, hearing two sets of footsteps behind her as she fled

Don’t follow me, she begged silently. Whoever you are, leave me alone for this.

She raced through the trees, the sunlight dappling the ground, and no trace of darkness or red lyrium to be found.

But the images flashed behind her eyes anyway. Cassandra, begging for forgiveness. Leliana, the arrow slicing through her flesh.

And Solas. Solas’s lips on hers. Solas’s eyes filled with tears. Solas crying out in pain with his arms wrapped so tightly round her.

Run, vhenan.

Her vision blurred.

I would die a thousand times for you.

Solas, falling beneath a swarm of demons, his blood hot and red across the stone.

She reached the stream and stopped, doubled over with her hands on her knees while she gasped.

“Lethallan?”

Of course, it would be Solas that followed her.

“Please,” she choked, keeping her eyes fixed on the water. “Please, Solas, leave me for a moment.”

Another set of footsteps came to a stop nearby.

“You might want to do what she asks,” Dorian said.

She felt Solas’s indignation even before he spoke.

“I don’t recall asking for the opinion of a Tevinter magister,” he said coolly.

“Ah, yes, because all Tevinters are evil bastards? I see,” said Dorian. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it might be best if you give her some space.”

“With all due respect-” Solas began, but she straightened and held up her hands.

“Please, Solas. He’s right. Just,” she drew in a breath. “Please.”

For a single moment, the shock and hurt that flashed across his face took her breath away, and then he schooled his expression into blankness again, and bowed his head.

“Ma nuvenin,” he said stiffly. “Although you should be aware that Cassandra wishes us to leave soon.”

He turned away and began to walk back towards the castle with swift steps, and she ached to throw her arms around him and hold him close.

But when he’d looked at her, all she’d been able to see were his eyes glowing red, and his blood pouring onto the floor.

Run, vhenan.

She couldn’t bear it.

As he passed beyond the trees, she let out a choked sob and sank to the floor.

“I should warn you,” Dorian said as he walked towards her. “I am really very uncomfortable with crying women.”

“Then you’re really not going to like this!” She replied, and promptly burst into tears.

“Maker’s Breath,” Dorian sighed, as he lowered himself onto the floor beside her. “The things I get myself into.”

But he pulled her close and let her bury her head in the smooth white fur of his robes, and he rubbed her back while she sobbed out her pain and her fear, and after her tears had ended, he let her rest her head on his shoulder and huddle wretchedly against him while her breathing slowed once more.

“You know,” he said, when she was silent again. “If I’d known that joining the Inquisition would entail becoming the Herald’s very own handkerchief, I might have reconsidered my options.”

She laughed softly and pulled away, to see that there was, indeed, a wet patch on his shoulder where she’d pressed her face into him and wept.

“I’m so sorry, Dorian,” she giggled, slightly hysterically. “I swear I’m not usually like this. I can’t remember the last time I lost control like that in front of someone.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” he said lightly. “If I’d just watched the man I loved torn apart by demons in an alternate universe, I might also be using my robes as a handkerchief.”

Her face crumpled but she kept the tears at bay.

“That’s the thing,” she choked out. “I didn’t know I loved him until then.”

She shook her head.

“We’re friends, but nothing…” She steadied her breathing again. “Nothing like that has ever happened between us. How do I..?”

She looked at Dorian pleadingly.

“I mean, how am I meant to pretend that it didn’t happen? How can I be his friend knowing that in another world, he loves me?”

Dorian’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“Hold on a moment,” he said. “You are telling me, that the man I just watched bare his soul to you and die to save your life, had never actually kissed you until you broke him out of his cell?”

She shook her head miserably.

“We’ve never even come close,” she admitted.

Dorian whistled through his teeth.

“Maker’s Breath, then he is in denial.”

“What?”

“Look, Herald-”

“Ellana.”

He grinned.

“Ellana, look. Now, there are many people in this world who will tell you that I know little of love, and while they’re all dirty rotten lying scoundrels, they would still be right about that.”

Despite herself, she laughed.

“But what I do know,” Dorian continued with a smile. “Is that your inscrutable apostate friend didn’t simply decide to start loving you the moment you became a martyr. No, whether he knows it or not, there is a seed there already, and you dying was simply the thing he needed to shake it into the light.”

“Well, that’s very helpful,” she replied sarcastically. “All I have to do to get Solas to love me is to die again.”

“Hmm… Yes, I see your point,” Dorian mused, a twinkle in his eye. “But what I really meant, was that he already loves you. Or, the spark of it’s there, at least. Give it time, and maybe he’ll find his way to it via a different route.”

“Do you think I should tell him? About what happened in the future?”

“Do I think that you should tell your uptight loner mage, that in an alternate universe he kissed you as though his very life depended on it, and then promptly got torn apart by demons for his trouble?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t your strange bald friend be somewhat mortified by the very notion of it?”

As Dorian talked, she pictured Solas’s reaction, and before she could help herself, she was giggling at the thought.

“Oh, gods,” she said, when she could finally speak again. “No, he’d hate it. And I could never…”

She blushed at the mere thought of telling him.

“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” Dorian said, standing and helping her to her feet. “But I must say, if I’m to provide the roles of magister, handkerchief, and match-maker in this Inquisition of yours, I am going to require a pay rise.”

She smiled as they began to walk back to the castle.

“Talk to Josie,” she said. “She deals with the coin. And I am sorry about your robes.”

“Not to worry,” he replied. “I find it’s left me feeling rather gallant, after all.”

As the castle came into view, she caught sight of Solas standing with his back to them, and felt her heart start to race.

It’s ok, she thought to herself. He was here. He was safe. And maybe soon, she’d be able to look at him without seeing the blood that had run down his face.

Chapter Text

She was gone. One moment she’d been standing on the other side of Dorian, and in the next, there was a vortex of green light, and she and Dorian had vanished.

“What did you do?” Cassandra demanded, and Alexius smiled unpleasantly.

Solas simply stood there, staring at the place where she’d been. He’d felt the heat and smelt the smoke of the rift before it had swallowed her. She’d fallen out of the Fade once and lived, but what were the chances of her doing it twice?

A cold, desperate feeling began to claw through his stomach, and his hand clenched tightly on his staff.

She couldn’t be gone. Not like that. Not while he was standing right next to her, pretending he didn’t know exactly how far away she was or how quickly he could block an attack if she needed him.

He hadn’t protected her. His lethallan.

He sucked in a breath, his heart pounding in his ears.

His lethallan?

When had she become his?

When she let you sleep in her arms and sheltered you from the storm, a treacherous voice in his head whispered.

He lifted his head, his eyes burning as he turned to face Alexius. He felt his magic rising, a burning, primal thing made of anger and grief and pain.

You took her from me.

He took a step forward, no longer in control, knowing only that he would wipe this magister from the face of the world and suffer the consequences later. But before he could raise his staff to strike, a swirling mass of green light pooled in the air again.

The smell of burning and heat flooded the room, and the sound of a battle met his ears, and then Ellana and Dorian were stepping out of the rift, and his rage was swept away on a tide of relief so strong that he barely managed to stay standing.

She’s alive.

It was impossible. She was impossible. And yet, as she stepped out of the rift, her face drawn and her gaze impossibly fierce, the cold thing in his chest vanished and he swelled with pride.

He didn’t deserve her kindness, he knew that, but if he’d had to pick anyone in this Fade-forsaken world to bear his magic, it would have been her. He felt, well, honoured, that she had chosen to make him her friend.

Honoured. It was an old word. Something that spoke of friendship and respect and a deep, unshakeable admiration, but it was the only word he had to describe how she made him feel.

He watched, with growing affection, as she dealt so simply with Alexius, and when she looked at him, he could barely restrain the smile that grew in his gaze.

When she chose to make the mages their allies and King Allister retreated, he thought it would be impossible to keep the happiness from his face. She had a wisdom, and a kindness he had not known since Elvhenan, and here she was, wielding it as though it were simply the normal way of things.

His heart beat in his chest. He wanted to hold her, to reassure himself that she was whole and unhurt and safe, but he knew he would content himself with a simple conversation, as he so often did.

But then she practically fled from the room, and he was reminded forcefully of her ride from Val Royeaux, and the fear she’d kept so well hidden then.

He didn’t even think. He followed her without question.

He followed her out of the castle, across the fields, and into the trees, and when she finally came to a stop by the stream, he stepped closer without a second thought.

“Lethallan?” He asked softly, waiting for the moment she would turn and unburden herself to him, as she always did.

But she simply shook her head, and the cold thing inside him reared its head again.

“Please,” she choked, and he could hear the trembling in her voice. “Please, Solas, leave me for a moment.”

His heart fell.

Leave her? When had he ever left her before?

“You might want to do what she asks,” the magister from Tevinter said from behind him, and his anger flared at once.

Who was this man, to tell him to leave his lethallan’s side? How could he possibly know what she needed better than he did?

“I don’t recall asking for the opinion of a Tevinter magister.”

He kept his voice even, but he knew that his displeasure was clear.

“Ah, yes, because all Tevinters are evil bastards? I see,” Dorian replied. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it might be best if you give her some space.”

He grit his teeth and bit back a curse. Tevinters might not all be evil bastards, but they did own elven slaves. What was Ellana to him, but someone who should be serving him in his chambers?

“With all due respect,” he began dangerously; and then Ellana cut him off.

“Please, Solas. He’s right. Just. Please.”

He felt as if she’d slapped him, and for a moment he couldn’t hide the hurt that crossed his face. Ellana, his lethallan, wanted this Tevinter stranger to comfort her more than him?

His lethallan, who had shared her magic with him, who had massaged the ache from his muscles when he couldn’t sleep, and who had curled up with him in their tent and held him close as though he deserved it?

He searched her face for any sign that he might have misunderstood, but her intention was clear. She didn’t want him.

He inclined his head, and fought to keep his mask in place.

“Ma nuvenin,” he said. “Although you should be aware that Cassandra wishes us to leave soon.”

He turned before his mask could fall, and walked as quickly as he dared back the way he had come. As he crossed the treeline he heard her sob, and despite himself, he looked back, just in time to see the stranger take her in his arms, and her cling onto him as though she were drowning.

All of a sudden, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

His whole body screamed that this was wrong. It shouldn’t be Dorian that Ellana turned to for comfort. It should be him.

For a moment, he almost stormed back towards her to punch Dorian in the face. He wanted to tear the man’s arms from around her and hold her close instead.

She is mine.

The thought rose before he could stop it, and he leant against a tree as his head began to pound.

Mine? How can she be mine?

No, this was wrong. He had no claim on her. They were friends, and even that he should not have allowed. Not when his mark burned on her hand and this world was destined to fall.

No. He could not allow those feelings in.

He clamped down on them before they could grow, and walked stiffly back to where Cassandra was already readying their horses to leave.

“Solas,’ she greeted him. “Is our Herald ready to leave?”

“I believe she and Dorian are discussing something by the stream,” he said evenly. “They will not be much longer, I’m sure.”

A strange look passed over the Seeker’s face.

“Ellana and Dorian?”

He heard the unspoken part of her sentence just as well as she did: Ellana and Dorian, but not you?

He kept his face impassive, even as he clenched his hands into fists behind his back.

“As I said, I’m sure they won’t be much longer.”

***

But it was nearly half an hour before they arrived back at the castle. He breathed deeply and relaxed his shoulders, taking special care to unclench his jaw and smooth the frown from his forehead as she approached.

She would seek him out, and she would explain. He was sure of it.

But when she reached him, she passed by with only a tenuous smile, and his chest ached as he took in her red-rimmed eyes and knew that she had been crying.

“Are you ready to leave?” Cassandra asked. “There is much for us to discuss when we get to Haven.”

Ellana nodded, and Solas fought back the urge to defend her. The Seeker wouldn’t be happy that she had allied with the mages, but Ellana had done it because it was the right thing to do. Because she was kind, and because she wasn’t the sort of person who would strip another of their freedom.

He watched her closely as they rode out of Redcliffe. He watched as she avoided his gaze, and turned her face away from Cassandra as well. He watched her talking amiably to Dorian, and laughing as the man told a seemingly never-ending stream of jokes; whether they were funny or not.

He watched her in silence, because he knew that if he spoke, he would say something he’d regret.

They rode for most of the day, and when it came time to make camp, he set his tent out at the edge of the circle, closest to a copse of trees. The mages had gone on ahead, and they would arrive into Haven a few hours before them the following day.

The absence of a large party had suited him well during the day’s ride, but now that it was only him, Cassandra, Ellana and Dorian, he felt his temper fraying.

When they sat around the fire together, it wasn’t with the same easy camaraderie he’d come to cherish. She didn’t seek out his gaze or reward him with a secret smile through the flames.

Instead, they ate their provisions mostly in silence, and she kept her face turned to the ground, looking up only when Dorian spoke into the strained quiet and Cassandra responded tersely.

Eventually, the Seeker couldn’t seem to hold back any longer.

“You gave the mages their freedom,” she said, and he watched closely as Ellana raised her head with a challenge.

“Yes.”

“You gave them their freedom without oversight, and without consultation, and you sent them onto Haven even though they turned against us and allied with Alexius.”

The Seeker’s voice was rising, and Solas was shocked when Ellana, normally so reasonable in her decisions, responded in kind.

She rose to her feet, her gaze fierce and her food forgotten.

“I gave them their freedom because it is not mine or anyone else’s to take!” She said. “I gave them their freedom because I would have allies, not slaves. I gave them their freedom because I am not the Elder One. I am not a monster. And I will not take away anyone’s right to choose whether or not they will follow us, Cassandra.”

Her eyes shone, and in the glow of the fire, with her red hair gleaming in the light and her expression fierce, he thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Cassandra stared at her and the air quivered with tension, and then she let out a sigh and her shoulders slumped.

“The Elder One?” She asked. “I am going to assume there are things we missed during the time you were both inside the rift. Now might be a good time to explain to us what those things were, before I have to face Cullen and tell him that his new job is to settle the mages into Haven.”

Ellana’s stance relaxed but she stayed standing, while Dorian sat forward eagerly.

“The spell Alexius used displaced us in time,” he began. “It was meant to remove us from existence entirely, but the theory was something Alexius and I worked on together many years ago, and I was able to twist its effects. Instead, we were sent forward one year into the future, or, into a version of the future that would have come to pass if Ellana had been removed from the timeline.”

Solas frowned.

“Are you certain you actually went into the future?” He asked. “It couldn’t have been a trick of the Fade?”

For reasons he couldn’t fathom, Ellana’s eyes shone with hurt.

“It was real,” she said softly.

“But-”

“It was real,” she insisted, and he clamped his jaw shut as she grew agitated again.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I can’t do this yet. Dorian?”

The Tevinter smiled at her easily.

“Not to worry, Lady Herald,” he said. “Tonight, I shall fulfil the dual role of evil Tevinter bastard and storytelling bard. You need not concern yourself with the subtleties, for I have everything under control.”

She let out a breath.

“Thank you.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away into the trees, her posture stiff and her face turned away from them.

Solas watched her go, struggling to understand why such an innocuous question had unnerved her so much. Hadn’t she always been happy to hear his theories on the Fade? Why should this be any different?

He pushed the questions away while Dorian explained what had happened, and although some part of him still resented the stranger, he had to admit, he was thorough in his retelling.

He spoke of the red lyrium weaving through the castle. Of the Elder One – Corypheus, Solas knew – and the army of demons. He told them of Alexius’s failure to return to a time before the Breach, and of Felix languishing as a mindless ghoul at his father’s side.

And then he spoke of the prison cells, and Solas and Cassandra listened in tight lipped silence to what they had become.

“In the end,” Dorian said softly. “You all died. All of you. You died bravely, and to give us time to escape, but for Ellana…”

He paused, and Solas felt his heart clench, even though he was sure that Dorian was leaving some parts of the story out.

At heart, Ellana was fiercely protective and a passionate, unwavering friend. All of a sudden, it started to make sense that she couldn’t look at them, knowing what she had seen.

“She didn’t want to lose any of you,” Dorian said at last. “And the fact that her death prompted everyone else’s, that you were all made to suffer because she failed…”

“She feels responsible,” Cassandra realised.

Dorian nodded.

“I believe she will need some time to come to terms with it,” he said. “And I know I’m the new guy here, but I think she deserves that at least.”

Not long after he’d finished, Cassandra and Dorian retired to their tents, but Solas stayed by the fire, deep in thought.

The world Dorian spoke of was an abomination, and while Ellana was blaming herself for it, Solas knew that the fault lay with him. He had given his orb to Corypheus. He alone knew who this Elder One was.

And yet, even though he knew, all he could do was guide them gently towards their own discovery. If Ellana truly was all that stood between them and the nightmare world Dorian had described, then it was more important than ever that he remained here to help her.

The guilt that had been his constant companion for thousands of years coiled, deep and dark in his chest. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to make things right, he always seemed to cause more pain.

He let his head fall into his hands wearily and closed his eyes. He couldn’t change what he’d already done, but he could do everything he could to make sure a world ruled by the Elder One never came to pass.

He would help her to fix this, even if she could never look him in the eye again.

He sat by the fire, drowning in his guilt, until the soft sound of her footsteps returning to the camp met his ears.

When he looked up, she was staring at him with a brittle, fragile expression on her face, and her eyes were swollen from crying. He got to his feet without thought, his hands clenching with the urge to reach for her, even as he held himself back.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to tell her he didn’t deserve her friendship. He wanted to tell her how frightened he’d been when she’d vanished from his sight, and how precious the moments when she smiled at him really were.

He wanted to tell her he’d do whatever he could to help her.

But before he managed to turn any of his thoughts into words, she walked slowly towards him, and with a gentleness that very nearly broke him, wrapped her arms around his waist and leant her cheek against his chest.

He let out a shaky breath and brought his arms around her gently, his eyes drifting shut and his face dropping so he could bury his nose in her hair.

He breathed her in, the scent of citrus and Spring and warmth and hope, and wished that he could keep her there forever.

Eventually though, she pulled back, and while he was still searching for something to say, she rose up on her toes, and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw that stunned him into stillness.

“Please don’t die, Solas,” she said in a small, cracked voice.

And then she walked away from him, and disappeared into her tent.

He only realised he’d been holding his breath when his lungs started to burn, and when he finally managed to draw in a shuddering gasp, he felt heat rise to his face and tingle across his jawline where she’d kissed him.

It was nothing. The slightest brush of her lips against his skin. A simple expression of affection from one friend to another after a day that had bruised them both.

It was everything. It was kindness given without expectation. It was a promise that he was cared for. It was the first time he’d been kissed in millennia.

He felt something stirring inside him. Something wild and needy and hungry that he’d thought long dead.

He wanted to walk into her tent and crush his lips to hers and hear her scream his name.

He wanted to run very quickly in the opposite direction and never be tempted again.

He did neither of these things. But when he finally managed to rouse himself enough to slip behind the canvas walls of his tent, he couldn’t deny that there was a pleasurable ache growing in his stomach that begged for him to satisfy it.

He breathed deeply, planted his hands firmly against the ground, and slipped into the Fade before he could do something that he knew he would only regret.

Chapter Text

She’d hoped that Cullen, always so kind and eager to accommodate her, would understand her reasons for allying with the mages. Unfortunately, his fear of magic seemed to run far deeper than she’d known.

“It’s not a matter for debate, there will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared,” he argued.

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it will make the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, and tyrannical at worst,” Josephine replied.

Cullen rounded on her as she approached.

“What were you thinking? Turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

“Give them their freedom for now,” Ellana insisted. “If they prove later they can’t handle it, impose restrictions.”

“And how many lives will be lost if they fail? With the veil broken, the threat of possession…” He shook his head and turned to Cassandra. “You were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?”

“While I may not completely agree with the decision,” she said. “I support it.”

Ellana smiled at her gratefully. She knew Cassandra was still nervous about the mages, but she had listened to Dorian’s story and understood why it was so important to her to grant them their freedom regardless.

“The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mage’s aid, and that was accomplished.”

Dorian leant against the wall and nodded his approval.

“The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra said firmly, and Ellana had to agree.

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” Leliana said. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“It sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian suggested. “Orlais falls. The Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone!”

Cullen waved him away irritably.

“One battle at a time. It’s going to take time to organise our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.”

He looked at Ellana steadily.

“Join us,” he said at last. “None of this means anything without your mark after all.”

She felt the heavy weight of her responsibility, even as she recognised the spirit of reconciliation in his offer.

“And I’d hoped to sit out the assault on the Breach,” she smiled. “Take a nap. Maybe go for a walk.”

He chuckled lightly.

“What is it they say? No rest for the wicked.”

“I must have done something truly terrible in a previous life,” she agreed wryly.

“I think I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian said. “But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

She beamed at him.

“Then you’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The south is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces.”

“I must admit, I’m surprised you want to stay.”

His voice gentled.

“We both saw what could happen. What this Elder One and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will not come to pass.”

She suppressed the urge to hug him, and settled for smiling at him instead.

“There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

“Excellent choice,” he replied. “But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?”

Cullen ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.

After the council broke up, Cullen left swiftly, and Ellana made her way out into the cold air. Snow swirled in delicate eddies, and the sickly green glow of the Breach drew her gaze.

Since returning from Redcliffe, she’d sought more and more of these moments alone. She needed time to work out how she felt, and the quiet gave her a chance to still her confused thoughts, although more and more often, they returned to one thing. Or rather, to one person.

She felt Solas’s presence before she saw him. It seemed, no matter where he was, that she was aware of him now, like a thread bound them together, invisible to everyone but them.

He was standing by the apothecary in the distance, but when she looked over at him, he turned from his conversation as though he could sense her, too.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other while the rest of Haven moved around them.

Before, she’d have simply walked over to him, maybe jokingly offered him a cup of tea, or demanded to know what he was working on and whether she could help.

Now, there was something strained between them, and it wasn’t merely because she knew what had happened in the alternate future and he had no idea. It was because the feelings were all too new for her as well.

Before she’d found him, dying and alone, she had simply been drawn to him because he was different. Because he fascinated her, and the rarity of his laughter and his approving smile made them things to be treasured.

She’d enjoyed learning from him, and found that his preference for quiet conversation as opposed to the others’ raucous drinks, suited her personality, as well. And yes, she had wanted to befriend him, because it was so painfully obvious to her that he was lonely.

She couldn’t yet reconcile those innocent feelings with the desperate pain that had torn her apart as he’d pulled away from her to walk to his death. And she couldn’t imagine this Solas ever kissing her with the same burning passion that the other Solas had nurtured for a year, before finally allowing it to break free.

No matter what Dorian said, that Solas was a different man entirely to the one who stood here now. That Solas had spent a year being tortured, had been faced with the end of the world, and then she’d fallen right into his arms.

How could she blame him for wanting to wring some small amount of love from her in the short time they had together? She must have seemed like a miracle, a glimpse of a world he had thought long gone.

But this was her world. Where this Solas had never been tortured, and she was going to save him and everyone else before it could happen. This Solas didn’t love her the way his alter-ego had. And perhaps, she admitted to herself, it wasn’t this Solas that she loved, either.

It was as though he wasn’t quite ready yet. Like she’d met someone who simply looked like him, but was really an entirely different man to the one she knew.

She turned away from him and began to walk in the opposite direction. It didn’t matter what her feelings were, and standing here trying to work them out was only going to distract her from what she had to do.

Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she would save them all from the terrible fate she knew was waiting for them. And she couldn’t afford to lose focus now.

She found Cullen, as she knew she would, supervising the soldiers in the training area.

“You there!” He called. “There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it. If this man were your enemy you’d be dead already.”

She smiled. There was something reassuring about Cullen. Something calming in the stoic way he simply got on with things, and in the way he cared for his men.

“We’ve received some new recruits,” he told her as she approached. “Word of the Inquisition is spreading and more people are arriving by the day. Although none of them made quite the entrance you did.”

“At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you did. I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself. I was there during the mage uprising.”

He looked away.

“I saw first-hand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause.”

“That’s why the mages make you nervous,” she said softly.

He sighed and looked away.

“Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

She smiled.

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

He laughed then, a bashful, rich chuckle that brought a blush to his cheeks she found surprisingly endearing.

“Perhaps some other time. What were you here for?”

“I could use your help,” she admitted.

“Whatever help I can offer is yours.”

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said quietly. “It’s good to know I have you on my side.”

She stared up at the Breach, and knew he was watching her while she did. It felt different, she realised, being looked at by Cullen, than it did when Solas watched her.

With Solas’s eyes on her, she felt like she was a puzzle he was desperately hoping to solve, or else, some illicit choice he’d made that he was struggling to accept. When Solas watched her, she felt somehow both needed and rejected, both desired and reviled.

The truth was, she felt both more herself and less herself in his eyes, and the result was as intoxicating as it was disconcerting.

With Cullen though, she felt nothing but a warm, steady presence at her side. Someone whose feelings were simple and obvious, waiting patiently for her to tell him what she needed.

In some ways, it was a relief, to feel simply that she was a person, and not some riddle to be examined again and again.

“What we saw in the future was terrible,” she said at last. “I thought I understood what it meant, to be the Herald and bear the mark. But seeing what happened, simply because I died…”

“It must have been like walking into a nightmare,” he said gently.

“Except that this nightmare was real,” she agreed. “I realised then, that I can’t simply hope for success. I have to make sure I do everything I can to ensure that future never comes to pass.”

She turned to face him.

“I need to be ready to face whatever’s coming. I know you’re busy with the soldiers and the mages, but I wanted to ask you, whether you’d help me to train.”

He smiled understandingly.

“I won’t pretend I haven’t watched you fight,” he said. “Your technique is remarkable, but there is always room for improvement.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

He studied her for a moment and then nodded.

“You bear a heavy burden,” he said. “I will do whatever I can to help you prepare. When shall we start?”

“How about now?”

He drew his sword.

“Get ready,” he said. “Because I’m not going to baby you.”

She grinned.

“I expected nothing less.”

And then she lunged.

Chapter Text

For the next two weeks, she trained with Cullen every day. The mages settled into Haven slowly, forming an uneasy truce with the Commander and his soldiers.

During the day, she often watched Solas from a distance, deep in conversation with Fiona or her followers, and when she sparred with Cullen’s new recruits, she frequently felt the apostate’s eyes on her as well.

The fragile, strained thing between them hadn’t been tested yet, because she hadn’t allowed it to be. It was childish, but while they prepared for the assault on the Breach, she’d found herself avoiding him.

Although, on at least two occasions, she’d noticed him slip out of her company under some flimsy pretence or another, and so perhaps, they were really avoiding each other.

When she wasn’t training with Cullen and the soldiers, she was often with Dorian, and the Tevinter magister had become a rare spot of light in the dark. He had the ability to make her laugh, and when she ached from her day’s sparring, he dragged her to the tavern and surrounded her with the rest of their unlikely group.

Sera and Varric, she was pleased to see, had struck up a bizarre sort of friendship, and even though Vivienne disapproved of Dorian on principle, she clearly found him entertaining.

Blackwall and Sera, too, had grown close, and after a night attempting to out-drink the Iron Bull, all of them vowed never to challenge him again. The only person missing from their late-night gatherings, was Solas, and it was in those moments she felt a prickle of guilt.

Whatever else their relationship had become, he had saved her life on so many occasions. He had treated her kindly, and with respect, and she couldn’t forget how he’d held her, as though he could hardly believe she was real.

Hadn’t she befriended him, at least in part, because she sensed that he was lonely? Now that their group was growing, it seemed that out of all of them, Solas was once again the one who was left all alone.

The day soon came when their assault on the Breach was ready, and despite her efforts not to be distracted by him, as Ellana stood in the cold, and the soldiers and mages formed into rows behind her, she realised she needed him there.

Not because he had kissed her in the future. Not because he had called her his heart. But because he was her friend and she trusted him implicitly. She had always, since the beginning, felt better when he was nearby.

While the sound of marching feet and shouted instructions echoed through the air, her eyes cast around for the tell-tale green tunic and proud bald head she’d come to associate with safety. For a moment, she was scared he’d abandoned her in this, and then she felt the heat of him at her back, and turned to find him standing at her side, and watching her with a guarded expression.

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her face, and it only grew as his lips turned up slightly in response.

“Solas,” she said, and only a fool would have missed the relief in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows rose.

“For what?”

She took a step closer to him until they were nearly touching, and looked up into his face. He tensed, but stayed where he was, one hand still holding his staff as she felt the comforting sigh of his magic brush over her skin.

“It’s been difficult for me, since Redcliffe,” she said softly. “So much happened, and it was hard to be around you afterwards.”

He stiffened imperceptibly.

“And yet, you seem to have found it very easy to be around Dorian, or Cullen, or all manner of other people.”

She flinched internally. His tone was even, and if she hadn’t known him so well, she would have missed the edge of hurt that hid behind his calm exterior.

Despite the fevered preparations going on all around them, she rested her hand gently on the arm he had folded in front of himself like a barrier.

“I found it easier to be around Dorian and Cullen, because I hadn’t had to watch them die,” she said softly.

He looked away from her, but made no move to remove her hand.

“And Cassandra and Leliana?” He asked, his tone still mild, but the hurt more pronounced than before. “What reason made it so much easier for you to look at them?”

She tightened her grip on his arm, but he kept his gaze fixed over her head, as though observing the mage’s preparations. For the first time, she realised that by keeping her distance, she had truly hurt him, and the thought made her throat grow tight.

She would give him an explanation, even if it wasn’t the full one. She owed him that much at least.

“I never actually saw Cassandra die,” she said truthfully. “And Leliana, it happened so quickly…”

She stared up into his face, willing him to look at her again, but he kept his eyes on the mages.

“You were the last person standing, Solas,” she said softly. “You fought for us until the very last moment.”

She squeezed his arm, and watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“I asked you to come with us,” she admitted, and that made him drop his eyes to hers, his eyebrows drawn together into a questioning frown.

“That would have been unwise in the extreme,” he said, as though berating a wayward student. “To draw the timelines together like that, it could have torn a hole through the very fabric of reality.”

“I know,” she said, and this time it was her who looked away.

“Then why would you-”

“Because you were dying, Solas!”

She looked up into his face, her eyes pleading.

“Because you fought knowing you would die, and in the last moments I begged you to come with us, and you looked at me and you-”

She closed her eyes against the tears that were forming, and drew a steady breath in. She could feel the weight of Solas’s gaze on her face, but she kept her eyes shut as she spoke.

“You told me to run,” she whispered at last. “You told me to run, and I did, and the last thing I saw was you falling beneath the demons, and…”

She shook her head, unable to continue. When she opened them again, Solas was looking at her with an intensity that took her breath away.

She squeezed his arm again.

“I couldn’t be around you, because you are my closest friend here, and I felt like I’d already killed you.”

As she spoke the words, she realised it was the truth. Or, at least, it was part of a core truth she had only just now realised she could share with him safely.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer, and then his gaze softened and the tension left his body, and he let go of his staff to rest his fingertips carefully on top of her hand.

“Lethallan…” He said softly, and there was so much feeling in that one word, and she had missed hearing it from his lips so much, that she beamed up into his face without a thought.

He smiled tenderly down at her, and just like that, she knew she had been forgiven.

“I’ve missed you, Solas.”

His hand tightened on hers for the briefest moment before he stepped away.

“And I you,” he said quietly.

“Stay close to me today.”

He met her gaze with an affection that made her stomach flip.

“Ma nuvenin, da’mi.”

Chapter Text

He had missed her. He had missed her more than he’d thought possible. He had watched her train as though hungry for the mere sight of her. He’d seen her smile at Cullen and laugh with Dorian and hated every inch of them because of it. And he’d sat alone in his room, night after night, listening to the waves of laughter echoing from the tavern, and felt such a deep sense of isolation that only sheer pride had prevented him from crying.

And yet, she could undo it all with merely a touch. With her hand on his arm and her eyes shining with tears, he’d seen the truth of it, and selfishly, it had made his heart soar. She had avoided him because she cared for him. Because it had hurt her to see him in pain.

Now, he stood next to her beneath the Breach, and he felt her fear and knew that she would master it anyway, because she was remarkable. He swallowed down his own concern for her and readied himself for what they had to do.

Behind them, rows of mages lined up on the crumbling balcony, and at his side, Cassandra and Ellana stared into the Breach. He looked up at it, and experienced the disconcerting sensation that if he kept on looking, he would fall right through the gap.

Beside him, the mark on Ellana’s hand began to spark and crackle, and he followed its movements with something a little like hunger. He could feel its power thrumming through his body.

His mark. His magic. It called to him like a siren.

And yet, her magic had changed it, too. There was a lightness to it that shouldn’t have been there, and the sensation was all the more intoxicating because of it.

Ellana met his gaze, and he nodded to her reassuringly. Cassandra turned to face the battalion at their back, and they were ready to begin.

“Mages!” Cassandra called, and they stood, tall and proud.

Ellana advanced on the Breach, and Solas donned Fen’Harel’s command like a mantle he’d almost forgotten he could wear.

He raised his staff into the air.

“Focus past the Herald!” He commanded, as the Breach morphed and swayed at his back. “Let her will draw from you!”

This was what he was. Not the mild-mannered apostate, but a commander who had once lead an army to their freedom. The wolf inside him howled, and he turned to watch Ellana’s path towards the glowing mass in the sky.

She fought through the waves of magic, and as she raised her hand, he raised his staff for the signal. As one, the mages dropped to their knees, driving their own staffs into the ground as they focused all of their intent, all of their will, on Ellana.

He joined them, the force of his power reaching out beyond her as he felt the mark respond and fight the Fade for control.

A great beam of light erupted from her hand, and she stood tall, her muscles quivering under the strain, as together, they channelled all of their resolve through her and wrestled the magic into submission.

Power roared through him, and he felt lighter than he had since he’d awoken from his long sleep. Here, with the Fade pitching and falling around them and a battalion of mages at his back, he was strong.

He felt their magic pulse, and in the next instant, a blinding flash of light lanced through the sky, and an explosion blew them all off their feet.

He hit the ground hard, but recovered quickly, the smell of heat and fire and burning hot and insistent in his nose.

For a moment, he was Fen’Harel again, the Dread Wolf commander of an army of freed slaves, his very name enough to make the Evanuris quake, and his strength unchallenged throughout the Fade.

But as the dust cleared and he peered through the haze, searching for Ellana, Fen’Harel faltered and Solas rose once more in his place.

Where is she?

Cassandra moved forward, and he watched anxiously as she bent over the crouched form of the Herald, still and unmoving beneath the unmarked sky.

There was a moment – a terrible moment – in which he thought they’d lost her, and then Ellana raised her head, her eyes bright and her hair flying loose from her braid, and he swelled with pride.

“You did it,” the Seeker said.

Ellana climbed to her feet, and the battalion of mages and soldiers erupted into cheers. Solas joined them, his staff raised into the air as her eyes swept over them.

Her face was flushed and her smile was bright, and she stood beneath an open sky as latent Fade magic swirled around her. She was beautiful, and perfect, and alive.

She caught his eye and his heart leapt, and he didn’t bother to hide the joy that shone from his face.

***

The celebration was bright and light and fierce. Haven rang with the sound of their victory. The sky was clear once more, and soldiers danced with mages beneath the vast unscarred night.

He moved through the streets with the memory of Fen’Harel’s power coursing through his veins. For the first time in a long time, he was not afraid.

He laughed at Sera’s pranks. He allowed Dorian to tease him. He sipped the tepid ale and smiled to see the Iron Bull pouring a burning alcohol down his throat.

And he was aware of her, always. He watched her move through the crowds, accepting their thanks but never encouraging it.

Dorian span her around in his arms and she laughed, and for once, he didn’t mind. Cullen shook her by the hand, and she hugged him, and Solas simply smiled.

Even Vivienne seemed lighter with their success, and as the evening wore on, Solas settled himself on a low wall, and watched the festivities bloom.

Above him on the higher level, he could see Cassandra and Ellana deep in conversation, and he watched with quiet happiness as his lethallan paced back and forth.

Tonight, things were good, and he almost felt like a part of it. These people, with their dancing and their drinking and their laughter in the face of death, reminded him of hope.

He was still watching Ellana with a quiet sense of pleasure, when the bells began to toll.

At once, Cullen was rallying the men.

“Forces approaching!” He cried. “To arms!”

The soldiers scrambled, and Solas flung his mug of ale over the wall and readied his staff. In the time it took him to dispose of his drink, he lost sight of Ellana, and a spike of fear pierced his heart.

On instinct, he ran for the gates, directing the civilians to make for the shelter of their homes.

It seemed she had a similar idea. He met her, standing with Cullen and Cassandra on the slope, and she acknowledged him with a brief nod as he arrived.

“Cullen?”

“One watch guard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountains.”

Josephine arrived at their side.

“Under what banner?”

“None,” Cullen replied.

“None?”

Ellana stepped forward, her eyes scanning the horizon with the practiced calm he’d seen her display in battle so many times before.

The gates buckled beneath the weight of something slamming against them, and then a young, panicked voice drifted from beyond.

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

Ellana rushed forward and the soldiers parted the gates. They followed her out, in time to see a pale man with straw coloured hair and wearing a wide-rimmed hat, slay a Venatori agent and watch him fall.

“I’m Cole,” he said. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know-”

“What is this?” Ellana asked. “What’s going on?”

“The Templars come to kill you.”

“Templars?” Cullen cried, striding forward. “Is this the order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole shook his head.

“The red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

Cole pointed to a rocky outcrop, high in the snow-capped peaks.

“There.”

Solas squinted, and he could just make out the shadow of Corypheus and another person, striding over the stone. His blood ran cold.

He couldn’t be here. Not yet. Not like this.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole said.

Ellana moved into action at once.

“Cullen, give me a plan. Any plan. Anything.”

He shook his head.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit with force. Use everything you can.”

He drew his sword.

“Mages!” He ordered. “You. You have sanction to engage them. That is Samson, he will not make it easy.”

He turned to face her.

“Inquisition, with the Herald!”

They roared.

“For your lives! For all of us!”

And just like that, they were at war.

Chapter Text

They fought their way to the trebuchet. The red Templars were powerful, their bodies burning with corrupted lyrium, and even to be near them made Solas feel sick.

Ellana moved as though she was born to lead, fighting ferociously and sending the burning projectiles soaring through the air.

The answering avalanche buried a section of Corypheus’s forces, and Solas cheered with the rest of the soldiers as their victory rang clear.

But in the next moment, a winged creature made of shadow and flame soared overhead, and his blood froze in his veins.

It couldn’t be, and yet it was. Corypheus commanded an arch demon.

The trebuchet exploded in a blaze of fire as the dragon attacked, and Solas found himself blown into the sky and flung beyond a wall.

Flames were already rising into the air, Haven’s wooden buildings too fragile to withstand the assault.

“Get everyone into the Chantry!”

He could hear Ellana directing their forces but he couldn’t see her through the smoke.

“All able fighters, protect the people!” She called. “Get them to safety!”

He did as she asked.

Using waves of frost, he quelled the worst of the fires nearest to him, hauling people out of buildings and sending them fleeing towards the Chantry, and still, the dragon screeched overhead.

He didn’t know how long he fought for, lost in the haze of battle. But at some point, Cullen grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him inside the Chantry.

“Ellana? Where is Ellana?”

The Commander pushed him inside.

“They need healers. Go. I’ll find her.”

The doors were closed before he could argue, and when he turned, the chaos inside nearly over-whelmed him.

He did what he could, treating burns and bandaging gaping wounds, but there was little help he could give them while the ground still shook beneath the dragon’s assault.

Ellana. Where is Ellana?

Chancellor Roderick was manning the doorway, directing people inside, and as he glanced back, she flew through the open doors flanked by Dorian, Cullen, and Iron Bull.

His shoulders sagged in relief as the doors were closed behind them, but he knew it wouldn’t last. The Chantry could never hold against the might of an arch demon.

For a wild moment, he contemplated simply striding over to her and pulling her into his arms. They were doomed anyway, so why not die with the feel of her lips on his, the taste of her in his mouth?

He was a failure. And worse, he had condemned them all. The guilt consumed him, and it only grew as he watched how fiercely she refused to give up.

Cullen ran towards her before Solas could get there.

“Herald. Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an arch demon,” Cole said. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen said. “It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

For a second, Solas thought his heart might stop beating. Ellana met his gaze, and he knew what she was about to offer.

“No.”

He stepped forward, shaking his head.

“No. You saw what happened in the future.”

She squared her shoulders.

“If it will save these people, he can have me,” she said firmly, and he saw no fear in her eyes.

“It won’t save them,” Cole said. “He wants to kill you. No-one else matters but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

Cullen turned to face her.

“Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets. Cause one last slide.”

“We’re over-run,” she said softly. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“We’re dying,” the Commander agreed grimly. “But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

Solas watched the calm resolve settle over Ellana’s face, and his own fear roared in response.

He had lived for millennia. Fought mages so powerful they were called gods. Created the veil, destroyed a whole world, and now, he was going to die cowering in a Chantry beneath waves of crushing ice and rock.

Even worse, it was his fault. He had given Corypheus this power. And Ellana was going to die for it.

“Chancellor Roderick can help,” Cole said all of a sudden. “He wants to say it before he dies.”

A remarkable spirit, this one, Solas thought.

Strange, that no-one else had noticed it yet.

“There is a path,’ Chancellor Roderick wheezed. “You wouldn’t know it, unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape.”

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stab wound in his stomach.

“She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.”

Ellana stepped up to him and laid her hand on his arm before turning back to the commander.

“What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

He nodded.

“Possibly. If he shows us the path. But what of your escape?”

Ellana looked away, towards the creaking doors and the sound of screams. Solas saw comprehension dawn on Cullen’s face, and he gripped his hands together so tightly they ached.

“Perhaps you will surprise it,” Cullen said softly. “Find a way.”

And then he hurried to his troops and began to direct them to follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry.

Solas stood still, rooted to the spot, as Cole helped the dying man to his feet.

“Herald,” the Chancellor said. “If you were meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.”

She nodded to him, compassion shining in her face as more soldiers ran by.

“They’ll load the trebuchets,’ Cullen said. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline. If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

And then he was gone, hurrying the people through the Chantry and directing his soldiers into action without a second glance.

Solas couldn’t move. He couldn’t even seem to speak.

I did this.

Ellana came to stand in front of him, and he felt something desperate and painful rise in his chest.

“Go, Solas,” she said. “They will need a healer if they are to survive this.”

She brushed his hand with hers as she turned to go, and suddenly, he found his voice.

“No.”

His hand closed around hers and he pulled her back to him, his fingers tightening with painful force.

“No. You told me,” he begged. “You told me what the future was if you died. If you go to your death now we’re finished already.”

He didn’t recognise the pleading, helpless tone in his voice, and the gentle compassion in her expression made his throat ache.

“Solas,’ She said softly. “Only I can stop him now. If I hide in here then we’re all dead anyway.”

He shook his head, and took hold of her other hand as well, as though simply by denying the truth of her words he could change them.

“Lethallan,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this.”

Don’t leave me.

Her eyes shone with tears and she squeezed his hands warmly.

“I don’t have a choice.”

She stepped towards him and rested her head on his shoulder, and he let go of her only to pull her tightly against him, his fingers digging into her back and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

His heart hammered wildly against his ribs. He had lost so many people – he had lost all of his people. He should be used to this, to the endless pain of saying goodbye. But she was so young. And so remarkable. And he had done this to her.

He swallowed down a sob before it could grow in his throat, and when she finally pulled away, his gaze was fierce.

He would not lose her.

“You will survive this,” he told her, and it was an order as much as it was a wish. “You will find your way back, and you will survive.”

She smiled at him sadly as she turned away.

“I will try,” she promised.

And then she stepped outside and was hidden from his sight, and he felt the absence of her weight in his arms like a physical wound in his chest.

Come back to me.

The dragon roared.

His vision blurred and he blinked the tears away and turned to help the rest of the people escape.

Don’t leave me here on my own.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how they made it beyond the treeline. He only recalled a seemingly endless walk through growing flurries of snow; hauling people back to their feet when they fell, and using fire to light their way through the darkness. Below them, he heard the terrible roar of the arch demon, and imagined that every new moment could be Ellana’s last.

What was she doing while he fled? Would she stand and face the beast head on? Would she fight?

Was she already lying, dead and broken on the ground with her blood staining the white snow red?

His throat burned as Cullen met his gaze, his hand hovering over the flare.

“It’s time,” the Commander said.

And then he lit the spark.

They watched the flame rise into the night sky, and Solas held his breath. If she was still alive, the trebuchet would fire. And if she wasn’t…

He dug his fingernails into his hands and gazed out over Haven, where fires still lit the night and the monstrous shadow of the dragon dominated the view.

At first, there was nothing, and then he heard the crunch of the trebuchet’s mechanism, and they watched as it flung its projectile into the side of the mountain.

She was alive.

The rock and ice roared as it fell, a great sliding wave of power as it broke free from the mountainside and sped towards the town.

In the distance, he saw the arch demon take flight, Corypheus held in its claws, and then his army was buried beneath layers of rolling snow and clouds of white powder.

There was silence.

They had won.

The survivors behind him cheered; a great swell of relief and joy. But Solas simply watched the snow settle over the town, in layers so deep that Haven disappeared entirely, and only one thought rose in his mind.

She was dead. She had saved them, and now she was dead.

Behind him, he heard Cullen already directing soldiers to begin the search for the Herald, but his voice washed over him as though it were spoken from a dream.

No-one could have survived that. Not even her.

There was a ringing in his ears, and his breath began to stutter in his chest.

His heart beat too quickly, and with every pulse he seemed to hear it:

Alone. Alone. Alone.

***

He helped them set up the camp. Moving between injured civilians and offering healing where he could. He didn’t know what else to do.

If he stopped, he thought he might start screaming, and so he simply carried on.

Dorian leant him aid where he could, and at every moment of silence he sensed the Tevinter magister watching him, as though waiting for him to speak.

Eventually, there was nothing more they could do, and Cullen and his men still hadn’t returned.

He stood away from the camp, staring at the space where Haven had been, and hardly seeing it through the haze of his grief.

Lethallan. Lethallan. Lethallan.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, and when he turned to look it was Dorian standing at his side.

“If anyone could survive this,” he said. “It would be her.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, so he clamped his jaw shut and shook the man away, his body rigid and a cry building in his chest.

For a moment, he thought Dorian would try to engage him again, but with a sigh, he simply moved back towards the camp, and left Solas to his silent vigil.

He waited for what seemed like an age. The wind whipped around him and chilled him to his core, and as he shivered, he remembered Ellana’s arms around him, keeping him safe and warm inside the tent.

Never again, he realised. She will never hold me again.

A gasp left him and he clamped his hand over his mouth, his chest straining with the urge to sob.

Without her, only death awaited him. Corypheus would rise and this world would fall. He would never succeed in restoring the People. He would never be held by anyone again.

His shoulders trembled with the force of his effort not to break down, and he was so fixated on his grief, that at first, he didn’t notice the shadow moving towards him through the snow.

Only when it began to shout, did his mind catch up to reality, and his body sprang into action.

“I’ve got her!” Cullen called through the wind. “She needs a healer, now!”

Impossible, he thought.

And then he was running, stumbling through the snow to where the Commander held a woman in his arms.

Ice clung to her clothes and her red hair was sodden with water and speckled with white, and for one horrifying moment he thought she was dead. But then her chest rose, and a plume of water vapour blew from her nose, and without thought he was pulling her from Cullen’s arms.

“Give her to me,” he said desperately, as he slipped his arms beneath her.

If he was shocked, the Commander didn’t show it. He let Solas take her from him, and then she was cradled in his arms and he felt her head loll against his chest, and he was hurrying past Dorian and Josie and Cassandra and heading for the tent they’d set up to await her.

He burst inside and laid her out on the bed, sending his magic through her body and searching desperately for any sign of injury.

He heard people enter behind him, but he hardly paid them any mind as a stream of Elvhen prayers and hopes tumbled from his lips, and he ghosted his hands over her.

She was freezing. Hypothermia had set in. Her pulse was weak and his magic was burning hot through her body. But she was alive.

She was alive.

“Solas?”

Dorian was pulling off her sodden boots and peeling off her socks, and he looked at him with the same desperate question in his eyes as he suspected was in his.

“Cracked ribs. Hypothermia. Exhaustion,” he bit out.

“Will she..?”

“I don’t know. I need to work.”

It was true, he did, but that wasn’t the only reason he wanted them to leave. He could feel something breaking inside him; a carapace falling away from his heart and sending great pulses of pain through his chest.

It was relief, and terror, and hope, and guilt, all bound up into a storm of emotion, and he could hardly bear a single moment of it.

“Come on, everyone,” Dorian was saying. “She’s in good hands. Let’s give him some space.”

He made a mental note to thank the Tevinter for that later, and then he was mercifully alone again.

He sank down into a chair at her side, and set to work.

***

It took an hour to stabilise the mark again, and by then he could feel the strain in his body, his mana faltering as he sent wave after wave to bolster her instead.

But still, he didn’t stop. He dried her clothes and tucked thick furs around her, and only when he felt her pulse begin to stabilise did he allow himself to slump forward in his chair, and feel the exhaustion humming through his own body.

She will live.

The thought was a prayer and a wish and a hope all at once, and he sent a last burst of warming energy dancing through his fingers as he brushed them tenderly over her forehead, and sat back to wait.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, he allowed himself the luxury of watching her. He watched the furs rise and fall with her steady breathing, and her damp hair curl around her face. He trailed his fingertips oh-so gently along the delicate flush in her cheeks, and watched her eyelashes flutter against her skin.

His heart ached. He had passed beyond the point of exhaustion some hours ago, and still, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her face.

How had this happened? How had this mortal Dalish elf worked her way so securely into his heart?

How had he come to treasure her as something so precious? How had he come to need her the same way he needed to breathe?

He wanted to bundle her into his arms and hold her against his chest. He wanted to keep her safe and warm beside him and tell the rest of the world to leave them be.

The thought struck him suddenly: that even though she was right here at his side, he still, somehow, missed her.

He knew the moment she began to rise back to consciousness, as a frown furrowed her forehead and her chin began to quiver. The shivering was a good sign that her body was beginning to warm once more, and he watched with bated breath as her eyes flickered, and then opened.

She looked at him, fear and confusion and relief passing over her face, to settle on a tender expression that made his heart stutter in his chest.

She smiled at him, and he was lost.

Chapter Text

She smiled at him, and he was lost.

“I’m not dead then?” She asked softly. “You must be a better healer than you look, hahren.”

In the end, it was the lightness in her voice, and the simple joke she’d made once before, that broke him.

He felt his face crumple, even as he held back his sobs. A whimper slipped from between his lips, and then he was hunched over her, his face pressed into the furs on her chest and his hands tangling in the blankets as his breaths came in painful, shuddering gasps.

She shifted beneath him, and then she worked her arms out of the furs, and her hands, still cold, were resting on the back of his neck and holding him close, and her mouth was next to his ear and whispering soothing words to him as he shook with relief and exhaustion.

He whined, a desperate, needy sound he was certain he’d never made before, and he felt her hands guiding his face closer to her until his nose was buried in the crook of her neck and his arms were trapped beneath her back.

And then he was crushing her to him, lifting her up and sitting back so he could cradle her on his knee. She pulled the furs with her and slipped her arms around him, and he didn’t flinch as she pressed the icy skin of her face into the crook of his neck instead, and he finally felt like he could breathe.

He didn’t realise he was speaking until he heard the Elvhen falling from his lips.

“Aneth ara. Ir abelas. Oh, ma serannas. Dareth. Ir abelas, lethallan. Ir abelas, ma da’mi.”

She moved beneath him, but only to lift herself up so she could cradle his face between her hands. She pressed their foreheads together and he felt her breath ghost over his lips, and it would be so easy; so easy to close the distance between them and taste her, but he held himself back instead.

“Hush now, Solas,’ she said softly, and he bit his lip to silence himself and closed his eyes. “I am alright. I’m right here. You saved me. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The guilt inside him roared and a lump formed in his throat, and he thought he would surely choke on it. He gasped instead, holding her tight against him, her body still shivering as she sank into him in return.

He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t allow himself that. He hadn’t cried in front of another person since the very earliest years of his life, and the idea of losing control now made him feel so vulnerable he was sure he would never be able to come back from it if he did.

Instead, he pressed his face into her hair and cradled her gently, and instinctively, he found himself rocking her ever so slightly as she burrowed into his tunic, and let out a soft sigh of pleasure against his chest.

The word rose inside him before he knew it was there.

Vhenan.

He stilled, astounded by the treachery of his own thoughts.

Vhenan?

But it was there now, nestled in his heart, a thought so sweet it was like poison.

He tightened his grip on her, hating himself even as he was powerless to stop the waves of emotion that crashed over him.

He loved her. And he had doomed her to death.

He loved her. And he didn’t deserve a single thing from her.

He loved her.

“Ir abelas,” he whispered, his heart breaking.

“Tel’abelas,” she replied.

The Dread Wolf lowered his face to her hair, and held her safe in his arms.

Chapter Text

They sang as the dawn broke over the mountains and bathed the snow in gold. They sang for her.

He watched them come, exhausted and wounded, from their sleeping rolls and tents. He watched them bow down and pledge themselves to her. He watched the sunlight turn her hair into molten fire, and her eyes into sparkling jewels as she stood tall, and he saw her for what she was.

She was a leader. She was their hope.

And so, he told her what he should have told her from the beginning; a small taste of what she should always have known. He told her of the orb Corypheus carried, of its elven origins, and he prepared her for its discovery.

And then he gave her hope.

“By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you,” he said. “Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, and grow.”

He had never planned for it to happen this way. He had never expected to care. But he gave her Skyhold anyway.

It was Cassandra who elevated her to what he already knew she could be.

“Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are Corypheus’s rival because of what you did. And we know it. All of us,” the Seeker said.

Solas watched her lead Ellana to the courtyard’s stairway, where Leliana waited with the sword.

“The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading it. You.”

He stood beneath them, watching the worry and the resolve pass over Ellana’s face. She would take it, he knew, but only because she must. She did not crave power the way so many others did.

The crowd gathered around him. A crowd that would follow her wherever she lead.

“I… don’t know what to say,” she said, so softly that only his elf ears could hear.

“Say that you will not make me regret this. Without you, there would be no Inquisition,” Cassandra said. “What it means for the future. How you lead us. That is entirely up to you.”

She reached out, and as she swept the sword from Leliana’s grasp, he thought his heart would burst with pride.

“I’m not chosen,” she called out. “I have chosen, and I will lead us to victory. An elf will stand for us all!”

“Have our people been told?” Cassandra asked.

“They have,” Josie replied. “And soon, the world.”

“Commander, will they follow?” The Seeker shouted.

Shivers raced down Solas’s spine as Cullen turned towards his men.

“Inquisition! Will you follow?”

They roared.

“Will you fight?”

Their voices rose.

“Will we triumph?”

The cheering reached a crescendo.

“Your leader!” Cullen cried. “Your Herald!”

He turned to face her.

“Your Inquisitor!”

Lit by the sunlight, flanked by Cassandra and Leliana, Ellana raised the sword into the air, and the courtyard exploded into cheers.

Solas’s heart leapt.

She was magnificent. She was impossible. She was everything he had hoped to create when he locked the Evanuris away and freed the Elvhen slaves. And she was standing before him, at the head of an army that now occupied his castle.

He had once stood where she stood, wearing Fen’Harel’s armour, as his own army cheered for him. As he lead them into battle for their freedom. As he razed the Evanuris to the ground.

She was his equal. She was his hope. And for now, he would follow her anywhere.

***

Before long, she had turned Skyhold into a force to be reckoned with, as he knew she would. More people arrived every day; more soldiers, as well as more civilians seeking shelter.

For the first week, he hardly saw her, but he was comfortable simply knowing that she was safe. He took the Rotunda as his place of study, remembering a similar room in the ruins this castle was now built on.

It was strange, being back here, where the Fade was so thin he could slip across with merely a thought. It was stranger still, to sit within the remnants of his old stronghold, listening to other people give orders and hearing the walls ring with purpose that he was only partly involved with.

But it was familiar, too, and with the Fade so close and the echoes of his former glory everywhere he looked, he soon found himself more at home than he could ever remember being in this new world.

And the establishment of Skyhold gave him a chance to think.

His feelings for Ellana were still so new, that he valued the time he’d been given to sort through them on his own. And while he thought of her, he painted.

The frescoes were both his therapy and his gift to her; a personal record of her journey and her triumphs, that he would write large across the castle’s walls.

It was a story he already knew would be told for years to come. Because of her.

He sighed, dipping his brush into a fiery red as he stroked waves of colour through her hair. He hadn’t been there when she’d walked out of the Fade, but he could imagine it well enough.

The pulsing green of the rift. The silhouette of the woman they said was behind her. Ellana’s red hair bright against the torn veil, her eyes the same colour as the Breach, but brighter.

He gripped the brush tightly in his hand.

Vhenan.

The word made a pleasant, electric feeling hum through his veins, as well as drenching him in a sickly caste of fear. He couldn’t afford to be diverted from his purpose, but this woman challenged everything he thought he knew.

And he had been alone for so long. Was it really so wrong to yearn for companionship? Now that he had seen her – truly, seen her – he could hardly imagine being able to forget her.

He sighed and rubbed his hand wearily over his forehead. The light was fading, and soon it would be too dark to paint by, even with the flames he kept burning along the walls.

With a last look at the unfinished painting, he set his brush down and turned from his position on the scaffold, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Ellana looked back at him from where she was lounging comfortably across his sofa, watching him with a fond smile. The torchlight flickered across her pale skin, catching the red in her hair and turning her eyes into bright sparks of emerald.

She was wearing a loose white shirt and olive green trousers, and the shadows seemed to collect in her collarbones and dance along the side of her jaw.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said softly. “But you looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to interrupt.”

He slipped down from the platform and landed lightly on the ground, still watching her.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of having the Inquisitor visit my quarters?”

She grinned and shook her head, sitting up to make room for him beside her.

“Don’t you start,” she said. “I threatened to pluck the feathers from Cullen’s robes if he didn’t stop calling me Inquisitor earlier.”

He chuckled lightly and sat beside her on the sofa, marvelling at how comfortable he felt with her in his rooms.

“And did you?”

“I’m still considering it.”

She smiled at him, and his eyes swept over her face appreciatively.

“Is there a reason for your visit?” He asked at last.

“Two, really.”

He waited, his hands folded in his lap while she fiddled with her braid.

“First, because everyone keeps calling me Inquisitor, and if Josie tries to conscript me into any more diplomatic talks I might do something I’ll regret.”

He smiled and inclined his head.

“And second?”

She looked down and then blushed slightly as she met his eyes.

“I missed you,” she said softly. “I’ve been so busy I’ve barely seen you since you lead us here. I just wanted to…”

She shrugged.

“Talk, I suppose.”

He barely managed to suppress the smile that threatened to break over his face.

“I believe I am qualified to provide some distraction from your responsibilities,” he said mildly. “What is it you wish to talk about?

Her shoulders relaxed and she turned comfortably to face him, her back pressed against the arm of the chair and her legs folded beneath her.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you what you thought about Cole.”

Solas’s eyes lit up even as he hesitated. He liked the spirit, a great deal, but he wasn’t sure exactly how much of its true nature the rest of the inhabitants of Skyhold had realised.

“Vivienne is all for kicking him out,” Ellana went on. “And Cassandra initially thought he might be a mage, because of the strange things he can do.”

He nodded.

“He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him. But these are not the abilities of a mage.”

“That’s what I figured,” she smiled. “Cole’s a spirit, isn’t he?”

He smiled despite himself. Of course, if anyone had noticed, it would be Ellana. Her mind was truly one of the most open and curious he’d encountered in this world.

“I believe so, yes,” he said. “Does that trouble you?”

“Vivienne thinks he’s a demon.”

“If you prefer, he may be, although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

She frowned, considering.

“Explain,” she instructed him at last. “Although I’m not sure how much more complexity I need.”

“In fact, Cole’s nature is not so easily defined. Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous.”

“But Cole simply looks like a young man. Has he possessed someone?”

Solas sat forward eagerly, excited to share what he’d learned with someone who might just find it as fascinating as he did.

“No, not at all,” he said. “He has possessed nothing and no-one, and yet, he appears human in all respects. Cole is unique, lethallan. More than that, he wishes to help. I would suggest you allow him to stay and do so.”

“In my studies, demons either possessed something from this world or were summoned and bound. They almost never looked like something you’d mistake for a person.”

He nodded.

“Normally, you would be correct. But Cole has wilfully manifested in human form without possessing anyone.”

“The demons who came through the Breach, or through the rifts, they weren’t possessing anything, either.”

“True, but these demons were drawn through against their will, and driven mad by this world. As far as I can tell, Cole predates the Breach. From everything he’s said, he has lived here for months, perhaps even for years.”

He couldn’t keep the thrill from his voice.

“He looks like a young man, lethallan, because for all intents and purposes, he is a young man. Truly, it is remarkable. He is remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it in all of my journeys through the Fade.”

To his delight, she smiled and rested a hand on his knee.

“Cole has fascinated you,” she said warmly. “It is good to see you smile, Solas.”

He ducked his head in acknowledgement, the warmth of her hand sending a pleasant tingling sensation through his body.

“The decision is yours, of course,” he said. “But I would not like to see him sent away.”

“I should hear what Cole has to say for himself, I suppose,” Ellana nodded. “But I agree with you. I would like to keep him at Skyhold if we can.”

His gaze softened. This, he realised, was what had drawn him to her from the very first moment. Her openness, and willingness to consider new ideas that most other people would simply dismiss as ravings.

From their first days together in Haven, she had sought him out again and again, asking questions of the Fade and of his travels through ancient memories.

She had listened patiently, made him explain what she didn’t understand, and had treated him with a respect and a maturity he had thought the Dalish incapable of.

She was remarkable.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said softly, and when she smiled, he felt the steady beat of his heart speed up.

He would ask her for nothing, he knew. He loved her – oh, how he loved her! – but he would content himself with this. With her curled up next to him, her eyes shining with curiosity as they talked, and the torchlight softening her face until she seemed like something from a dream.

It was more than he deserved.

Chapter Text

Knife-ear. Ellana. Ember. Herald. Heretic. Chosen one.

Inquisitor.

Her shoulders strained with the weight of all the names she carried and all the roles she had to fulfil. And so, after slipping out of Josie’s clutches and finding the sun already dipping below the mountains, she sought out the one name that felt real to her.

Lethallan.

She had planned to announce herself, but as she stepped through the door, her eyes fell on the man she’d come to care so much for, and her heart melted.

She’d hardly seen him since he’d lead her to Skyhold, and the memory of him pressing his face into her hair and mumbling Ir abelas, Ir abelas, over and over again as he trembled, was still fresh in her mind.

She’d worried that he might still be struggling with what had happened at Haven, but now when she looked at him, she saw someone different from the wounded apostate she’d come to expect. Someone who was somehow just a little bit stronger; a little bit more at home in the world than he’d seemed.

She couldn’t resist watching him.

She slipped softly into the rotunda, and silently settled herself on the sofa. From here, she could watch him in profile: the sharp lines of his jaw, the delicate planes of his cheekbones, and the silverite eyes glinting with something warm in the firelight.

He moved with a restrained grace, his fingers light on the paintbrush as he streaked red across the walls. With a blush, she realised it was her he was painting, and the tenderness in his expression made her heart clench.

She had thought the Solas she’d met in Redcliffe, the one who loved her, didn’t exist in this world, but as he’d clung to her after Haven, she’d started to see that he might.

Now, seeing the way he moved when he was alone, and the affection that shone from his face when he thought no-one was looking, she realised that perhaps he already did. The thought made her light with joy, but she knew there were things he was still holding back.

This strange man, who had walked into her life as if from a dream, fascinated and bewitched her in equal measure. He was so wise, yet so easily frustrated. So desperate to connect, yet always pushing people away. So strong and capable, yet so deeply wounded.

She would not push him until he was ready.

When he turned to look at her she saw a myriad of emotions pass over his face. Shock followed by guilt, followed by embarrassment, and then eventually joy, before his mask came down into his usual mild expression again.

She smiled.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said softly. “But you looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She couldn’t help but admire him as he leapt down from the scaffold, his slim body caught in shadows and his eyes impossibly bright.

To her delight, he settled himself beside her without question, and for the first time since Haven she felt herself relax.

Her suspicions about Cole were right, it seemed, but the excitement that lit up Solas’s face enchanted her beyond reason.

For a moment, she felt as though she were as close to his true self as he had ever allowed her to be. Safe and warm in this impossible castle, surrounded by books and flames and the passionate frescoes on the wall, he felt like Solas as he was meant to be.

They talked for hours, until they heard Dorian leave the library above them, and even the rookery grew silent in the dark. She wanted to stay; to prolong this time with him forever. But soon she felt her eyelids start to grow heavy and sleep pulling insistently at her thoughts.

“It is late, lethallan,” Solas smiled at her. “And I’m sure our ambassador would not approve of me monopolising your time with idle talk.”

She smiled at him sleepily.

“There is nothing idle about speaking with you, Solas.”

He laughed, a rumbling note low in his throat that made her toes curl.

“Nevertheless, I must insist we postpone any further discussions until after you’ve got some rest.”

He stood and she let him pull her to her feet, and if she held onto his hand a little longer than was necessary, or allowed a soft smile to chase an answering spark of tenderness across his face, only the two of them would know of it.

“Goodnight, lethallan,” he said, as she slipped from his rooms, and she smiled at how the endearment made her light, and somehow more real as well.

“Goodnight,” she replied softly.

Vhenan.

It was the truest name she knew for him, even if she would never say it out-loud.

Chapter Text

There was always someone who needed her. Always some new problem that required her attention.

She had settled Sera’s nerves and placated Viviene’s objections. She had welcomed Cole into Skyhold despite the protests of basically everyone except Solas and Varric. She had drank with Iron Bull’s Chargers and made fast friends with Krem.

She’d discovered Cassandra’s love of Varric’s books and teased her mercilessly, even as she felt a great swell of affection for the tender heart the Seeker hid so well.

She’d accepted Leliana’s reports, argued forcefully with Josie, and spent more time than she’d anticipated soothing Cullen’s lingering fear for her, after the events at Haven.

She’d laughed at Dorian’s frustration with the lack of Tevinter reading material, and found herself oddly moved by Blackwall’s woodcarving hobby, amidst all the rest of the constant madness that surrounded them.

And, of course, Varric had introduced her to Hawke, nearly earning him an extra hole in his body when Cassandra realised he’d lied to her. But any discomfort between Cassandra and Varric had been worth it, when Hawke was able to lead them to his Grey Warden contact, Stroud, hiding out in Crestwood.

Stroud had told them that not long after Hawke had supposedly slain Corypheus, every warden in Orlais had begun to hear the calling; the whispers that said the Blight would soon claim them, compelling them to travel to the Deep Roads and meet their deaths in combat.

Stroud suspected this was a false calling, and that Corypheus was somehow manipulating the wardens for his own ends.

Which was why she was now tipping a seemingly never-ending stream of sand out of her shoe as they broke camp in the Western Approach, and pining for just one small breath of wind.

“Mythal give me strength,” she said. “Where does it all come from?”

She gave up on her boots and tossed them behind her, earning a deep laugh from Dorian and a small smile from Solas as they packed their tents away.

“You don’t like the sand,” Cole observed softly. “Gritty, sticking to sweat, shifting beneath your feet when you run. It makes you think of unstable steps, falling, trying to flee, voices echoing in the night, the smell of blood. They’re coming-”

“Cole,” she said sharply. “Don’t do that please. Today, sand is just irritating.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows.

“Just when I think I’m getting used to you, Cole, you go and do something else strange.”

“It’s not his fault,” Solas said. “Cole is a spirit of compassion. He hears people’s pain and he wants to heal it.”

Despite the lightness of his voice, Ellana felt Solas gazing at her with concern, and she shook her head and smiled to reassure him.

“It’s ok, I don’t mind really,” she said. “You just took me by surprise, Cole, that’s all.”

The spirit nodded slowly.

“Yes, surprise. I see that now. Thoughts inside and then out, not meant to hear, distant memory, an old pain.”

He looked at her.

“But it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

She shook her head and resumed putting her boots back on with a sigh. The sand was going to stick there whether she wanted it to or not.

“It was a long time ago,” she said.

At that moment, Hawke and Stroud strolled back into the remains of the camp after scouting ahead.

“The warden stronghold is just over the ridge,” Hawke said.

“It’s an ancient Tevinter ritual tower,” Stroud added. “It seems the blood magic ritual is going ahead after all.”

Dorian, who she’d come to think of as the least Tevinter magister in the Imperium, wrinkled his nose distastefully.

“Nothing good has ever come of blood magic,” he said.

“That’s why we’re here to stop them.”

***

They arrived at the golden stone building as the midday sun was at its peak. Sweat dripped down her back and the sand crunched unpleasantly between her toes. As they passed the gates, she steeled herself for what she needed to do.

Here, she was the Inquisitor, and if the sickly tang of magic in the air was anything to go by, the ritual had already begun.

She met Solas’s eye as they approached through the haze of energy, and he nodded to her once, his gaze determined. But even with his steady presence at her back, the sight that met them made nausea rise in her throat.

The air was thick with a too-sweet scent, and waves of green mist rolled across the stone. A pile of blood-drained bodies drew her gaze, and grey wardens stood flanked by demons, as a quivering man backed away from his comrades, his hands held up as if to shield himself from what was happening.

“Wait,” he pleaded. “No!”

She nearly jumped into battle then, but Solas caught her arm and held her back. They needed the element of surprise.

Their leader stepped forward, his eyes sparking and his head held high.

“Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear.”

“But this is wrong!” The warden protested.

“Remember your oath,” He smiled unpleasantly. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.”

The warden turned, as another man whispered an apology and slid a dagger between his ribs.

“Hurt, horror, how could you do this?” Cole whispered beside her. “We were friends, I trusted you. What have we become?”

Her throat grew tight, but she had no time to mourn the unknown warden, because as he fell, a fire demon rose in his place, burning up through the stone and roaring into the air.

“Good,” The leader said. “Now, bind it, just as I showed you.”

She felt Solas stiffen at her side, and looked up to see his eyes blazing with anger.

“This is monstrous,” he hissed.

She turned back to the ritual, where the warden that had murdered his friend raised his hand, and compelled the demon to obey. The man on the dais cut his arm through the air, and a red light that tasted like sickness bloomed in the back of her throat, and then spilled from the warden’s eyes.

His expression grew blank, and he and the demon moved, as though without will, to stand silently along the wall. She couldn’t watch anymore.

“With me,” she instructed, and they broke cover to stride across the blood-soaked ground.

“Inquisitor,” the man greeted them mildly. “What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

“You are no warden,” Stroud retorted.

“But you are,” Erimond replied. “The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

“Wardens,” Ellana called. “This man is deceiving you!”

But they simply stared blankly ahead, the sickly red glow bright in their eyes.

“They can’t hear you, Inquisitor,” Erimond smiled. “Wardens. Hands up.”

As one, the men lifted their hands.

“Hands down.”

They let them fall to their sides again.

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” Stroud growled.

“They did this to themselves,” Erimond spat back. “You see, the Calling had the wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help.”

“Even Tevinter?” Stroud said.

“Hey!” Dorian cut in, and Ellana hushed him quickly.

“Yes,” Erimond responded, as though Dorian hadn’t spoken. “And since it was my master who put the calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel, full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the old gods before they wake.”

“Ah,” Ellana said mildly. “I was wondering when the demon army would show up.”

“You knew about it, did you? Well, then, here you are. Sadly, for the wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side-effect. They’re now my master’s slaves. This was a test. Once the rest of the wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

She stepped forward, her eyes flashing.

“You think you can stand against me with just demons and a Fade rift? Did Corypheus not mention what I did to the Breach?”

Erimond smiled thinly.

“He did. He also noted what he did to you at Haven.”

Before Ellana could respond, the magister held out his hand, red light spilling from it, and at once, her mark reacted.

She bit back a cry as the magic swelled through her, sparking in tendrils of flame through her veins and nearly bringing her to her knees. She felt Solas take a step closer to her, but shook her head for him to hold his position.

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again.”

This time, when the mark pulsed, she couldn’t hold back the cry that escaped her, and she dropped to one knee and clutched her hand as her arm roared with pain. Erimond laughed viciously.

“That mark you bear? The anchor that lets you pass safely through the veil? You stole that from my master. He’s been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade.”

She struggled back to her feet, forcing all of her will into the pain in her hand.

“When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be-”

She fought back, and Erimond cried out in shock. A pulse of green rift energy leapt from her palm and blasted him backwards, and as sweat beaded on her forehead, she stood her ground.

“You talk too much,” she said.

And then the demons and their enslaved wardens were upon them.

The pain in her hand throbbed and she felt weakness spreading through her limbs, but she stood her ground as the fire demons bore down on her. She got two strikes in before another pulse of agony raced down her arm and she stumbled backwards, twisting at the last moment to avoid a warden’s blade.

Shit.

Her arm was throbbing and her movements were sluggish, the disquieted anchor sending out aftershocks of pain that weaved through the core of her magic and lit her nerves with fire from head to toe.

She parried the next blow and feinted backwards, narrowly avoiding a surge of fire from one of the demons and casting around wildly for help.

With a glance, she knew she was in trouble. Two wardens and a demon had backed her off from her group. Cole was standing with his back to her and firing arrows from the battlements too far away to see. Hawke and Stroud had their hands full battling a fire demon and a mage nearby.

And Dorian and Solas were dual-casting streams of frost at three fire demons who had them backed against a wall opposite her.

She was on her own.

She dropped to the ground and rolled as the demon lashed out, and felt her braid singe as she dodged. With her muscles burning, she raised the dagger in her good hand and blocked a blow from the first warden. But in the next moment, the second brought his sword down and she cried out, the blade glancing off the side of her collarbone and leaving a gash in its wake.

She tried to wreath herself in shadow and gain some distance, but with the feverish swell of the anchor beating in her veins, her rogue skills were slow to react, and she stumbled and tripped as she fled. On instinct, she rolled again to cover her mistake, feeling a brush of air fly by her face as the sword nearly found is mark.

But then she was on her feet again, ready to parry the next blow and knock one of them backwards.

The brief victory gave her time to look around, and through the haze of magic, her eyes met Solas’s, and her heart leapt.

He was fighting fiercely to get to her, his gaze panicked as the fire demon refused to let him advance, and one of the wardens aimed another blow at her.

She parried swiftly, knowing that help was on the way. But the fire demon was too close, and pain raced up her leg as the molten ichor burnt through the soles of her boots and scorched her skin.

She let out a shriek and leapt backwards, blocking wildly as the two wardens bore down on her. She blocked a swing from the right, ducked the swing from the left. She could hear Solas shouting her name as the demon advanced and she feinted up and slipped around its back.

But just as she rallied, the anchor gave another feverish pulse, and she dropped her second dagger and all of the air left her body as she felt herself forced back against the wall.

She gasped, shock reaching her more quickly than pain.

“Lethallan!”

The panic in Solas’s voice brought her back to herself, and she looked down in time to see the bloodied sword retreat from her stomach, and a deep pool of red spread through her leathers.

She could hear someone shouting as she fell forward, and she felt the sand gather in her nose as her face hit the floor, and her vision went black.

Chapter Text

“Slipping, falling, a sharp pain. Sand slides backwards, scrambling, can’t reach, too slow. Sand then and sand now, sticking in her nose, can’t breathe, suffocating, a brush of consciousness. This is wrong.”

Solas dropped to his knees at her side, panic nearly blinding him as blood pooled beneath her and he fumbled for the healing potions at his belt.

Vhenan.

“No, not Rivain, somewhere else. Somewhere dangerous. Can’t think. It hurts. Where am I? Demons. Smell of blood and magic, copper and sickness and this is wrong. The wardens. The Inquisition. I am the Inquisitor. Panicking now, hot and heavy. Am I dead? I can’t die. They need me.”

He uncorked the vial and cradled her chin in his hands, her skin pale and sweating beneath his fingers and her head lolling backwards as he forced her to drink

“It burns. Choking. Can’t die, they need me. He needs me. Flash of them all dying in Redcliffe. Red lyrium and demons, the sky cracked open and darkness everywhere. I can’t. I can’t. I will save you. Solas, Solas, Solas-!”

“Cole.” He choked on the word, the sound of her panic making his own swell in his chest.

The spirit fell silent and Solas sent waves of mana to battle the magic pulsing from her hand. The sword had miraculously missed causing major damage; piercing through the very edge of her waist in a clean wound that went straight through and out the other side.

The healing potion was already working, stitching the flesh together and stemming the blood flow, but her heart was beating erratically as her body struggled under the dual assault of sword and mark.

He heard the final warden fall and felt Dorian arrive at his back.

“Solas, what do you need?”

“Another healing potion, quickly.”

The Tevinter knelt by him and uncorked another vial, tipping it into her mouth while Solas fought to control the waves of his magic burning through her arm.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

With a last force of his will, the mark resisted and then shrank back, locked safely in her hand once again.

Solas breathed a sigh of relief as Dorian pulled back and let the empty vial fall to the ground.

“Will she…?”

Ellana’s eyelids flickered and a low groan fell from her lips. Solas clenched his hands into fists as her eyes opened, focused on him, and then a wry smile broke across her face.

“Well,” she said dryly. “That could have gone better.”

Dorian began to laugh, and Solas huffed out a breath that could have been either a sob or a laugh, or simply a whine. The Tevinter got to his feet, still laughing.

“Maker’s breath, Inquisitor,” he chuckled. “I aspire to cultivate the kind of drama that seems to follow you everywhere.”

She smiled and pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing as the tender wound pulled at her side.

“I aim to impress.”

“That you certainly do.”

Solas couldn’t seem to move, still kneeling, his hands still clenched into fists as he watched the light dance behind her eyes again. So close. He had come so close to losing her again.

As Dorian moved away to reassure Hawke and Stroud that the Inquisitor was going to live, Ellana’s gaze drew back to him and her eyes softened.

She reached out for his hand and brushed her fingers over his fist.

“Solas,” she said softly.

His shoulders sagged with another wave of relief, but he couldn’t seem to unclench his hand.

She sat herself up properly, and reached out to rest both of her hands over his, her thumbs rubbing small circles over his knuckles.

“Solas, I’m alright. You saved me. Again.”

She was smiling tenderly at him, and all of a sudden, he regained control of his body. His hands relaxed painfully, and he caught hold of her and twined her fingers with his, holding them tightly over his knees and pulling her closer to him.

She moved willingly, leaning forward to rest her head on his shoulder, and he turned his face to press his nose against her neck and breathe her in, his heart pounding,

“Demon bearing down, heat and fire and she’s too far away. Look out! She twists, grace and power and pain. Can’t reach her. Magic burning, need to move. Need to help. But it’s too late. Panic rises, cold and sharp, blood blooming through her clothes, eyes shocked as she slides down the wall. A burst of power, only one thought: don’t leave me. Running, the smell of blood and magic and for a moment he thinks he’s too late. The world shatters and he thinks he stops breathing, and then-”

“Cole, please.”

The words come out strangled, but somehow, it’s alright, because she’s already unlacing her fingers from his to bring her arms around his neck, and he slips his arms around her waist and fists his hands into her clothes to hold her tightly.

He draws in another breath, still painful in his chest, while her fingers trace gentle patterns across the nape of his neck and he lets himself go limp against her.

“Safe,” Cole whispers. “She is safe. He only wants you to be safe.”

She squeezes him gently once and then pulls away, and he finally feels as though he can breathe again.

“You are making a very bad habit out of nearly dying, lethallan,” he said, and his voice was fond and steady.

“But you haven’t let me die yet,” she smiled back.

His lips quirked up at the side.

“Of course not. What kind of healer do you take me for, da’len?”

The sound of her laughter warmed him on the long walk from the outpost, and when they made camp that night, he watched her across the fire, and heard Cole whisper behind him.

“She is safe.”

Chapter Text

They were going to launch an assault on the Adamant fortress.

“Adamant has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the second Blight,” Leliana said.

“Fortunately for us,” Cullen added. “That means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those ancient walls. And thanks to our Lady Ambassador…”

Josephine smiled.

“Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They’ve already delivered the trebuchets.”

“That is the good news,” Leliana said.

“Yes,” Ellana agreed. “But none of that accounts for the wardens summoning a giant demon army.”

“That is the bad news.”

“The Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but if the wardens already have their demons…” Cullen sighed.

“I found records of Adamant’s construction,” the spymaster said. “There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

“That’s good,” Cullen nodded. “We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

Ellana rubbed a weary hand over her eyes and examined the war table sadly.

“Taking this fortress is going to get a lot of good soldiers killed.”

“Our soldiers know the risks, Inquisitor. And they know what they’re fighting for,” Josie said.

“It’ll be hard-fought,” Cullen agreed. “No way around it. But we’ll get that gate open.”

“It’s also possible that some wardens may be sympathetic to our cause. The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly,” Leliana said. “The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death.”

It was with those not-so comforting words ringing in her ears that Ellana left the war room and tried to find something to occupy her thoughts. Her side still ached where the warden’s sword had pierced it, but she was healing well, and they couldn’t delay the assault for more than another day or two.

It was perhaps the steady ache in her side and the memory of Solas’s eyes, wide and fearful when she woke on the ground, that made her feet carry her to the rotunda. Or, maybe it was simply because she always seemed to be thinking about him in one way or another these days.

Whatever it was, she smiled when she saw him, bending over his desk, his brow furrowed deep in thought and his hands clasped behind his back.

“Do you have a moment?” She asked, and thought she saw a flicker of surprise behind his eyes before it was hidden once again. “I’d like to talk if you have some time.”

He smiled softly.

“You continue to surprise me. All right, let us talk. Preferably somewhere more interesting than this.”

He took her to Haven. It should have rang all kinds of alarm bells in her head, but the snow was so soft and the breeze so gentle, and Solas strode so confidently at her side, that she barely questioned it.

“Why here?” She asked.

“Haven is familiar,” he said. “It will always be important to you.”

She sighed.

“We talked about that already.”

He smirked, but said nothing, instead leading her inside the Chantry, where the prison cells stood empty in the dark.

She watched him with a growing feeling of need, and a strange, animalistic sort of attraction she hadn’t felt before. Something was different about him.

He seemed more relaxed, and somehow more powerful, and the effect was intoxicating.

“I sat beside you while you slept,” he said quietly. “Studying the anchor.”

She smiled.

“I’m glad someone was watching over me.”

“You were a mystery.”

He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read.

“You still are,” he smiled. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

She shook her head fondly.

“Cassandra’s like that with everyone.”

He laughed, and the sound made heat pool in her stomach.

She followed him outside, still trying to decide what it was about him that was so different. He was more relaxed, yes, but he was also more open. Some of the tension she’d come to expect had fallen from his shoulders, and he moved with a certainty and grace she found impossibly alluring.

“You were never going to wake up,” he said at last. “How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade?”

He turned to look at her, and she felt herself soften.

“I was frustrated. Frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?”

“Some place far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me.”

She raised an eyebrow and he smiled.

“I never said it was a good plan.”

He turned away from her and gazed up at the sky, where the swirling mass of green light loomed above the mountains. Something tugged at her memory then, some small sense of wrongness, but the fascination on Solas’s face chased it away just as quickly.

“I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried, and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…”

He turned to look at her, his gaze piercing, and the heat in her stomach dropped lower. She remembered, as though reliving it, the first moment they met, and the feel of his hand on her wrist as he forced her mark into the air and magic crackled between them.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he said, walking towards her again. “You had sealed it with a gesture… And right then, I felt the whole world change.”

There was something in his expression. Something soft and open and vulnerable, and her heart leapt. She took a step closer.

“Felt the whole world change?” She asked softly.

Did she imagine it, or was he blushing?

“A figure of speech.”

She took another step.

“I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in felt.”

He hesitated, as though struggling with something, and then his gaze cleared and he drew closer still.

“You change… Everything,” he whispered.

The ache in her veins turned into a current, and she dropped her gaze down and fought the urge to kiss him.

“Sweet talker,” she replied with a smile.

He turned his head away, staring over the village, and she knew she couldn’t let the moment pass.

She closed the distance between them, catching his chin between her fingers and turning him until his lips met hers.

Almost as soon as she’d done it, a voice inside her head screamed at her to stop; that she was going too quickly, that he’d reject her, and she broke away with a blush rising in her cheeks.

There was a moment when embarrassment clawed at her and an apology settled on her lips. But then he caught her by the waist and tugged her back to him, and there was no room for an apology when his lips were on hers and his hands were on her hips and oh, gods.

She surged up to him, parting her lips willingly as his tongue dipped into her mouth and he crushed her to him. Hs kisses were hard, searing, scorching a line of fire across the tender flesh as he drank from her mouth as though he were drowning.

She responded in kind, digging her nails into his neck and pulling him close as a wave of desire consumed her.

All too soon, he pulled back, with an expression of shock and longing and want that took her breath away. She kept her arms around him and he bent his head to hers again, this time pressing soft kisses to her mouth that made her practically keen with need.

And then he was stepping back, and away, and she felt the loss of him as a rush of cold air and an unsteadiness in her legs. She wanted more.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice. “It isn’t right. Not even here.”

She frowned in confusion, her mind still scrambling to make sense of what had just happened; of how he could kiss her like that and then just retreat.

“What do you mean, even here?” She asked dazedly.

“Where did you think we were?”

She looked around them, at the too-quiet streets, the too-perfect breeze, and the Breach still swirling overhead.

Haven is gone, she realised with a shock. Haven is buried.

All of the pieces finally fell into place.

“This isn’t real,” she said, her heart sinking.

“That’s a matter of debate,” he smiled. “Probably best discussed after you… Wake up.”

Chapter Text

It shouldn’t have been possible. She was no Fade walker, and yet, she had sought him out in his dream as though it were as simple as strolling from her quarters in Skyhold.

He realised almost at once that she had no idea where they were, but the surprise and delight of her thoughts turning to him in her sleep, was enough to make him reckless.

He took her to Haven, moving through the Fade as they went, re-shaping it with a thought and delighting in the feel of the magic on his skin.

Things were easier for him here, where the Fade felt as Arlathan had, where the world was shaped only by his imagination, and his spirit soared through the veil. And here, he could see her spirit as well, shining clearly in the air. Shining so brightly it took his breath away.

She was remarkable.

But there was something else, too, he realised, as they stood beneath the Breach and he told her of his plans to flee. He could feel her emotions brushing against his. A heady mix of affection, curiosity, and desire that made his blood feel hot in his veins.

He ached to touch her, to have her spirit enfold him and lose himself inside her. He held himself back.

But even so, he could feel her watching him, sense the hungry path her eyes trailed over his lips as he spoke, and the weight of her attention sent his pulse racing.

“You had sealed it with a gesture…” He said softly. “And right then, I felt the whole world change.”

A pulse of her delight brushed against him, and his skin tingled in response.

“Felt the whole world change?” She asked softly, and he blushed instinctively.

“A figure of speech.”

No. No. This is wrong.

The conversation was swiftly spinning about of his control, but he couldn’t seem to draw it back to safer ground.

She took a step towards him and he felt a rush of desire race along his spine.

“I’m aware of the metaphor,” she said, and her eyes were burning as they looked at him. “I’m more interested in felt.”

He tried to swallow the words, but they came anyway.

“You change… Everything,” he whispered, and it was the greatest truth he knew.

She blushed.

“Sweet talker.”

He turned his head away, the desire and want radiating from her was joining his own until he could hardly trust himself to be near her. He wanted to fist his hands into her hair and pull her against him until he forgot where she began and he ended.

He needed to get out of here now, move away from her, force down his feelings until-

Her hand caught his chin, and with a boldness that both shocked him and sent the fire in his veins into over-drive, she turned his head and pressed her lips to his.

It was a swift kiss. Chaste, even, but the effect it had on him was immediate and intense.

His skin burned. The desire in him pooled lower, and a desperate ache he hadn’t felt for centuries settled in the pit of his stomach. He caught her as she turned away, pulling her into him with all of the force of millennia of pent-up need.

He wasn’t gentle. His lips parted hers forcefully, forcing her backwards so quickly she gasped. The sound sent another surge of heat through him, and her fingernails were scraping deliciously across the nape of his neck and leaving trails of fire in their wake, and he very nearly moaned into her mouth.

He can feel the heat of her, pressed up against him, and he’s suddenly aware of everywhere they’re touching, of the way her legs clench around him and the gentle friction as she shifts against him. Her emotions are spilling into the Fade, desire and want and need, and he dips his tongue into her mouth and drinks from her as though he’s dying of thirst.

With a growl, he loses all pretence of restraint. He kisses her with the longing of a man who has locked away this primal part of himself for far, far too long. His tongue tangles with hers, and he feels light and dizzy and impossibly lost as she clings to him and returns his fervour in kind.

Vhenan.

He breaks the kiss to breathe, but his arms are still around her, and as her eyes flutter open he shakes his head, desire and duty fighting inside his chest. He can’t.

But he can’t resist one more taste, either.

He drops his face to hers again, pressing tender kisses along her soft lips and drawing a mewling sound from her that nearly unravels him completely.

He can’t do this. He has to stop.

He breaks away and shakes his head again, putting as much distance between them as he can without it seeming like he’s running away. Which is exactly what he is doing, of course, even as every inch of him screams at him to pull her back into his arms and take her right there.

“We shouldn’t,” he pleads. “It isn’t right. Not even here.”

Her eyes are clouded with lust and longing and he watches her with a hunger he can hardly contain. Then his words seem to reach her and her brow furrows, and a shadow of confusion passes over her face.

“What do you mean, even here?”

He clasps his hands behind his back, trying to still the rush of heat through his body.

“Where did you think we were?” He asks mildly, and sees the realisation finally crash over her.

“This isn’t real,” she said softly, and his heart ached.

“That’s a matter of debate,” he smiled. “Probably best discussed after you… Wake up.”

He opened his eyes a second later, to find himself lying on the sofa in the rotunda where he’d clearly fallen asleep at his work.

Despite the cool air, his skin was hot to the touch, and when he moved to sit up he had to bite back a groan as his leggings rubbed over the tip of his aching cock, hard and needy between his legs.

He clenched his hands into fists and screwed up his eyes, as the ache in his veins pulsed insistently.

It had been centuries – longer? – since he’d indulged in this kind of pleasure, and now he felt himself straining, impossibly hard and leaking into his underwear, as the memory of her lips on his replayed like an exquisite torture through his thoughts.

He would not indulge. Not here. Not like this. Not when she was probably already on her way from her quarters to talk to him.

That thought, more than any other, brought him back to his senses, and he got to his feet quickly, hissing as the movement squeezed his length and made him double over as a wave of pleasure assaulted him.

Pull yourself together, he chastised himself with growing horror.

He wasn’t some hot-headed boy, hopeless to resist his own basic impulses. But still, it wasn’t as though he had a road-map for how a body was meant to respond after going centuries without an orgasm.

He stifled another groan and made his way, practically limping with restrained need, to sit at his desk where he could hide the state of his body from her if she arrived too soon.

Until then, he was just going to sit there and not think about how much he wanted her to touch him.

But gods, how he wanted her to touch him.

For better or worse, Solas was definitely awake.

Chapter Text

He was thankful she didn’t seek him out straight away. By degrees, he regained some control over his body, although he still felt as though he was bubbling over with nervous energy.

Uncharacteristically, he found himself tapping his foot as he waited, going over in his mind what he would say when she arrived.

He couldn’t very well tell her the truth, but he couldn’t pretend as though he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, when it was so painfully obvious just how much he did.

Oh, he wanted to kiss her again.

He rocked forward in his chair, feet still tapping, and rested his head in his hands in frustration.

He wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to feel her pressed up against him. He wanted to take her back to her bed, and fuck her harshly until she screamed his name, and then he wanted to take his time; to explore her body slowly, learning what she liked, until she sang for him and came apart in his hands and he could lick-

He felt himself start to harden again, and clamped down on those thoughts before he worked himself back up into a state he’d struggle to get out of.

He sighed wretchedly.

Yes, he wanted all of those things, but mostly, he wanted to hold her. He wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms, and press soft kisses to her neck. He wanted her to open her arms to him and let him hide there for as long as he wanted, while she nuzzled and petted him and let him fall apart somewhere safe and protected and loved.

He wanted to walk hand-in-hand with her through Skyhold, and have her lie with her head in his lap while he read.

But most of all, he wanted to be allowed to love her, the way she deserved to be loved, even though he didn’t deserve to be the one who offered it.

The sound of her soft footsteps met his ears, and he stilled his movements with some difficulty and lifted his head, schooling his expression into what he hoped was a relaxed kind of interest.

He hadn’t prepared himself for the way she slipped through the door, her eyes sparkling and a delicate blush in her cheeks, her stride somehow both bolder and more uncertain than it had been before. She was radiant.

“Sleep well?” He asked, and was grateful that his voice gave away nothing of his frustrations.

To the apparent pleasure of his misbehaving cock, she bit her bottom lip and looked at him from under her eyelashes, and he resisted the urge to start tapping his foot in an effort to dispel some of the growing pressure between his legs.

“I’ve never done anything like that before. On a number of levels.”

She raised her eyebrow suggestively, and he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, the absurdity of the situation finally seeming to catch up with him.

Here he was, the Dread Wolf, half-hard in his trousers because this mortal Dalish woman had stolen into his dreams, and kissed him until he could no longer deny that he was a man made of flesh and blood after all.

“I apologise,” he said softly. “The kiss was-” Wonderful. Remarkable. So affecting that Fen’Harel very nearly came in his leggings like a teenager. “-impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.”

His heart stuttered as she perched on his desk and grinned down at him wickedly, her face still flushed and her eyes tracing the contours of his lips.

“You say that, but you’re the one who started with tongue.”

“I did no such thing!” He protested, a blush heating his ears and his cock twitching in response.

She laughed, low in her throat, and he shifted slightly in his chair, the better to relieve the pressure still growing in his groin.

“Oh?” She said, her eyes roving over his lips again. “Does it not count if it’s only Fade-tongue?”

He felt his gaze flick to her lips and back up again.

“It has been a long time,” he said. (And oh, what a long time it had been.) “And things have always been… Easier for me in the Fade.”

Her face was so close. It would be so easy to lean up and kiss her, to pull her down into his lap so she could feel-

He cut the thought off at once, and was relieved when her gaze softened and she allowed him the time to gather his thoughts.

“I am not certain this is the best idea,” he said at last. “It could lead to trouble.”

She raised her hand and cupped his jaw gently, and he couldn’t resist leaning into her slightly, and letting her fingers ghost across his cheek.

“I’m willing to take that chance,” she said softly. “If you are.”

No. Walk away. End this now.

“I…” He hesitated. “May be.”

No!

“Yes.”

He pulled back a little, his nose filled with the scent of her and his body still shouting its need. She let her hand fall, but her smile was gentle and understanding as she waited for him to decide.

“If I could take a little time to think?” He managed at last. “There are… Considerations.”

Like that I’m the Dread Wolf and you’re a Dalish mortal and soon I’m going to have to destroy the world.

“Take all the time you need,” she said, her eyes soft and forgiving, and he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

He should let her walk away now, he knew. It would give him time to think, and some privacy in which he could douse himself in cold water and drown the persistent throbbing in his body.

But he was a man starving for any small kindness, and she offered it to him so willingly, that he found he couldn’t simply send her away.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.”

It was a vulnerable offer, he realised suddenly; leaving the door open for her to reject him when he was still in such a delicate state. But of course, she was kinder than that.

She beamed at him, and suddenly there was no trace of lust or desire in her eyes. Instead, it was replaced by her usual fond friendship and sparkling curiosity, and he found himself immeasurably grateful that she was willing to grant him the space he needed, without even knowing why.

She pressed a friendly kiss to his forehead and slipped from his desk, and he sat back in his chair as she curled herself up on the sofa, and they fell into easy conversation once again.

The day passed slowly, and gradually the need in his body retreated, until he found himself once more sat with her on the sofa, while she laughed and joked, and rewarded his stories with soft smiles and bright eyes that made him forget, just for a moment, how very bad an idea this could turn out be.

Chapter Text

“We’ve built the siege engines and readied our forces, Inquisitor. Give the word, and we march on Adamant.”

She gave the word, and they marched.

The army rippled out ahead of them, long lines of armoured soldiers marching in unison, siege engines hauled at their back. She and her companions rode on horses towards the back of the battalion, and she felt sick with her own power as she watched the force spread out like an ocean ahead.

No one person should have this power, she thought. I should not have this power.

The only thing that calmed her was Solas’s steady presence as he rode at her side. Since their kiss in the Fade, she’d been aware of him in ways she hadn’t been before. She was aware of his magic, coiling like a cool breeze around him. She found herself catching sight of him out of the corner of her eye wherever he was, no matter how hard she tried not to.

She paid attention, for the first time, to the broadness of his shoulders and the ripples of muscle that tensed beneath his collarbone. She found herself fixating on the elegance of his hands as they held the reigns of his horse, and of how proudly he sat in the saddle, as though he was no apostate at all, but born to ride at the helm of an army.

And she drew strength from his calmness, from the considered way he watched their forces spread and grow. She marvelled at the way a slight upturn of his lips could calm the frantic beating of her heart, and of how his gaze softened when he looked at her, driving her fear away.

But that was before they arrived and the battle began in earnest.

The noise was astounding; a living, breathing thing that over-whelmed her until she could hardly hear her own thoughts. The trebuchets fired, battering down Adamant’s gates, behind which she could already taste the too-sweet tang of blood magic and fear.

The grey wardens screamed as the burning projectiles lit up their battlements, and she felt a sudden wave of revulsion that nearly made her vomit. She had no quarrel with these people; only with Erimond and Clarel. The men were simply being lied to, but they would die for it anyway.

The Inquisition’s army advanced, a war chant on their lips, and their battering ram approaching the gate. She flinched internally every time she saw an arrow fell another one of her soldiers, and said a gentle thank you to them, as though their spirit might hear as they left this world, and assuage some of the guilt in her chest.

And then there was suddenly no time to mourn, because the gates were open and she needed to lead them inside.

She marched as though she were a soldier, not some Dalish elf who was so out of her depth she was beginning to feel entirely adrift.

She marched for the people who needed her. She marched because she would not let them down.

And then it was simply madness. Blood and magic and spinning blades, and a wild, impossible adrenaline as her army – her, army – fought around her.

“Keep the men safe!” She yelled at Cullen as she leapt into the fight, and Cole, ever at her side, whispered: the soldiers are dying. There are too many demons on the battlements. They need help.

“With me!” She called to her companions; this time, Cole, Solas and the Iron Bull, and they followed her without question.

She could feel Solas’s barrier holding strong around them, and Iron Bull dove into the fight with a feverish sort of glee.

A group of grey wardens on the eastern side were resisting the madness of their comrades, and she defended them against the mindless mages that assaulted them.

“The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel,” she called to them. “Not to kill wardens. If you fall back, you won’t be harmed!”

They accepted at once, and she felt a wave of relief that at least she’d been able to save some, as the battle raged around her.

But the pride demons were strong, and by the time they’d fought their way through to the inner sanctum, and Erimond’s treachery was laid bare, the roar of the arch demon sent fear like ice through her blood.

Despite everything, Clarel’s rage once Corypheus’s betrayal of the wardens was uncovered, was truly something to behold. Ellana found herself glowing with admiration; for this strong, steadfast woman who had only sought to do good, but had found herself used.

She fought fiercely to get to her, but it was too late. She watched in horror as the dragon picked the Warden-Commander up in its jaws, and snapped her body with as much resistance as snapping a twig.

“No!”

She launched herself forward, and felt her companions follow, and then all of a sudden, the stone beneath them was crumbling, and the sky opened up and she was falling.

She twisted in the air and watched in horror as Solas tumbled after her, closely followed by Bull. She experienced a primal spike of panic – not my vhenan, not like this – and then before she knew what she was doing, she’d forced all of her will, all of her passionate need to save them, into the mark in her hand.

Beneath them, the rift opened, and they fell into the Fade.

Chapter Text

She hung, suspended in the air, her head dangling over an alien ground and the heat of the Fade’s magic all around her. Tentatively, she reached out a finger, and the moment she touched the stone, she dropped the final few centimetres, the air leaving her body as the world turned itself the right way up again and a wave of vertigo assaulted her.

Above her, Stroud was walking, still upside-down, on a rocky outcrop, and looking at him made her head start spinning all over again.

“Where are we?” He asked, and she shook her head to clear it.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Hawke agreed. “Is this…? Are we dead?”

To her relief, Solas stepped up to her side, a look of wonder on his face.

“No,” he said softly. “This is the Fade. The Inquisitor opened a rift. We came through… And survived.”

He let out a breath, his eyes bright and impossibly gentle.

“I never thought I would ever find myself here physically,” he said. “Look. The Black City. Almost close enough to touch.”

“This is incredible,” Ellana agreed, and Solas smiled.

“Cole,” he asked. “How does it feel to be back home?”

“I can’t be here. Not like this. Not like me!”

“It’s alright,” Solas reassured him. “We’ll make it right.”

Ellana felt such a rush of affection for his kindness that she almost kissed him. Almost.

“This place is wrong,” Cole said agitatedly. “I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn’t like this.”

“Oh, this is shitty,” Bull said with feeling. “I’ll fight whatever you give me, boss, but nobody said nothing about getting dragged through the ass end of demon town.”

She let out a surprised laugh even as Solas frowned.

“Sorry, Bull,” she smiled. “It was this or getting splattered on the ground.”

“Hm,” he considered. “Can’t say I really want to get splattered, either.”

“In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby, in the main hall. Can we escape the same way?” Stroud asked.

Ellana nodded slowly.

“It beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?”

Above them, the rift spiralled, sickly green against a smog of clouds, and they started towards it, through dark rock and fetid water, dripping from the walls.

“Everyone’ Bull said as they walked. “If I get possessed, feint on my blind side, then go low. Cullen says I leave myself open there.”

“No-one’s getting possessed,” Ellana reassured him.

But as she looked around, the thought of having to attack any one of her friends made her feel nauseous, and she moved slightly closer to Solas, even though she knew he would be the last one at risk of possession.

“This is fascinating,” he said, catching her eye. “It is not the area I would have chosen, of course. But to physically walk within the Fade…”

He sighed with longing, and Bull rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, this must be a dream come true for your crazy ass.”

“Yes,” Solas enthused, ignoring the tone in Bull’s voice. “Literally.”

She had never seen him so giddy, and despite their situation, she had to fight back a smile.

“You’re the expert on this place,” she said. “Any advice?”

He smiled.

“The Fade is shaped by intent and emotion. Remain focused, and it will lead you to where you wish to go,” he said. “The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear, I would guess. I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations and prepare for what is certain to be a fascinating experience.”

“Fascinating?” Bull snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

But as they walked, Ellana couldn’t help but be somewhat fascinated by it all. There was an under-current of fear, of course; fear for herself, and for her friends walking so bravely at her side. But from the materialisation of Divine Justinia (or the spirit that imitated her), to the retrieval of her own memories, this was a glimpse of a world she’d thought impossible.

Not for the first time, she could understand why Solas spent so much time in the Fade, and why his eyes shone as though looking at something truly beautiful, even in an area as desolate as this one.

She thought all of this, and she kept her head; even as the spiders attacked and the demons rose. She thought all of this, until she saw the graveyard, and then her fear nearly choked her.

There, on a spit of land beneath the immensity of the Veil-cloaked sky, the names of her friends were carved in rock, and the deepest terrors of their hearts laid bare.

Blackwall: Himself

Cole: Despair

Sera: The Nothing

Dorian: Temptation

Cassandra: Helplessness

Varric: Becoming his parents

Vivienne: Irrelevance

Iron Bull: Madness

And there, carved into a tarnished grey gravestone, the name that made her heart stop.

Solas.

She stared at the words, a dull ringing in her ears as the rest of the world fell away.

Dying Alone.

She nearly ran to him. She nearly ran to him and threw her arms around his neck and held him close to her and promised him: Never. Never. I will never let you be alone again.

She might have done, if her legs could move or her heart stop pounding, but instead she stared at it, frozen, until a great rumbling split the floor of the graveyard, and a final stone burst from the earth.

They all turned to stare as the dirty white marble rose up, twisting into the shape of a dying tree, with the Inquisition insignia chiselled into the trunk. It was her gravestone, she knew, even before she read the words.

And then there it was, her worst fear, writ large for all to see.

Ellana Lavellan.

You will not be enough.

They will all die.

The ringing in her ears reached a fever pitch and her breaths came in shallow gasps. She dropped to her knees, the world tilting on its axis and her hands clutching the ground.

It was true. She had never been enough. She couldn’t save her clan when the slavers attacked in Rivain. She couldn’t save her sister. She didn’t have enough magic to be Keeper or even to be Second. She was expendable. Disposable. Disposable enough to be sent to the Conclave to spy.

And now the world depended on her. Her. A Dalish elf with no idea what she was doing, and no special power save for the one that burnt in the palm of her hand, stolen, by accident, from a madman.

They will all die.

She gasped, and would have pitched forward, were it not for the pair of hands that grabbed her tightly by her shoulders and held her fast.

Solas’s face came into view, his worried grey eyes piercing her intently. She drew in a breath and dimly registered that his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears.

She stared at him, and he let go of one of her shoulders to place his hand over her heart, and all at once, the world rushed in again.

“Vhenan.”

It was the first thing she heard, and the sound of that word on his lips, spoken for the first time, brought her back to herself with a start.

“Solas?” She asked distantly, and watched relief break over his face.

“Do not let your fear take hold,” he said firmly. “We need you.”

It was then that she heard the sound of fighting, and turned her head to see the rest of their companions fending off wave after wave of spiders nearby.

“The Fade is shaped by intent,” Solas said from beside her, and the last of her panic receded.

She understood without needing him to explain. It was her fear calling the spiders to them. Her fear that had her friends fighting for their lives.

They needed her. She would not fail them.

She let Solas help her back to her feet, and then she was upon them. Blades twisting and dancing through the air, her terror pushed back down into the deep place in her chest where it hid, unable to hurt her until she let it, and before long, the Fade was still again.

“Thanks for that, boss,” Iron Bull said. “Thought we’d lost you for a second there.”

She looked across at Solas. His mask was back in place, but she could still see the worry in his eyes and managed a small smile to reassure him.

“Don’t mention it,” she told Bull. “It’ll take more than a gravestone to take me down.”

And that was then the Nightmare spoke.

Chapter Text

“Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.”

The deep voice was everywhere. Not just in the air, but inside her head, vibrating along the very blood in her veins, and she felt the wrongness of it choke her body as it laughed.

“Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I.”

“No,” Cole said softly, and she reached for his arm and gripped it tightly.

“You are nothing like this creature,” she said.

The spirit held her gaze and then nodded swiftly once. They fought forward, but the Nightmare was everywhere, looking into their souls and spitting out fear.

“The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions,” it hissed. “Or maybe I will ride his body myself.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Bull roared, but there was fear in his face she’d never seen before, and she Fade-stepped to his side and knocked back a spider that threatened to smother him.

“Don’t listen, Bull,” she said. “He’d have to go through us first.”

The Qunari swung his axe and sent a demon tumbling.

“I know, boss,” he told her.

They fought, and then the Nightmare began to rumble in Elvhen, and Ellana’s blood ran cold. She had always associated Elvhen with the delicate, lilting tones of Solas’s voice; an ancient version of her own language that was lyrical and musical, with hidden meaning and passion wrapped in every syllable.

In the mouth of the Nightmare it was a bitter, taunting thing, and she shuddered as it rolled through her body like ice.

“Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin,” it growled. “Mar Solas ena mar din.”

She looked across the wasted land, in time to see Solas’s face drain of colour and his hands grip tight on his staff.

“Banal nadas,” he called out, but his voice wavered and another wave of spiders crested the hill.

She was at his side at once, and here, here was where her strength was, and she felt it burn through her now.

She didn’t fight for herself. She had never fought for herself. She fought for her friends, and it was they who gave her strength.

Whatever the Nightmare had said, it had shot a cold spike of fear into the heart of the man she loved, and now she felt only anger.

“Solas,” she said, spinning a dagger into a spider’s leg and watching it fall. “Ir athra.”

He sent a wave of spirit energy at another attacker behind her, and in the brief pause that followed, she reached out and gripped his hand.

She thought he would pull away, as he often did when there were other people around that he kept his mask in place for. But it was a mark of how badly the Nightmare had shaken him, that his fingers closed around hers and held tight, if only briefly before he let go again.

“Ma serannas, ma da’mi,” he whispered, and his eyes held a haunted look she’d only ever glimpsed briefly before.

She ached to hold him to her, and it was this surge of protectiveness that propelled her forward, her blades singing.

She would get them out of here. She would save them. And she would chase that haunted look from Solas’s eyes if it was the last thing she ever did.

“Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you did ever mattered?”

“Enough.”

She ran forward as the Nightmare Aspect rose in front of the rift, and buried her daggers in its side.

“You’ve. Over-played. Your. Hand,” she bit out, punctuating every word with another slash to its body as her friends followed at her back.

Whether it was her recklessness, or whether they simply wanted to escape as desperately as she did, her companions surged upon the creature with the same passionate fury, and before long, the aspect died in an explosion of black light.

“Come on!”

Cole was nearest to her and she caught hold of his arm, dragging him up the hill towards the rift, gaping like home through the gloom. She would get them out. She was almost there.

The Nightmare rose in its full form and they fell back, Cole pulling her out of the way of a gigantic spider’s leg, towering into the sky.

The Nightmare hissed and panic froze her where she stood.

It was gigantic; a creature so powerful she felt herself shrink into insignificance beneath its shadow. But she had to get them out. She couldn’t have them follow her to their deaths.

“We need to clear a path!” Stroud shouted.

“Go. I’ll cover you.”

She turned to face Hawke, her stomach clenching.

“No,” Stroud argued. “You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-”

“A Warden must help them rebuild!” Hawke threw back. “That’s your job. Corypheus is mine.”

Ellana looked between them, remembering what Solas had said to her, so long ago on their first trip to the Hinterlands.

Sometimes we have to make terrible choices if we are to achieve a greater good in the end.

This was that choice, she realised. And what’s more, she realised that she was ready to make it.

“I will stay,” she said firmly, and there was no trace of fear in her heart. “I lead you in here, and I would have you escape.”

Hawke and Stroud both turned to face her, their mouths gaping as they met the steely determination in her eyes, and she smiled. She felt at peace. This was something she could do for her friends.

And then suddenly someone was grabbing her from behind and spinning her around, and her arms burnt where his fingers dug into her, hard enough to bruise, and her vision was filled with two furious, grey-blue eyes staring into her face in horror.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Solas snapped, and his grip tightened even further. “Without you there is no point to any of this! You cannot sacrifice yourself when so much depends on you.”

“I will not leave anyone here to die, Solas!”

“Except for yourself!”

“Yes.”

The simple word, and the conviction she poured into it, stopped him in his tracks. All at once, the burning fury in his face was replaced by a look of such naked fear that it made her throat burn.

“No.” He replied, his voice hoarse. “No.”

She raised her hand, intending to brush his cheek, to tell him she loved him and that she would rather he lived, but then Hawke and Stroud both echoed him at the same time, and she twisted her head to look at them.

“Solas is right,” Hawke said gently.

“The world needs you alive,” Stroud agreed. “You, more than anyone.”

“But-”

Solas’s hands were still clinging to her arms, and he tightened his grip still further and pulled her to look at him.

“Vhenan,” he whispered. “Please.”

It was the second time she’d heard the endearment from his lips, and the broken way his voice cracked on the last word stole her resolve entirely. Her gaze softened, even as guilt tore at her heart.

She nodded once, and he let go of her, but kept one hand close as though ready to grab her at a moment’s notice.

“It must be one of us,” Stroud said.

She felt sick. She couldn’t do this.

The Nightmare roared, and she had no choice.

In the end, she chose for Varric; because he had wanted Hawke safe.

“Stroud,” she said softly, and there were tears in her eyes.

“Inquisitor,’ he nodded. “It has been an honour.”

He looked towards the Nightmare.

“For the Wardens!”

And then he attacked.

It was the bravest thing she’d ever seen.

They ran. Solas’s hand was on hers, but she broke free to push him forward as Cole and Bull fell behind.

“Go!” She shouted. “I’m right behind you!”

He looked like he would argue, but then Hawke hauled him up by the shoulder, and a wave of relief washed over her as they disappeared through the rift.

He is safe.

She turned back around, to see Cole flitting behind Bull as Stroud cut again and again into the Nightmare’s belly.

“Come on!”

She pushed Bull hard in the back and sent him flying through the rift, and Cole followed swiftly, grateful, she thought, to be free of the Fade once again.

They are safe.

She turned back, her blades still in her hands, to where Stroud was still attacking the Nightmare. He was fighting a losing battle, and she knew it at once. There would be no victory here. Every fibre of her body screamed at her to dive in, to help him, to haul him out and push him ahead of her and know that she had saved everyone that she could.

She took a step forward, and then Solas’s words rang in her head.

Vhenan. Please.

She stilled, and with tears in her eyes, she turned her back on Stroud, and leapt out of the rift.

Chapter Text

She had banished the wardens, and although he saw how much it hurt her, how her eyes swam with tears as she turned away from Hawke, he couldn’t help but marvel at her wisdom.

She had asked Blackwall to stay, of course, and he had, and without the Nightmare to control them, the warden mages were free. He hoped they would build something good together, now that they were forced to start again.

The Inquisition had achieved what they set out to do, and more. They had captured Erimond, saved more wardens than they’d killed, and stolen Corypheus’s demon army from him before it could even be raised.

And he had walked in the Fade. Physically, within the Fade. A dream he had never thought possible.

He should be elated. They all should be. But in his small quarters in the Adamant fortress, aching and exhausted and bone-chillingly cold, Solas felt nothing more than fear.

Beyond the walls, in a darkness that still pulsed with the memory of darkspawn, the sounds of soldiers dying drifted through his window. The Nightmare had seen into his soul, and ripped out the part of it that hurt the most; the terror he refused to acknowledge, even to himself.

He had lived with it for thousands of years. From the moment he raised his rebellion, isolating himself from the rest of his kind and casting away all hope of companionship in favour of war and duty.

He had cloaked himself in Fen’Harel’s mantle, becoming champion and destroyer in one. He had pushed away all thoughts of safety, the need for comfort, the pleasure of a gentle touch, and closed off those emotions for good. He had buried Solas and raised the Dread Wolf in his place.

Except, of course, that he hadn’t. Not truly.

Whatever else the stories said, however fearfully the Dread Wolf’s name was whispered, he was still simply a man. A man made of flesh and blood – as Ellana now reminded him so often. A man who craved the comfort of another’s arms. Who longed to simply put away all thoughts of duty and sink into quiet bliss with someone who cared for him.

A man who had been alone for thousands of years, and who could hardly bear the thought of continuing alone for even a moment longer.

Normally, that fear was well-hidden, packed down tight beneath duty and sacrifice and honour and battle. And how could it not be? Fen’Harel’s name was a curse. His supporters lauded him as a god and his enemies cursed him as one.

There was no space in those titles for anyone to see beyond the Dread Wolf’s mask, and glimpse the lonely heart of the man beneath. All offers of companionship for the Wolf came with a price. Some wanted power. Some, infamy. Some, justice. Whatever it was they wanted, they didn’t want him.

But here, in the Inquisition, he had cast off the Dread Wolf and become Solas once more. And she had wanted him. Him. Not the god, not the rebel, not the wolf of myth and legend. Not jewels, or power, or conquest. She had seen the lonely apostate, a man wearing a ragged tunic, with nothing to offer her but stories of the Fade, and she had wanted him.

Little by little, her small kindnesses had been chipping away at his most enduring need, his most passionate wish, and now, the Nightmare had torn it from his chest and laid it bare for her to see.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

He wrapped his arms around himself and sank onto the end of the small bed in his room, his chest aching with loneliness. It was the greatest truth he knew, second only to his growing love for her.

Because it was love, he knew now. He had suspected it, fought it, pushed back against it for longer than he cared to admit, but he knew it when her gravestone twisted into the air, and he’d seen the words:

You will not be enough.

They will all die.

He knew it when she gripped his hand as the Nightmare spoke to him of his shame.

Ir athra, she had said. I am here.

And he knew it when she’s stood beneath the Nightmare’s horror and vowed, with nothing more than quiet courage, I will stay.

The panic that had engulfed him then was something he was sure he’d never experienced before, in all of his long life. That she would stay, this impossible Dalish woman with no knowledge of war or sacrifice, would choose to linger in the belly of fear itself, to save companions she had scarcely known, was unthinkable.

That she would offer it so gladly, with such peace on her face, was the final hammer blow that had brought the last wall of resistance tumbling from his guarded heart.

He had called her vhenan, and he had meant it. And now he was afraid for more reasons than he could count.

He was afraid of her, of what she had managed to wring from him; the last, sleeping, hidden pieces of his yearning, immortal heart.

He was afraid for her, for what she would have to do before this was over, for how much danger she was in and how impossibly fragile and mortal she was, and for how he couldn’t protect her.

He was afraid of what he had done to her, unknowingly. He was afraid of what would happen if they failed and the world fell to Corypheus, and of what would happen if they succeeded and he was forced to take up the Dread Wolf’s path again.

He was afraid of her kindness, and afraid that she would take it away. He was afraid that she loved him, and terrified that she didn’t. And he was afraid that he didn’t deserve her, because now he understood, that while his greatest fear was for himself, hers was for everyone else.

She feared she would let them down. As though she hadn’t already given more to everyone than most people could ever hope to give.

Whereas he was simply terrified of never being held again; of never having anyone see him as anything more than the Wolf.

He put his head in his hands and swallowed down a sob before it could pass his lips.

When was the last time he had not been frightened?

He couldn’t remember. He had lived with fear for lifetimes, and now, in the crumbling darkness of Adamant, it all came howling to the surface, and he couldn’t bear it.

He got to his feet before he could question what he was doing. He needed Ellana. He needed her so much it hurt.

He didn’t even check to make sure he wasn’t seen, as he slipped outside and made his way on trembling legs across the battlements. The sounds of men dying and the burning tang of the closed rift and the cold in the air all congealed inside him as he walked, until he felt like he was breaking apart.

He was too light, too unreal, his terror disconnecting him from himself until he thought he might simply float away.

By the time he reached Ellana’s door, barefoot and trembling, he could hardly hear the world over the pounding of his own heartbeat. He knocked without considering whether or not she would want to see him, or what she would think of him appearing on her doorstep in the middle of the night.

When she opened the door, he held his breath, his hands clenched into fists to stop them from shaking.

Please, don’t send me away.

There was a moment when he saw his own fear reflected back at him in her eyes, and then her face softened and she opened the door wider, and drew him gently inside.

Chapter Text

He let her lead him inside, her fingers around his wrist and his hands still clenched into fists. She lead him to the centre of the room – slightly bigger than his, with thicker blankets on the bed and a small fire burning in the hearth – and stood still while she closed the door behind him.

He was still there, frozen in place, when she came to stand in front of him, her green eyes bright with worry and her fingers gently brushing along his arms, as though scared to hold him too tightly. He was chilled to the core, the taste of his fear thick in his mouth, and the horror of it choking his lungs and his heart and his veins until he could hardly breathe.

He wanted to grab her, to hold on tight and never let go and beg her to please, please save him. But his composure was hanging by a thread, and he knew that if he touched her, it would all come crashing down. He already felt so light, so apart from himself, that he was scared of what would happen when it did.

Would he be able to surface again, if this panic broke around him? Would he be able to come back to himself if he let himself fall apart?

“Solas?” She asked softly, her fingertips still only just brushing his arms.

He focused on her with some difficulty. She was ready for sleep, wearing a dark green shift that came to just above her knees, and her hair was unbound, flowing in rivulets of red down her back. He wanted to bury his face in it and twine it between his fingers. He wanted to hide inside her arms for as long as he could.

He couldn’t move.

“Solas?” She asked again, the worry growing in her voice, and he shook his head and tried to convey with his eyes that he couldn’t; that the strength of his need was outstripping any action he might take to relieve it.

She let out a soft sigh, full of understanding, and raised a hand to cup his cheek. He leant into the touch at once, the warmth of her skin against his like an island in an unfeeling ocean. His eyes flickered shut and he pressed his face into her palm, feeling himself start to fray as his chest began to heave.

“Come with me,” she whispered, and she kept her hand where it was and used her other to pull him gently by the wrist, until they were both kneeling opposite each other on the bearskin rug in front of the fire.

While she settled him, he kept his eyes closed and his face pressed into her palm, her touch at his wrist and on his face the only things holding him to the earth.

When he felt her thumb start to draw soft lines along his cheek he let out a gasp, and his body woke up for long enough to twine the fingers at his wrist with his own, and reach up his other hand to hold hers against him.

“Solas,” she said. “Ir athra.”

Another strangled gasp left him and he felt himself start to fly apart. He was standing over a precipice and he didn’t know if he should fall, or if he could even stop himself now that he was here.

“Look at me.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze, her expression soft and understanding in a way he knew he could never deserve.

“You are not alone,” she said.

And that was when he broke.

He lurched forward, his hands scrabbling to find purchase on her as his self-control shattered and a sob burst from his throat. She met his desperation in kind, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into her as he pushed his face into her neck and began to choke.

He fisted one hand into her shift and twined the other in her hair, and it was so soft and perfect he could hardly stand it. It took him a moment to realise that the high, wracking, broken sounds in the air were coming from his mouth, and he buried his face into her chest in an attempt to muffle the cries rolling out of him like a tide.

He felt her shift beneath him, but he could do nothing more than cling onto her as she moved to find a more comfortable position to hold him in.

He was lost, drifting in a sea of grief he’d been treading water in for far too long. And so, he clung to her like a life-raft, and pressed himself as close to her as he could get.

When the tears finally started to fall down his cheeks, he felt her lips kissing them gently away, and her hair fell around him until he was hidden inside a waterfall of red, and all he could feel was her.

She smelt of the rift, and she smelt of blood, and she smelt of spring and citrus and woodsmoke and home, and he didn’t think there had ever been a more perfect or more painful sensation than her hands running along his back, or her lips on his cheeks, or her breath in his ear as she whispered soothing words to him while he wept like a child against her.

Somehow, she manoeuvred him so that he was lying between her legs on the floor, and he brought his knees up to his chest and let her slip one arm around his back, while he pillowed his face beneath her shoulder and she rocked him gently back and forth.

A small part of his mind screamed at him that this was pathetic. That he was the Dread Wolf, not some weak-minded child so scared of the world that he would run to the first person who showed him any real kindness.

But the larger part, the part that longed to be cared for and had been denied for so many years, sank into her as though she was the only safe harbour in the storm, and he was powerless to resist.

He didn’t know how long he cried for, only that when he finally came back to himself, the fire had burnt low and his head was pounding, and she was still there, her cheek resting on top of his head as she murmured soft words to him and ran her hand up and down his back.

He sniffed and curled more deeply into her chest, exhaustion and embarrassment warring against the unfamiliar feeling of being warm, and cared for, and held.

He felt her start to pull back and his hands clutched convulsively at her, his face flushing in shame at the strength of his need.

“It’s ok,” she said softly. “I’m not letting go.”

And so he relaxed his grip, and allowed her to draw back and tilt his face up so she could look down at him, and run her thumb along his jaw. He looked into her eyes, and his breath caught at the strength of the love he saw there.

It was too much. She was too much.

He closed his eyes again, and shuddered as she bent her head and began to press gentle kisses to his face. She kissed the tracks his tears had left, first on one cheek, and then the other, and he whimpered.

Then she moved on to lingering kisses across his forehead, gentle brushes of her lips against his eyelids, along the bridge of his nose, and finally, she leant in and pressed her mouth to his, and the whine that left him was indecent and embarrassing, and he had never cared about anything less in his life.

He kissed her back hungrily, opening his mouth and keening as her tongue moved against his, with a gentle rolling pressure that he thought he might drown in. Her teeth worried at his bottom lip and he sucked hers into his mouth in response. His hands twined in her hair and he felt the first sparks of desire ripple down his spine, and it was perfect and real and wrong.

He broke the kiss, shaking his head and pulling away as his eyes widened in thinly-disguised fear.

“I can’t,” he whispered brokenly. “Vhenan, please. Please. I can’t. I-”

Her eyes glistened and she cut off his protest with another kiss, and his whole body surged up to meet her, his fingers twisting through her hair and pulling her head down to his, even as he twisted himself backwards to escape. This time, she lifted her head, nearly bent double against the conflicting force of his hand pulling her closer and his body moving away.

“Solas,” she whispered. “Emma lath-”

The effect was instantaneous. His heart leapt so wildly with fear and hope that he thought something in his chest would break, and he made a strangled noise in his throat and clapped his hand, gently, over her mouth.

Her eyes widened in surprise and he met her gaze with a wild sort of panic.

“Don’t,” he choked. “Not if you don’t mean it, not if you-”

There were tears in her eyes and he was shaking his head, and he couldn’t breathe around the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest.

“Please,” he begged.

He had known too much of a lover’s lies. Too many honeyed words poured into his ears by people seeking favours, seeking power, seeking everything he could offer them but himself.

In Elvhenan, he had hardened his heart, learnt to use sex as a tool, a weapon, a bargaining chip to get what he needed, and he had listened to every piece of breathless praise, every sweet lie, and known them for what they were.

But here, in Ellana’s arms, with his soul laid bare and weeping before her, he couldn’t bear to hear another soothing deception. He drew in a ragged breath.

“Please, don’t. Not if it’s not real. Not if you-”

He fell abruptly silent as she reached up and removed his hand from her mouth, holding it gently in her own and rubbing soft circles across his knuckles with her thumb.

“Emma lath,” she said firmly. “You are my heart. Ma’sa’lath.”

He stilled, and she held their joined hands together and pressed them over her heart.

“Fenor,” she said softly. “If you believe nothing else, believe this.”

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. It was too much. It was everything he’d ever wanted. And it was the cruellest thing he had ever experienced, that he should find love, now, in this broken world that couldn’t last.

“Vhenan,” he breathed.

His eyes fell shut, his grip on her hand tightening as she rested her forehead against his.

“Aneth ara,” he whispered at last. “You are my safe place.”

They were the truest words he’d ever spoken. When she pulled away again, they stared at each other, her eyes bright with tears, and his open and vulnerable and exhausted. She kissed him softly, slowly, like a promise, and then helped him to sit up so he was no longer cradled between her legs.

He held onto her hand tightly as they parted.

“There are things you can’t tell me,” she said sadly.

He increased his grip on her hand and nodded.

“Will you ever be able to tell me?”

He felt like his heart would break.

“I-”

She rested her hand over his mouth and he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t tell me a lie.”

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Gently, he took her hand in his and held them both against his chest

“I don’t know,” he said at last.

She smiled through her tears and nodded, and he leant forward and kissed her cheeks and her forehead and her nose, and then brushed her lips with his.

“Is it enough to know that if I could, I would stay in your arms forever?” He asked, her breath warm on his mouth, and his own lips trembling in response.

She kissed him softly and nodded.

“For now,” she said. “It is more than enough, ma lath.”

She deepened the kiss, and he felt himself stirring, and he wanted so much to give himself to her; to bury himself inside her and forget the rest of the world existed. But he pulled back before his body could betray him.

“Vhenan…”

He looked at her, stricken, and she softened and brushed his jaw gently.

“You still need time.”

He nodded.

“There are…”

“Considerations?”

She was smiling now, and he felt himself melt with relief, his body drifting towards her as though drawn by a magnet. Aneth ara. His safe place.

He nodded again, and she pulled him from the floor and lead him to her bed.

“Stay with me tonight anyway,” she said. “I would not have you sleep alone.”

He didn’t even hesitate. He would not take her – could not take her – until she knew the truth. But he was raw, and exhausted, and so very vulnerable, that he couldn’t deny himself the warmth of her at his side.

He slipped beneath the blankets and she curled up next to him, and rested her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and laced their fingers together over his chest, and for the first time in such a long while, he felt like he could breathe.

He fell back against the too-flat pillow, nuzzling his face into her hair and breathing her in, and she let out a content sigh against him that made his heart clench and his blood feel too warm in his veins.

He felt the Fade calling him, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

As he drifted into sleep, he heard her voice speak softly at the edge of his thoughts.

“Ar lath ma, Solas.”

He sighed.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

Chapter Text

Strangely, things were better after Adamant. Morale at Skyhold flew high with their victory, and privately, Cullen told her that her efforts to defend the men on the battlements had endeared her to his troops more than all of the dawn songs and rousing speeches ever could have.

With another huge blow dealt to Corypheus’s plans, some of the urgency fell away as well, and they had some time to breathe.

She’d been worried, in the days after Solas had shared her bed, that he would withdraw and hide himself away again. The morning she’d woken in his arms, he’d been so embarrassed that he’d struggled to look her in the eye, the tips of his ears reddening when she’d squeezed his hand and he’d slipped out of the door before the rest of the fortress could wake.

But before they’d saddled the horses again, she’d caught him in a private corner, and kissed him until they were both gasping and breathless, and his ears were pink for an entirely different reason.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, emma lath,” she’d said. “You can always come to me when you feel afraid.”

And just like that, the shame fell away from his face, and his eyes gentled in a way that she’d come to realise meant he was struggling to express the strength of what he felt.

During the long ride back to Skyhold, he’d stayed close to her, and they’d fallen into a quiet routine of secret smiles and gentle brushes of their hands when they passed each other, and no-one else was around to see.

But still, the depth of his pain pulled at her heart. In quiet moments, alone at her desk, she would remember the haunted look on his face when he’d arrived at her door. She’d hear the desperate, broken noises that had torn from his throat, and taste the salt of his tears on her lips as she’d kissed them away.

She’d remember the fear in his voice, naked and wounded, when he’d begged her not to lie to him, and she’d feel a rush of hatred towards whoever had made him feel that way. Who was it, who had whispered those things into his ear and not meant a single word? How long had he been alone for, that simply promising to stay by his side had made him fall apart in her arms?

And what was it he couldn’t tell her; this secret so painful that he wouldn’t lay with her until he found his way around it?

Late at night, when the rest of Skyhold was asleep, the worry gnawed at her. But then she’d pass by the rotunda, and see him hunched over his desk, or even better, painting delicate brushstrokes against the walls, his face relaxed and open and hers, and she’d realise she didn’t care.

No matter what he had to hide, she knew this man, the core of him, at least. She knew his kindness, and his gentleness, and his generosity. She knew his passion for knowledge, his thrill for sharing what he’d learnt, and his talent for storytelling.

She knew the soft way he touched her, as though she were something infinitely precious that he was frightened he might break. And she had also discovered that touch, in itself, was a language for Solas, when he couldn’t express what he needed or felt.

She had known before that he needed companionship, that he craved connection the same way other people craved food. She had realised before anyone else, perhaps, that he was lonely; if, indeed, anyone else had even realised it at all.

But it was only after the night in her quarters at Adamant, that she realised what it was he truly yearned for, and it was something so simple that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t realised it sooner.

This man with magic running through his veins, who defended their party on every mission, who spun fire with the grace of spinning silk, who walked the Fade and befriended spirits, who knew so much and taught so much more, and who exuded strength and calm capability in almost every aspect of his life, needed to be taken care of.

He coveted affection like other people coveted gold, and so it was, that Ellana Lavellan, a woman born to protect, made it her personal mission to care for the apostate who would never directly ask for it.

She started small, simply by visiting the rotunda after her day’s work was done and curling up on the sofa to talk. She sat in the low light while he spoke of the Fade, and his eyes grew soft and distant, and her love for him bloomed in her chest.

Before she left, she’d brush his jaw with her thumb and kiss him, long and sweet, and feel him melt against her as though he was suddenly boneless.

She’d find herself looking for things he would enjoy whenever she left the castle, and she’d come back from hikes with interesting feathers she’d found, or delicate flowers she’d charmed to stay fresh, and leave them on his desk with a simple note that said: Vhenan.

Sometimes, she’d bring him a book she thought he’d enjoy, and when, during the preparations for the Winter Palace – which were driving her slowly mad – he’d mentioned that he enjoyed the frilly cakes they sold in the Val Royeaux market, she had Josie order some and left them in a box for him to find, tied up with a pale green ribbon.

He never mentioned the gifts she got him, but she always knew he’d received them, because those were the nights that he’d bring his arms around her and kiss her, so softly that she thought her heart might simply stop, and stare at her with an expression of awe that never failed to turn her legs to water.

A week after their return from Adamant, she realised with a thrill that she was courting him, and that he was letting her.

The thought warmed her to her core, and she decided, then and there, that she would care for him forever, and sweep him off his feet in the process. Whether he realised it or not.

Chapter Text

With the Inquisition now secure in their recent victory, and while she dedicated her time to courting Solas, Ellana found that she suddenly had more time to spend with her friends. She knew her Keeper would have laughed and told her that she couldn’t be everyone’s mother, but she simply couldn’t help wanting to help.

Which was why, in the weeks after Adamant while they prepared for their mission to the Winter Palace, she found herself pulling her new friends closer than she ever had before. She’d been delighted when Cassandra revealed her love of Varric’s stories, and she took great pleasure in convincing him to finish his latest instalment for the Seeker.

The pleased, mortified, and entirely shocked blush that came to Cassandra’s cheeks when he presented her with the latest issue, made Ellana laugh from her chest. When she found the Seeker, later, hidden in a dark corner of the courtyard devouring the story in secret, she smiled and slipped to the rotunda, to tell Solas what she’d done.

He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes sparkling as he bent over the shard on his desk.

“I would never have suspected our Seeker to be hiding such a soft heart,” he said, and she sighed happily from her usual spot on the sofa.

“Really?” She asked. “I don’t know. Cassandra is fierce, but the Inquisition wouldn’t even exist if she’d never learnt to follow her heart when it counted.”

He raised his head from his work to look at her.

“I mean, think about it. She left a life of nobility to join the Seekers because she believed in what they did. She supported Divine Justinia right to the end, but then when the Chantry turned its back on the people after the Conclave, she threw it all away to help. To do good.”

She shrugged.

“People forget that Cassandra is the real reason we’re all here. I think it’s sweet she enjoys Varric’s romances so much. She should have some happiness too.”

She looked up from her book then, to find Solas watching her with a warm expression and the shard forgotten in front of him. A smile tugged at her lips and a ripple of pleasure ran down her spine.

“What?” She asked.

He stood up and made his way over to her, bending to draw her into a tender kiss and twine his fingers through her braid.

“If there were more people in the world like you, vhenan,” he said, gazing at her softly. “Thedas would be a much kinder place.”

She blushed and ducked her head, and he followed her down onto the sofa to kiss her again.

“I think there are more good people in the world than we think,” she said when he pulled away again. “That’s why we’re trying to save it, right?”

He stilled, and a shadow passed behind his eyes as he slipped his arms from around her and stood up again.

“Solas?”

She sat up, frowning as he retook his seat at his desk.

“I’m afraid I don’t share your optimism concerning the general goodness of most people,” he said quietly. “But I am glad you still believe otherwise.”

He didn’t look at her, bending once more to study the shard, but she could see the tension in his shoulders and sense the looming sadness inside him even so. She sighed. Despite the progress they’d made between the two of them, it was still so often like this.

Sometimes, Solas would startle her with his joy, laughing at something she’d said and pulling her out of view of everyone else to kiss her until she could hardly walk. At other times, he would greet her with a soft smile and take her hand, as though she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And sometimes, he would retreat from her in the middle of a normal conversation, his face closing off and his eyes so sad she could hardly bear it, and later she would spend hours going over what had been said, trying to understand where she’d gone wrong.

Clearly, this was one of those times.

“Solas-”

“I’m fine, vhenan,” he said, still not looking up. “I just have a lot of work to finish, that’s all.”

It was a dismissal, she knew, but she also knew how much he needed a gentle touch to pull him from his thoughts. This dance they were doing was nothing if not frustrating, but one thing she was always certain could soothe him, was that.

She put her book down and moved to stand behind him, placing her hands gently on both of his shoulders and feeling his back grow rigid in response. Her own sadness blossomed at his reaction, but she didn’t let it show.

Instead, she ran her thumbs gently over the bare skin of his neck and rested her lips by his ear, nuzzling him gently. Slowly, the tension in his posture drained away, and he reached back to rest his hands on top of hers, his gesture hesitant and unsure.

She pressed a kiss to his temple and felt him lean into it, and smiled softly against his skin.

“Ar lath ma, Solas.”

He let out a long breath and leant back into her.

“Ar lath ma,” he replied quietly.

She squeezed his shoulders once and then let go, knowing that he needed time alone, even if she didn’t want him to be.

“I’ll stop by later when you’ve had more time to study the shard,” she said lightly. “Duty calls!”

She passed in front of him and dipped into a mock bow that made him smile.

“And what does your duty demand of you today?” He asked.

“No idea. Bull wanted to see me about something though, so if I’m not back in a few hours you should send out a search party to make sure I’ve not been kidnapped by the Chargers, and press-ganged into all sorts of behaviour that would be unbecoming of the Inquisitor.”

He chuckled and she felt some of the tension leave the air.

“I will certainly bear that in mind.”

***

As it happened, Bull’s request was a little more intense than she suspected. Their surprise meeting with the Ben-Hassrath was scheduled as soon as possible, and she barely had time to slip into the rotunda and tell Solas where she was going, before they were travelling to the Venatori encampment.

She could have brought him with her, she mused, as Dorian, Cole, and Cassandra marched alongside her with Bull’s Chargers. But he’d seemed so much more content in Skyhold recently, that she didn’t want to drag him out into the field and break the tenuous happiness that had grown between them since Adamant.

Even so, she missed him as the wind on the Storm Coast whipped around her, and with the dreadnought approaching, she found herself wanting to turn to him and ask him what he thought about the alliance.

“Signal’s up, boss!” Bull called. “The Chargers already sent theirs up. See ‘em down there?”

She smiled at the pride in his voice, and knew that it was justified. The Chargers had been a surprise addition to the Inquisition, but some of her favourite nights had been spent in their company in the tavern, laughing with Krem and Dalish and watching Bull out-drink the lot of them.

The dreadnought slipped across the ocean, the bell tolling ghostly through the fog.

“That brings back memories,” Bull smiled.

The ship fired, and the Venatori sail sank beneath the waves in a ball of fire.

“That was impressive,” Dorian said reluctantly.

“Crap.”

She turned quickly, to see Bull’s gaze focused across the water, to where a huge host of Venatori were advancing on the Charger’s position. At the top of the hill, they moved into a fighting stance, and she felt fear grip her heart.

“They’ve still got time to fall back if you signal them,” she told Bull. Even from here, she knew there would be no escape for them if they held their ground.

The Qunari, Gatt, stepped up to Bull’s side.

“Your men need to hold that position,” he said.

“If they do that, they’re dead,” Bull growled.

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead,” he replied. “You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari. You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

Bull glared at him.

“They’re my men.”

Gatt shook his head.

“I know. But you need to do what’s right, Hissrad. For this alliance, and for the Qun.”

She could see the conflict in Bull’s face when he turned to her.

“What do you think, boss?”

She drew a deep breath, Solas’s words coming back to her again.

Sometimes we have to make terrible choices if we are to achieve a greater good in the end.

At once, she saw Stroud making his final, hopeless stand against the Nightmare. She saw Krem, laughing so hard he fell off his seat and knocked the rest of the Chargers flying. She saw Cassandra, reading her book in a quiet corner of the courtyard, and she saw Solas, his face haunted as he arrived at her door.

The Qunari alliance would be unprecedented. It could give them knowledge they desperately needed. But if she wasn’t saving this world for the people who lived in it – people she cared about, who had lives and hopes of their own – then who was she saving it for?

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t sacrifice her friends for something so abstract as Qunari intelligence.

“Call the retreat,” she said. “Save your men.”

“Don’t!” Gatt protested.

Bull looked between them, and then he raised the horn to his lips, and blew.

***

When they returned to Skyhold, Gatt told them both that there would be no alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari, and she found that she wasn’t sad. But she did find herself looking at Bull with guilt coiling through her chest. She had asked him to abandon the Qun, to become Tal-Vashoth to save his men.

When Gatt left, she took him by the arm gently.

“I’m proud of you, Bull.”

He smiled sadly.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, as Krem arrived beside them. “You’re late.”

“Sorry chief! Still sore from fighting off all those Vints. Good to see you, Inquisitor.”

“That fight against the Venatori was a bit dicey.”

“We knew that you and the chief had our backs, Your Worship.”

“Fen’Harel’s teeth, don’t call me that!” She laughed, and he grinned.

“Chief’s even breaking open a cask of Chasind Sack Mead for the Chargers tonight.”

“Damn it, Krem! That’s the kind of thing you don’t have to mention to the Inquisitor.”

He dropped his eyes sheepishly.

“Sorry, chief.”

Bull knocked him back with a shield good-naturedly.

“Ah, forget it. You’re doing fine. And since the Inquisitor knows now, how about you join us?”

Ellana smiled. She couldn’t regret this. Not when the alternative was Krem and the others bloodied and broken on the sharp rocks of the Storm Coast.

“I’d love to!” She said.

And that was how she found herself, many hours later, standing on a table in the Herald’s Rest, singing as though her lungs would burst, while Bull and the Chargers roared and cheered and danced around her.

She giggled, the mead warming her blood and her face flushing with joy.

These people – her, people – they were who she was doing this for. And it seemed that news of her escapades had spread across Skyhold, because before long, they weren’t the only ones celebrating.

Cassandra and Varric joined them first, the dwarf teaching the Chargers an old drinking song with impossibly rude lyrics that made the Seeker laugh and blush. Next came Sera and Blackwall, who entered by tipping a bucket of cold water over Dalish from the balcony, starting a dramatic chase around the tavern, which only ended when Sera leapt behind her and yelled:

“I’ve got me an Inky shield! You can’t splash the Inquisitor!”

Her yelling raised an uproar from the doorway, and she turned to see Cullen, Josie, Dorian and Leliana doubled over with laughter. She raised her glass to them and turned to Sera, giggling.

“A dance, my lady?” she mock-bowed, and Sera hooted and took hold of her hands.

Bull lead them in a song about drinking and love on a battlefield, the lyrics not mattering so much as the swelling voices of her friends and the stamping of feet, as she and Sera twirled across the table, and Cole flitted down nearby, his eyes wide.

“No pain!” She heard him say. “Drinking and music and light in the dark, they are all far from home but this is also home.”

She let go of Sera to slip down to his side, swaying slightly when she landed.

“You make them happy,” he said. “And they make you happy.”

She drew her arms around the spirit and hugged him.

“You make me happy, Cole,” she smiled.

He stared at her, and then his face broke into a grin.

“I do!” He said delightedly.

She laughed, and flung an arm around Cullen’s neck as he approached, shouting over the din.

“How goes it, Commander?”

He blushed, and for a moment seemed uncertain where to put his hands, settling in the end for resting one delicately on her waist and chuckling.

“This is the celebration we should have had after Adamant,” he said. “The men needed this.”

“And you?” She smiled. “I think you deserve to celebrate as well, Cullen.”

He blushed to the roots of his hair, and she pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek, over-whelmed with love for them all.

“Solas!” She heard Dorian call. “Didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

She looked up, beaming, to where her heart stood by the door, his hands behind his back and his eyes watching her thoughtfully.

She let go of Cullen and bounded to Solas’s side, only his guarded stance reminding her that they weren’t a couple in public, and she needed to remember not to kiss him the way she wanted to.

“You found me!” She grinned. “I’m sorry, I meant to come and see you when we got back from the coast, but there was the Qunari to deal with and then Josie needed some measurements for Val Royeaux, and then-” She drew a breath, feeling herself growing giddier the longer he looked at her, his lips thinning in an effort not to smile. “And then,” she said. “Then, Bull opened the mead.”

His eyes warmed and she saw the smile he was trying to hide tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Inquisitor, I do believe you are drunk,” he said mildly.

“And I do believe you’re sexy, but I didn’t realise we were stating the obvious.”

The shock that broke across his face undid her, and she howled with laughter and doubled over, clutching his arm in an effort to stay standing.

Safely hidden in the crowd, she felt his fingers close around her elbow, grounding her as his thumb rubbed along her arm and sent tingles of electricity through her skin. When she’d eventually calmed down enough to look back up at him, he was smiling in earnest, his eyes warm and open, and she very nearly threw caution to the wind and pressed her lips to his, despite the people around them.

“I missed you,” she smiled instead, softly enough that no-one else could hear.

He trailed his hand down her arm as he let go.

“And I, you,” he replied.

They were interrupted by Dorian approaching, yelling something she couldn’t hear as he balanced a tray of teetering drinks.

“What was that?” She grinned. “I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you over your outfit.”

She looked pointedly at the deep blue robes with embroidered crystals along the cuffs that Dorian was wearing, and to her delight, heard Solas laugh loudly at her side.

“Now, now, let’s not have the elves gang up on the poor evil Vint,” Dorian grinned. “Not after I did so charmingly well in all that rain and wind you sent me into.”

“I was worried for a moment that your hair would never recover,” Ellana said. “But it seems your rakish good looks have survived another brush with the elements.”

“Now that really would have been a tragedy,” he agreed. “But my rakish good looks, much like my sparkling personality, cannot be dimmed by something so commonplace as the weather.”

She laughed as he set the tray down.

“Solas?” He asked. “A drink?”

He held the mug out to him and Solas hesitated slightly. Ellana felt her face fall. Since Redcliffe, Dorian had become her closest friend in the Inquisition, able to make her laugh when no-one else could, and also understand the confusing dance she was forced to play with Solas.

But her elven apostate heart and the Tevinter noble had a strained relationship, despite Dorian’s best attempts at friendship, and it hurt her a little every time Solas rejected him.

After a tense pause, though, he relented, taking the cup from Dorian with a reserved thank you, and sipping from it delicately. She beamed.

“One small step for the Inquisition, one giant leap for elven-Tevene relations!” She crowed, and promptly flung her arms around Dorian’s neck, giddy with happiness.

The mage laughed and spun her around, pressing another mug into her hand when he set her back on the ground.

“Well, aren’t we filled with good humour this evening?” He smiled. “One would think you were becoming entirely too pleased with yourself. Be careful now, or you’ll end up with an ego like mine, and only a select few of us are graced with the wit and charm necessary to pull it off.”

She giggled at the two of them, feeling the heat in her cheeks and an incredible lightness in her heart.

“I will have you know that I am charm herself,” she replied. “And besides, why shouldn’t I be pleased? Look!”

She flung her arms open to the room, where Cullen, Josie, and Leliana were laughing together at a table, Bull and the Chargers were engaged in a death-defying drinking tournament, Varric, Blackwall, and Sera were still dancing, Cassandra and Vivienne leant against a wall talking softly, and Cole and the rest of the Inquisition’s army, craftspeople, and civilians, milled around drinking and talking, as their bard sang in the corner.

“Look at what we’ve done!” She laughed. “Look at them. All of them! Humans and elves and dwarves and Qunari and spirits. Nobles and peasants and mages and Templars. We did this, all of us. Together. Just…”

She trailed off, her heart fit to burst with love and pride.

“Just look at them,” she said softly.

The look Solas was giving her was filled with so much love she could hardly breathe, and then Dorian slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, and she blinked tears away before they could fall.

“Well, when you put it like that,” he said. “I suppose you are entitled to a little excess of humour. But I must argue with you on one point.”

She pulled back, smiling.

“And what’s that?”

“We did a lot. But all of these people? They are here for you.”

“On that point, Master Pavus,” Solas said. “We agree.”

She laughed and shook her head, and then Dorian pulled her into a dance, and the night unspooled ahead of her in a wave of drink and music.

She talked to everyone, flitting between people in the way she’d come to expect from Cole. She joked with Josie and Leliana about the Winter Palace. She made Cullen blush – repeatedly – by asking him to demonstrate his “Commander voice” to the room and then falling back into Krem’s arms in a swoon.

She joined Varric and Cassandra’s banter, needling one or both of them until they turned on her and all three of them dissolved into hopeless giggles.

She let Vivienne attempt to style her hair into something the Enchanter found acceptable, but they only succeeded in making such a mess that she had to undo the braid and let it tumble down her back loose, leading Dorian to remark that she looked like a woman in a painting he had hung on his wall at home.

It later transpired that the woman in question was naked, her hair only covering her breasts, and this lead to Sera attempting playfully to strip Ellana from her tunic, until Blackwall picked the archer up over his shoulder and dropped her into Iron Bull’s lap for safe-keeping.

Once there, Sera challenged Bull and the Chargers to another drinking competition, and then promptly ended up rolling with laughter under the table, while they tipped the last of the mead over her head.

But no matter where she was, she felt Solas’s eyes on her, and she was drawn to him like a magnet. With every laugh and every joke, every dance and every drink, she found herself turning to find him, smiling at him across the room and thinking: I love you, I love you, I love you, as though he might hear it.

Eventually, most people drifted away from the tavern to find somewhere to sleep, but the Inquisition’s inner circle and companions stayed, lazing around the tables and chairs, talking softly in the shadows, reluctant to end the night and return to their duty with the morning.

Krem picked up a lute, and began to play a gentle progression of chords, although how, since he’d been trying to out-drink Bull all night, Ellana had no idea. As he played, Dalish picked up a fiddle, and the two of them weaved a soft melody through the air that Ellana felt in her blood.

It was In Uthenara, a Dalish song, and one she hadn’t heard since her time with her clan. In the light of the candles, surrounded by her friends, she opened her mouth, and began to sing.

Hahren na melana sahlin
Emma ir abelas
Souver’inan isala hamin
Vhenan him dor’felas
In Uthenera na revas

The music swelled, soft and haunting, and she felt their eyes on her, and lost herself to the song.

Vir sulahn’nehn
Vir dirthera
Vir samahl la numin
Vir ‘lath sa’vunin.

She was safe, and happy, and home. As she repeated the final verse, Leliana and Krem joined in, their voices swelling behind hers until the sound filled the quiet room. The final note she held, a soulful, tremulous sound, and when the last strains of the song died away, her friends gazed at her with something that looked like hope.

She smiled and raised her head, and when they began to drift away to their rooms a little while later, Solas pulled her against his body, and held her tightly in his arms.

It was a long time before he would let her go.

Chapter Text

She was enchanting, and on his mind no matter what he was doing. He’d walk through the castle and hear her voice, raised in some discussion or another with one of her advisors, and remember her quiet questions as she sought him out in the rotunda.

He’d collect herbs from the garden in the courtyard, and think of the flowers she’d enchanted and left on his desk, and his cheeks would warm with pleasure.

He’d started to listen, as the evening lengthened, for the tell-tale sound of her soft footsteps before she walked in and settled herself on the sofa, and his heart would beat harder in anticipation of her smile.

He’d even started thinking of her when there was no good reason to. A flash of green material would remind him of her eyes, dancing with laughter. A streak of red paint on the wall would bring to mind the softness of her hair, and even the scent of magic that swirled around the shards as he worked, reminded him of her magic, thrumming through his veins.

It was ridiculous. It was childish. It was distracting and unnecessary and definitely interfering with his work. And it was the happiest he’d ever been.

She was courting him. Him. The Dread Wolf. He was being courted.

Not with promises of power or chests full of jewels. Not with grand displays of magic or dazzling feats of strength. But with flowers picked simply because she thought he’d like them, and feathers she’d plucked from a nest, and tiny, exquisite, frilly cakes tied up with a ribbon, and all of them with the same small note, written in a sloping script, that simply said: Vhenan.

My heart.

He smiled to himself at his desk, letting his delight show on his face only when he was sure no-one could see.

He was behaving like a love-sick teenager, he knew, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from storing all of her gifts away, in a carved wooden box he’d found in the underground library, and decided that no-one would miss.

His collection of love tokens was growing steadily. Not just the flowers and the feathers and the ribbon from the frilly cakes. But also books she’d thought he’d like, and folded pieces of parchment with short lines of love poetry, and even – though he would never tell a soul – a torn scrap of fabric from her tunic that had caught on the side of his desk one day, and he couldn’t bear to throw away.

And he kept every note. Every single time she’d written Vhenan, and meant it for him.

He was giddy with his love for her. Light with it in a way he couldn’t remember ever being before. It was doomed, he knew, and yet, he yearned for her in ways he didn’t understand.

How could a feather make him smile for days? How could a smile across a room make his chest feel fit to burst? How could the brush of her hand on his, or the softness of her lips, or her gentle teasing hahren in the dark, reduce him to a puddle of joy?

When she left for the Storm Coast without him, he already knew that he would miss her, but in the nearly two weeks she was gone, he found himself pining. Actually, pining.

Every night that she wasn’t there to sit quietly beside him while he worked, he looked up expecting her to arrive. During the day, he found himself looking across rooms for her, before reminding himself that she wouldn’t appear.

And when he put away his work, and slipped away to his quarters to sink gratefully into the Fade, he couldn’t resist opening the chest and running his fingers over her gifts. Too many nights, he’d fallen asleep on top of his blankets, his fingers still tracing the word Vhenan, and remembering the feel of her on his lips.

On the day she was due to arrive home – and when had Skyhold become home? – he woke before the sunrise and was too excited to fall back to sleep. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he tried to meditate, he simply found himself tossing and turning.

When his thoughts kept turning back to her – her hands brushing his neck, her lips nipping his ear, her fingers tracing his jaw – and he felt himself start to harden, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Cursing himself for a fool, he stalked angrily from his room, splashing himself with cold water on the way both as a warning to his misbehaving body, and as a punishment for his thoughts. But he still couldn’t quite shake away the overwhelming sense of anticipation as he went about his work.

Today. I will see her today.

As he knew it would, the day passed slowly. He couldn’t focus on the book he was reading, a fascinating – although slightly misguided – treatise on the Veil. Every few minutes he’d hear a clatter from the entrance and tense, expecting her to appear in the doorway, weary from her travels but smiling, and every time, it wasn’t her.

By mid-afternoon, he was starting to worry that something had happened – although he told himself it was only the natural worry a member of the Inquisition would have for their leader. When he’d read the same passage countless times and decided he wasn’t taking anything in, he finally gave up and went for a walk, telling himself that he wasn’t looking for her, although of course, he was.

He ran into Bull in the courtyard, and the Qunari raised his hand in greeting.

“Solas,” he said. “Looking for the Inquisitor?”

Yes.

“Why should I be looking for her?”

Iron Bull laughed, and once again, Solas was reminded that the Ben-Hassrath saw far more than he should.

“Ah, I see. That’s the way you’re playing it, huh?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bull chuckled.

“Okay, okay, have it your way. But just for that, I’m not going to tell you where she is.”

“Since I am not looking for her, that seems the most reasonable response.”

“Alright, but just so you know, I think she’s pretty busy. You might not see her for a while.”

He left before his face could betray his frustration, and when he returned to the rotunda, he sat back at his desk to wait. She would come to him. He knew she would.

So why was there a cold spike of fear in his chest? Why did a voice in his head tell him that she was already home, and that if she’d have wanted to see him, she’d have been here by now?

He pushed the voice away and turned to his book. She would seek him out. She always sought him out. Didn’t she?

But by the time night had fallen and he’d still heard no word, an unfamiliar sensation had taken root in his heart. He puzzled over the sick, swooping feeling in his stomach, before realising that it was worry. And more than that, it was rejection. She’d been back for hours now, and still hadn’t come to see him.

He’d spent every waking moment since she’d gone – not that he’d admit it – thinking of her. If their relationship wasn’t still a secret, he had no doubt that he’d have spent all morning waiting at the gates like a lovesick puppy for her to arrive. And she hadn’t even been to see him.

Perhaps she hadn’t missed him at all.

He tightened his grip on his book, as a bitter thought came to his mind and his throat grew tight.

Lover’s lies. Honeyed words. Sweet praise for a purpose.

He shook his head to clear it. This was not Arlathan. She was not like that. Not Ellana. Not his vhenan. She had called him her love, and she had meant it.

But the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away, and he found himself watching the doorway anxiously. If he could just see her, hold her in his arms, then it would be ok.

But she didn’t come.

Instead, Dorian breezed down the stairs from the library, wearing a preposterous set of robes that positively dripped in crystal and brushed the floor when he walked.

“Solas!” He greeted him. “Are you joining us at the Herald’s Rest?”

His grip on his book tightened as he reigned in his temper.

“Dorian,” he said mildly. “When have you ever known me to join you at the Herald’s Rest?”

The Tevinter magister laughed, clearly in an excellent mood.

“Never, of course, but since everyone’s celebrating the Inquisitor’s achievements I thought you might make an exception.”

He froze, fighting to make his face impassive. That was where she was? Drinking at the Herald’s Rest without him?

“Oh?” He said, as calmly as he could. “And what are the celebrations in aid of?”

Dorian looked at him strangely.

“Don’t you know?”

He grit his teeth.

“Clearly, I don’t, or else I wouldn’t have needed to ask.”

“Well, firstly, we cleared out the Venatori encampment, but then our precious Ellana essentially told the Qunari to go fuck themselves!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, it was truly excellent. You see, we were in a bit of a sticky situation, and their Qunari agent wanted Bull to sacrifice the Chargers to save their dreadnought. Well, you can imagine, Ellana wasn’t pleased, but then, boom! One word from her, and Bull sounded their retreat anyway, and just like that, the Chargers were saved, Bull declared himself Tal-Vashoth, forsaking the Qun entirely, and we high-tailed it back to Skyhold less a Qunari alliance, but with the old Bull grinning like I’ve never seen, and the Chargers are even now breaking out the mead to celebrate avoiding their untimely deaths thanks to the orders of our dear Inquisitor.”

“Indeed,” Solas said softly.

That certainly sounded like her.

“Word on the Sky-vine, is that she’s currently three sheets to the wind and giving the Rest a rousing rendition of various drinking songs, with our motley band of fellows in arms.”

He felt as though all the air had left the room. Two weeks he’d waited, desperate for any sight of her, and she had gone to the Herald’s Rest without so much as saying hello. He kept his mask in place and dropped his eyes to his book, and they were not – they were not - burning with tears. Not at all. Because that would be pathetic, and he was not pathetic.

“So, are you coming?”

He drew in a breath and fixed Dorian with his most intimidating look.

“I have a great deal of work to do, Dorian,” he said. “Give my regards to the Inquisitor when you see her.”

He didn’t look away quickly enough to miss seeing the frown that passed over the Tevene’s face.

“Are you sure? I-”

“Quite sure, thank you.”

He kept his eyes fixed on his book, but the magister stayed where he was.

“Do you need something? He asked, not trusting himself to look up.

“No,” Dorian said. “It’s just, I…”

The silence was suffocating, and he fought the urge not to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Solas?”

“Yes?”

“She missed you too, you know.”

By the time he looked back, Dorian was gone.

He stared at the empty doorway, rage warring with a deep pain in his chest that he didn’t understand. It wasn’t normal, to feel this abandoned simply because she hadn’t come to see him first.

And yet, he did. And what’s more, he was furious with Dorian for realising it.

She missed you too, you know.

He dropped his book back onto the desk and got to his feet, agitated. He wanted to see her, desperately, but the thought that she didn’t want to see him made his chest burn and his throat feel tight and this was not normal.

He let out a groan of frustration and threw his book across the room. He was not going to the Herald’s Rest. He did not need to see her that badly.

A few minutes later, he stalked out of the room, on his way to the Herald’s Rest.

Chapter Text

He hated himself. He hated himself as he crossed the throne room and stepped outside. He hated himself as the cold air hit him and the sound of laughter and singing and friendship drifting from the Rest made his eyes burn. He hated himself as he walked down the stairs and realised that he was afraid of what she’d say when she saw him.

He hated himself as he stopped outside the heaving tavern, and realised that despite his best efforts to connect with people, he still felt like an outsider. He hated himself for being so weak that it bothered him.

He drew a deep breath at the doorway, steadying himself and pushing all poisonous thoughts from his mind. It would be ok. As soon as he could see her, it would be ok.

And then he stepped inside, and thought that his heart might simply shatter in his chest.

Across the room, teeming with people and noise and joy, Ellana stood with her arm flung around Cullen’s neck. The Commander was blushing, and his hand rested lightly on her hip, and as Solas watched, she said something in his ear that made him blush even more, and she leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

The wolf inside him roared and keened.

She was his.

He wanted to leap across the room and tear Cullen’s throat out. He wanted to crawl into a hole and sob until he could hardly breathe. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here.

Lover’s lies. Honeyed words. Sweet praise for a purpose.

His vhenan.

He was just about to leave, when Dorian’s voice called out to him.

“Solas! Didn’t think this was your kind of scene.”

And he waited. He waited for her eyes to meet his, for the guilty look of a lover caught cheating to pass over her face. He waited for her to run after him, to beg forgiveness, and he wondered whether he’d be able to resist her, and if he could hold back his tears.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, she looked up, and the second she saw him, her face broke into the truest, sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and the world rearranged itself again.

She bounded to his side, still graceful even though he could see the flush of drink in her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled, her braid swung behind her, and she flowed towards him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You found me!” She beamed at him, and he felt his heart leap.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling up at him and swaying on her feet. “I meant to come and see you when we got back from the coast, but there was the Qunari to deal with and then Josie needed some measurements for Val Royeaux, and then-” She drew a breath, and he felt a smile creeping across his face despite his best efforts to contain it. “And then,” she said. “Then, Bull opened the mead.”

All at once, the fear and hurt in his chest melted away. She hadn’t chosen Cullen over him. She had missed him. She had wanted to come and see him. And she was beautiful and here and brimming with such happiness that it was infectious, and all he wanted to do was crush her to his chest and tell her how much he’d missed her, and how desperately stupid he’d been.

Instead, he said:

“Inquisitor, I do believe you are drunk.”

“And I do believe you’re sexy, but I didn’t realise we were stating the obvious.”

He couldn’t help it; his mouth gaped open in shock, and his damn misbehaving cock actually twitched in his leggings, while she doubled over with laughter and clung to his arm for support.

She was going to be his undoing, and all of a sudden, he found that he didn’t mind. With a quick glance around to make sure they weren’t being watched, he gripped her elbow to steady her, not able to resist running his thumb over her arm, even as his whole body screamed at him to grab her, and hold her, and show everyone that she was his.

Eventually, she calmed down enough to stand on her own, and when she smiled up at him again, he knew he could get lost in her.

“I missed you,” she said softly, and he brushed his hand down her arm and felt his heart swell.

“And I, you.”

You have no idea, he wanted to say. You have no idea how desperately I’ve missed you.

They were interrupted by Dorian approaching, carrying a tray of teetering drinks, and saying something he couldn’t hear over the noise at the bar.

Not for the first time, Solas felt a primal rush of dislike for the man: too flashy and showy and Tevene for him to ever truly feel comfortable around. But for reasons he didn’t understand, Ellana liked him, and so, he mostly managed to be pleasant.

“What was that?” She grinned at Dorian now. “I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you over your outfit.”

He couldn’t help it; he roared with laughter, and suddenly, the last two weeks didn’t matter at all. She was here, standing at his side, flushed with drink and smiling the smile he’d missed more than he could say.

“Now, now, let’s not have the elves gang up on the poor evil Vint,” Dorian grinned. “Not after I did so charmingly well in all that rain and wind you sent me into.”

“I was worried for a moment that your hair would never recover,” Ellana said. “But it seems your rakish good looks have survived another brush with the elements.”

Solas suppressed another bout of laughter. This, this was one of the things he loved about her. How she could befriend anyone, and make being around them so much easier simply with her presence at his side.

“Now that really would have been a tragedy,” Dorian said. “But my rakish good looks, much like my sparkling personality, cannot be dimmed by something so commonplace as the weather.”

She laughed, and Solas felt her brush his arm, and he couldn’t hide his smile.

He was pulled away from the electric sensation of her hand against him by Dorian, the man staring at him with his hand out-stretched, as he offered him a drink.

He frowned, a refusal on the tip of his tongue, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Ellana’s face fall, and despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to be the person who chased the smile from her face.

He took the cup, and she laughed delightedly.

“One small step for the Inquisition, one giant leap for elven-Tevene relations!” She crowed, and then launched herself into Dorian’s arms, still laughing.

Solas sipped his drink, hiding his smile behind his cup as Dorian spun her around and set her back down. It was easy, in moments like this, to understand why she enjoyed the magister’s company. Not because of him, but because of her. Because she brought people together without even trying. Because she had a gift for seeing people – truly, seeing them - and bringing out the best in them simply with her kindness.

It was, he realised with a start, what she’d brought out in him.

“Well, aren’t we filled with good humour this evening?” The magister smiled at her. “One would think you were becoming entirely too pleased with yourself. Be careful now, or you’ll end up with an ego like mine, and only a select few of us are graced with the wit and charm necessary to pull it off.”

She giggled, and Solas swallowed, hard, as her tongue flicked out to lick a line of mead from her lips.

“I will have you know that I am charm herself,” she replied.

You have no idea, he thought.

“And besides, why shouldn’t I be pleased? Look!”

She flung her arms open to the room, and Solas followed her gaze. The tavern was crowded, the Chargers making a racket that he felt pulsing dully in his head. Sera, Blackwall, and Varric were twirling ridiculously on top of a table, and he felt a ripple of distrust run down his spine as he caught sight of Cassandra and Vivienne talking softly against the wall.

It was too hot. There were too many people to keep track of; too many opportunities for deceit in dark corners, and deals made and twisted in low voices beneath the din of the chatter. The Game wasn’t just played in courts, he knew, it was conducted in taverns just like this, and the thought made him nervous.

But then Ellana laughed, and he looked back at her, to see her face shining and open in a way he’d never seen it before.

“Look at what we’ve done!” She beamed. “Look at them. All of them! Humans and elves and dwarves and Qunari and spirits. Nobles and peasants and mages and Templars. We did this, all of us. Together. Just…”

She trailed off, and he thought his heart might burst from his chest.

“Just look at them,” she said softly.

And this time, he did. He looked at them, not as political players in a Game whose machinations he’d learnt so many years ago that distrust was a natural as breathing. Not as rivals vying for power. Not as soldiers or spies or diplomats or titles. But simply as people, drinking together as friends, and for no other reason than joy.

He saw Bull clap Krem on the back, and found no trace of falsity in his laughter. He looked at Sera, the elf who was not an elf, dancing with a warden and a dwarf, and smiling a smile that suddenly didn’t seem fake at all, but as natural as the sun.

He watched Cullen blush as Leliana and Josie teased him about something, and the spymaster’s face crumpled with helpless laughter, while the ambassador knocked over her drink in her glee.

He saw, suddenly, that there was no subtle deceit in Cassandra and Vivienne’s manner, as the Seeker slipped the latest copy of Swords and Shields to the Enchanter, and the two women giggled like schoolgirls, their heads bent low together.

And if he’d needed any more proof that things really were just as they seemed, there was Cole, perched on the edge of the balcony and positively giddy with happiness. The Spirit of Compassion had no hurts to heal.

He felt something rough and ragged fall away from his heart, and turned to look at Ellana with something like devotion in his eyes. This was because of her. This was how she saw them – all of them – and because she saw them that way, and because she so passionately believed in it, that was what they became.

For her, they were simply people. Just as for her, he had become simply Solas.

If, at that moment, Dorian hadn’t pulled her in for a hug, he had no doubt that he’d have taken her in his arms then and there. He wanted to swallow down her goodness, take her kindness inside himself, and drown in it if he could.

Instead, he watched her laugh, and knew that he couldn’t hide the love in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Dorian said. “I suppose you are entitled to a little excess of humour. But I must argue with you on one point.”

“And what’s that?” Ellana asked.

“We did a lot. But all of these people? They are here for you.”

Solas looked at him then; looked at him through Ellana’s eyes, and not the eyes of the Dread Wolf. And he saw that the magister loved her, too.

It seemed impossible to him, that he’d never considered it before. That the reason these people were here wasn’t because she was a symbol bearing a mark on her hand, but because she was simply Ellana, and they loved her.

And she had chosen him.

“On that point, Master Pavus,” he said at last. “We agree.”

Dorian offered him a tentative smile, and he returned it freely, and when the Tevene pulled his heart into his arms and twirled her across the floor in a dance, he found that he didn’t mind at all.

He sipped his drink, and drifted towards their group of companions, his eyes never leaving the smile on Ellana’s face.

“Chuckles!” Varric called to him, and for the first time, the nickname didn’t feel like mockery, but friendship. “Good of you to join us!”

“Master Tethras,” he inclined his head.

“Always so formal,” the dwarf laughed. “Here, pull up a seat, we need you to settle an argument for us.”

And just like that, he was welcomed in. Not for favours, or power, or deceit, but for friendship and laughter and conversation instead.

Friends, he thought with wonder. These people are my friends.

And so, he sat, and he talked, and he took Varric’s jokes good-naturedly. He teased the Seeker about her soft heart, and with laughter in her voice, she threatened to have him executed as an apostate if he dared breathe a word of it to anyone.

He rolled his eyes at Sera and smothered his laughter when Vivienne stumbled down a step and tipped a mug of mead down the bright white silk of her dress.

And always, he watched his heart, turning to her like a flower turns to the sun as she moved around the room, light on her feet and smiling.

And he saw how they loved her. How Bull steadied her protectively with his large hand on her back when she swayed. How Varric took care to draw her into his games. How Dorian teased her and needled her until the two of them collapsed into passionate giggles and outraged insults.

How Cassandra hovered protectively, like a mother, around the edge of the table when she danced. How Sera looked first to her, with childish cries of Inky, look!, whenever she set off another prank. How Blackwall was ever ready to gallantly sweep a mug out of the way of her dancing feet, and keep a reign on Sera if she went too far.

How Josie tucked her hair behind her ears when it began to fall free from her braid. How Leliana quietly removed her from the drinking competition before it could get out of hand. And even how Vivienne so gently styled her hair, laughing freely when they simply ruined it and it tumbled down her back in a riot of unruly waves.

How Cole hovered near her, ever ready with a whispered word, and how the spirit seemed to glow when she threw her arms around him, and called him little brother.

And how Cullen – he felt a twinge of possessiveness – how Cullen clearly loved her the same way Solas did. How his eyes roved over her, not with desire, but with longing. How her gentle teasing reduced him to blushes, and how she treated them not with mockery, but with kindness.

And how always, always, no matter where she was or who she was speaking to, her eyes sought out his, and her smile grew still wider when she found him watching her - as if he could have done anything else.

Every time she looked at him, his heart clenched and his smile grew, and by the end of the night, when she sank down into a chair and he stood across the room, watching the candlelight play over her face, he thought he would simply burst if he couldn’t hold her soon.

That was when Krem began to play.

His breath stilled as the melody stirred inside him. It was an old song; older than this world. It was a song from Elvhenan, a song he had heard hummed by his mother and sang softly within the halls of Arlathan.

Opposite Ellana, standing behind Krem, he gripped the back of a chair tightly as the memories flooded over him and made his throat grow tight. And then she started to sing.

His breath caught in his throat, her voice soft and sorrowful as she sang of the long sleep of the Elvhen. Her voice rose and fell, and when she breathed Vir ‘lath sa’vunin, We love one more day, she poured such longing, and such passion into the sound, that he had to fight back tears.

The candlelight softened her, shadows dancing along her jaw and in the hollow of her throat, the vallaslin almost disappearing and leaving her face unmarked and free. The whole room fell away around him.

There was only her, singing a song of love and loss, stirring forgotten memories that pulled at his heart, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. When the music faded away, and she lifted her head and smiled softly, he thought the words like a heartbeat.

Ar lath ma, ar lath ma, ar lath ma.

Ma vhenan.

He didn’t remember everyone leaving. He only realised that at some point, they were alone, and she was smiling at him gently.

And then he was striding across the room, and she was moving to meet him, and he pulled her against his body with so much force he thought he might have hurt her, except that she gripped him back just as hard, and then she was in his arms, and he was never, ever, going to let her go.

He pushed his face into her hair, breathing her in, twining his fingers through the waves of red, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as her hands drew gentle patterns on his back.

He didn’t know how long he held her for, but at some point, a soft voice from the balcony above them whispered:

“Home. He is home.”

And he knew that it was true.

Chapter Text

When Solas woke late the next morning, it was with a smile on his face, and only a dull twinge of regret that she wasn’t lying next to him.

They had stayed in the tavern until the sky began to lighten, curled up on a chair together, her sitting across his knee and nuzzling into his neck. He had held her close, trading soft kisses and murmured endearments, his heart leaping every time she touched him and whispered Ar lath ma, Solas.

Ar lath ma, vhenan, he’d replied. Again and again: ar lath ma, until his whole body sang with it.

But he had come to bed alone nevertheless, not wanting to test the limits of his restraint after so many weeks of wanting her.

The strength of his need for her still frightened him. That after all the years of his long life, this woman alone had been able to reduce him to lovesick teenager, paranoid lover, and wounded heart, simply by going away for two weeks and leaving him waiting for a few hours when she returned.

It should not have hurt so much to be parted from her. It shouldn’t have made him ache when she didn’t come to him. And he shouldn’t feel so sublimely and completely whole, only when she was in his arms.

He rolled over onto his stomach, groaning a little as his straining cock brushed against the sheets. He trembled, fighting a war with himself over the insistent ache between his legs.

It was only natural, he knew, and he’d never felt guilty about taking himself in hand before, but it felt wrong, somehow, to touch himself while thinking of her. He still hadn’t given into the desire yet, mostly because he thought that if he did, his body might realise exactly what it had been missing. And if that happened, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse her the next time she nipped at his ear.

At the memory, a wave of heat rolled through his body and settled in his groin, and he rolled his hips slowly once and hissed at the friction against the mattress. He was so close already; his body clearly very aware of what it had been missing, and for how long it had been missing it for.

He muffled his frustrated whine in his pillows and gripped the blankets tightly, breathing in and out through his nose and definitely not – definitely, not – thinking about her lips on his skin.

It scared him, to be this out of control. He had survived for so long only through careful discipline and near total restraint. If he’d taken anyone to bed it had been with a purpose in mind. It had shored up an alliance, or fanned the flames of gossip. Or it had been purely carnal; them taking what they wanted and him doing the same.

He had always had a plan. Always, a strategy. In sex, as in war, since so often the two seemed to mix.

Now, he was adrift in a sea of his own unplanned emotions and feverish desires. Falling in love had not been part of his plan. But neither had she.

He breathed out slowly, his body pulling back from the brink. The problem, of course, was that he hadn’t expected it, and so he hadn’t guarded against it. He had never expected to find anyone who felt real in this world, and then she’d walked into his life, shining so brightly he couldn’t deny her.

She was real.

Last night, he’d realised something else as well. Something that had frightened him, and even though he’d pushed it aside to watch her smile, it came back to him now with all of the force of a cold shower.

They were all real.

Oh, they didn’t shine as brightly as she did. None of them could ever hope to come close to the strength of her spirit. But they were still real. As real as he was. As real as the Elvhen, even if they had no idea what they were missing in this new, Veiled world.

That thought, more than any other, chased the ache between his legs away, as well as the lightness of his mood.

By the time he’d washed and dressed for the day, the pleasure of the night before had been forgotten, in favour of the ever-present nauseous feeling that grew in his stomach whenever he thought about what he was going to do.

To destroy a world of Tranquil to bring back a world of wonder; that had been difficult enough. To destroy a world in which Ellana danced on table tops and flung herself into people’s arms, and smiled and smiled and smiled, even as war raged around them; that was a crime beyond reckoning.

Not for the first time, he felt the terrible splitting of his personality. Solas pulling away from Fen’Harel, desperate for Ellana’s light in the dark, while the Wolf’s jaws clamped around his chest, holding him to his purpose. It was a battle in which there could only be one winner, and his guilt was a fire in his veins.

He was a selfish, stupid, desperately lonely man, in love with a generous, forgiving, desperately lovely woman. He didn’t deserve her. What he was doing to them both was a cruelty beyond all measure, whether she knew it or not.

But he couldn’t push her away.

If their two weeks apart had taught him anything, it was that he could no more give her up than he could give up the air he breathed. He needed her. Depended on her for all of the things in life he thought he’d given up for good, and now realised he desperately needed.

He needed to see her smile. Depended on her soft touch to chase away his dark thoughts. He pined for her lips on his and coveted her laughter. And above all else, he was becoming reliant on the safety of her presence; on the way she chased away his fear and drew him into warmth and light.

And he hungered for her love, in all of its forms, in the way only a man who’d lived without it for millennia could. He drank up her kisses, wallowed in her touch, and melted a little more with every secret gift and sly smile she offered him.

Ar lath ma.

Save me.

It was these thoughts that darkened his mind as he slipped into the rotunda and settled into work. But they were gone like fog in the wind when he saw the package sitting on his desk.

A scrap of red silk, tied up with a black ribbon, and the tell-tale piece of parchment with her familiar handwriting bound alongside.

His heart stuttered, and he was smiling before he’d consciously realised it. He took his time, sitting down and picking up the precious parcel, and only he would ever know that his hands were shaking.

Carefully, he undid the ribbon, letting the silk brush across his knuckles and running the parchment between his fingers. He didn’t pull back the material straight away, instead taking a quiet breath before opening the note, which was longer than all the others.

Vhenan,

I found this on the Storm Coast and knew it was for you.

Never doubt that you have my heart.

He read the words over again, his chest lightening and a blush spreading to his cheeks. At last, he pulled the fabric away, and there, rubbed smooth by the tides and polished to a shine, was a white rock in the unmistakeable shape of a heart.

Her heart.

His heart.

His home.

He closed his hand around it, feeling the weight of his responsibility and the delirious joy of knowing that she was his. He couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to keep her heart safe, but just for a moment, he imagined that he could.

He imagined that they would beat Corypheus. He imagined coming back to Skyhold with her and laying in her bed. He imagined letting go of the Dread Wolf and simply becoming Solas. He imagined a life in which he was nothing more than Ellana’s partner; simply a man in love with a woman, and nothing more complicated than that.

They were dreams. Impossible, wonderful dreams. But just for now, he let himself believe it.

He walked back to his rooms, storing the silk and the ribbon in his carved chest, and reading the note once more before placing it gently on top. He hesitated, and then closed the lid, tucking her heart into the pocket of his tunic, where he knew it would always be safe.

Chapter Text

“No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not!”

Ellana dropped down from the step and nearly tripped over her skirts, huffing at the appalling clouds of netting and silk that flowed from her waist in a gigantic dome, and then trailed dangerously over the floor.

The Orlesian dress-maker behind her let out a cry of frustration, muffled by the fact her mouth was holding a set of pins as she attempted to readjust the Inquisitor’s measurements.

“Inquisitor, please,” Josie said exasperatedly. “You are going to be attending the Winter Palace as a guest of Grand Duke Gaspard du Chalons, and you absolutely must look the part!”

They were standing in an antechamber in the east wing of Skyhold, that her companions had recently requisitioned as an informal drawing room, believing, rightly, that the Herald’s Rest was a bit too public for the Inquisitor to be seen in too regularly.

The room was ordinarily her favourite place to relax, outside of the rotunda with Solas. There were armchairs and sofas settled in front of the fire, a card table that Varric regularly made use of, and just enough bookcases to tempt her heart away from his work while he tried to be a little more sociable.

Today, she was regretting having told Josie to send the dressmaker here, now that all of her friends were watching her struggle with the Orlesian fashion.

“Oh, I look the part alright,” she argued, steadying herself against Bull’s arm and still trying to disentangle herself from the material. “If that part is Dalish Savage Dress-up Doll and Jester for the Amusement of the Orlesian Courts.”

Sera and Varric laughed from across the room, and she shot them a frustrated smile in response. At least she wasn’t the only one who saw how ridiculous this was.

“Inquisitor-”

“No.”

She held up her hand, her chest straining against the corset.

“By the Blight, Josie, what do the Orlesians have against women being able to breathe? It’s bad enough it took three people to get me into this thing and will take another three to get me out, but really? Apparently in Orlais the richer your women get the more helpless you try to make them.”

Josie spluttered indignantly, but it did nothing to drown out the roar of laughter from Dorian and Bull, and she saw Solas suppress a smile out of the corner of her eye.

“Seriously. What happens? You accumulate wealth and start to social climb, and suddenly you’re expected to be incapable of dressing or breathing or-” she stumbled again as she paced. “Or walking without someone there to do it for you?”

She drew a hand across her forehead and then settled both hands on her hips with some difficulty.

“Need I remind you of the real reason I’ll be attending the Winter Palace? I need to be able to move Josie, and in case it has escaped your notice, I am an elf.”

“Yep, she’s very elfy!” Sera giggled, from her perch on Cassandra’s footstool.

Josie frowned, thrown by the change in conversation.

“I’m well aware you’re an elf, Inquisitor…” She said with some confusion.

“Are you? Because you’re dressing me up like a shem noblewoman and whether or not you see anything wrong with that, I guarantee you the players at the Winter Palace will certainly have a few things to say about it. It’s like… It’s like I’m playing at shemlen drag,” she huffed. “I am not going to be paraded out like the exotic Dalish savage for the amusement of a bunch of humans who can’t even dress themselves without three servants there to help.”

Josie’s face fell in horror, and Ellana felt a twinge of guilt at the harshness of her words.

“Inquisitor, forgive me,” her ambassador said. “I didn’t even think. I should have-”

She was blushing with shame and Ellana rested a hand on her arm gently.

“It’s alright, Josie,” she said. “I know you meant well, but while you simply see me as a friend, I can’t forget that I’m an elf. And neither will everyone else.”

She sighed.

“Now will someone please get me out of this corset? Or else I’m going to suffocate before Corypheus has a chance to kill me, and then where will you all be?”

“Running very quickly and futilely away from the holes in the sky, I suspect,” Dorian quipped, but to her surprise, it was Solas who stepped up behind her, his hands resting lightly over her dress.

“Allow me,” he said softly, and she resisted the urge to lean back into him.

It was unlike him, to get so close to her in public, and she wanted to turn around and see his face to try and figure out what had made him decide to undress her in front of their friends. But if anyone thought his behaviour unusual, they didn’t say, and she enjoyed the subtle thrill of feeling his hands on her as he untied various ribbons, and Josie started talking about plans for a different dress.

Gradually, the pressure around her chest lessened, and she brought up her hand to hold the bodice over herself while Josie spoke.

“Does it have to be a dress?” She asked.

“Yes, I think so,” she replied apologetically. “But there’s a lot of things we can do to make it more appropriate for your needs.”

She let out a breath, trying to concentrate while Solas’s hands worked lower down her back and the warmth of the fire met her bare skin.

“Ok, but no corset,” she said. “And no gigantic skirts. And I want to be able to wear shoes I can actually walk in. And I’ll need somewhere to store my blades.”

Josie frowned, but diligently wrote down the requirements, and Solas’s hands stilled against her.

With everyone’s attention elsewhere, she leaned back ever so slightly, and felt his breath ghost over her neck, and his fingertips brush lightly down her exposed back. She shuddered as a ripple of pleasure ran down her spine and settled between her legs.

“All done, Inquisitor,” he murmured softly against her ear, and she bit her lip to hold back the surprised groan that wanted to slip from her mouth in response.

“It is much appreciated,” she said, slightly breathlessly, and felt his fingers take hold of her hip before he placed his hands behind his back and stepped away.

Not trusting herself to look at him, she slipped behind the screen on the far wall and dressed herself in her usual slim leggings and tailored tunic. When she emerged again, he was sitting in an armchair by the fire, reading a book as though nothing had happened.

Josie had thankfully taken the dress-maker somewhere else to discuss her new ideas, so Ellana slipped by him and ran her fingers lightly over his hand as she passed on her way to the card table.

“Ember!” Varric grinned. “Fancy a game of Wicked Grace?”

She sat down opposite him and smiled, letting her eyes linger on Solas for a moment, to find him watching her over his book with a focus that made her toes curl. She looked back at Varric before she could blush.

“Are you going to take all of my money again?” She asked wryly, studiously ignoring the distracting apostate across the room.

“That depends, we could always play for something else.”

“Like what?”

“Did I hear someone suggest strip Wicked Grace?” Dorian said, sliding into the chair at her side. “Because I was just thinking, that the only thing this Inquisition of yours was missing was some good old-fashioned, harmless nudity.”

She rolled her eyes.

“It figures that you would be an exhibitionist, Dorian.”

“What’s the matter, Inquisitor? Shy?”

He levelled a comical leer at her and she snorted.

“How many times am I going to have to remind you people that I’m Dalish? I’m pretty sure I saw more people naked in the first five years of my life than you’ve had conquests in Minrathous.”

“Ah, well, you clearly underestimate the number of broken hearts and broken backs I’ve left in my wake,” he said solemnly, and she laughed.

“So, is that what we’re doing?” Varric asked.

“I’m game if you are,” Sera said, sitting down opposite Dorian and grinning.

“Wait, what?” Ellana asked. “I thought you were joking!”

“And I thought you said you weren’t shy,” Dorian replied. “Or was that all bravado?”

She stared at them, all three watching her with a challenging glint in their eyes, and the rest of their friends giggling around the periphery of the table. She should say no, she knew, especially with Solas sitting nearby, pretending very effectively that he wasn’t at all interested in the gauntlet Dorian had thrown down.

But at the thought of his fingers brushing her skin, and the restrained need that radiated from him whenever they touched for too long, she couldn’t deny that the thought of him watching her peel off layers of clothing, in full view of everyone watching, didn’t make a sharp tingle of power and arousal light up her nerves.

She hesitated, and then grinned wickedly.

“Deal me in,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

***

When she returned, the cards had been dealt, and she was wearing not only her leggings and tunic, but also socks, boots, a belt, a shawl, and a delicate green silk scarf wrapped lightly around her neck.

“Hey, no fair Inky!” Sera protested, while Dorian and Varric laughed. “That’s cheating!”

“I think you’ll find it’s called preparing,” she smiled smugly, and snuck a glance at Solas, who was watching her steadily over his book, his expression unreadable.

“All’s fair in Wicked Grace,” Varric said. “But don’t think your preparation will save you.”

While she’d been gone, a few of their companions had left, leaving only Cassandra, Bull and Solas sitting around the edges of their game.

“Are you really going to do this?” The Seeker asked her, her expression teasing despite her words.

“Of course,” she replied. “Let it never be said that Ellana Lavellan is a coward.”

“Very well, oh brave Inquisitor,” Dorian smiled. “Let’s play.”

***

An hour later, her decision to put on more clothes had proven to be a good one. Dorian was bare-chested, save for a flashy jewelled pendant; Sera had removed her leggings first, and was using her long shirt to maintain some of her modesty, and Varric’s chest hair was on display for all to see while he removed his final sock.

Meanwhile, Ellana still had on both her tunic and her leggings, as well as her scarf, although she’d run out of extra items to remove, and Solas’s silent presence nearby was doing terrible things for her concentration.

On the next game, she lost roundly, and the table erupted into jeers.

“Get ‘em off, Inky!” Sera crowed.

“Nah, Ember’s still got her scarf to go,” Varric said.

“Dirty rotten coward,” Dorian muttered good-naturedly, and she felt a flash of mischief flow through her.

The idea of sitting here, naked save for her scarf, while Solas was forced to watch in silence, made her clit throb deliciously, and she couldn’t resist taking Dorian’s bait.

“Let it never be said,” she repeated softly. “That Ellana Lavellan is a coward.”

The room broke into wolf-whistles as she began to slowly undo the buckles on her tunic, and with the taste of the Orlesian wine Dorian had procured still tingling on her tongue, she slipped the offending material off and flung it at Cassandra.

The Seeker blushed with laughter and drink, and Ellana smiled smugly, her torso exposed save for her breastband and the silk brushing tantalisingly against her stomach.

“You’re next, Tevene,” she grinned.

“Maker’s Breath,” he sighed. “Why do I open my big mouth?”

“And what a big mouth it is,” Bull replied, making Dorian blush and causing another wave of laughter to ripple around the room.

It was no secret that the Qunari and the magister had struck up a relationship of sorts; the servants had been known to tell horror stories of the cries and moans that echoed from their rooms at night, after all.

Laughing, Ellana sipped her wine while Varric dealt another hand, and chanced another subtle glance at Solas.

Another wave of desire rippled through her body when she saw the singular focus he had on her, and that his knuckles were clenched white around his book. She raised an eyebrow at him behind her glass, and was gratified when he looked down and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one affected by her state of undress.

The next round saw Sera lose her tunic, and the two after saw Dorian lose the pendant and Varric lose his breeches.

“That’s it,” the dwarf said, throwing down his hand. “When you’re down to your smalls, it’s time to call it a night. Although you kids will keep playing, I’m sure.”

“I think I can go for one more round,” Dorian said. “If only to try and drag our Inquisitor down to our level.”

Sera threw down her hand, and left with Varric and Cassandra, who mumbled something about decency as she left.

There was a strange electric energy in the room, though whether from the firelight, the wine, the nudity, or the fact that it was only her, Dorian, Bull, and Solas left, Ellana couldn’t say.

Dorian dealt the final hand, and she looked down at her cards with a dangerous heat in her stomach. They were terrible; and she was thrilled. She played right to the end of the round, baiting Dorian and teasing gently, until her face felt flushed and the pulse between her legs grew difficult to ignore.

And then, finally, they revealed their cards, and Dorian crowed with delight.

“I win!” He laughed. “Let’s see it then, Inquisitor. Will it be leggings, scarf, or breastband?”

She composed her face to hide her smile. Dorian was too drunk to realise what was happening, but she knew that Bull had understood her intentions from the beginning, and now she made a big show of deciding, twisting her body in the firelight so that she was angled towards Solas without meeting his gaze.

“Well,” she said, her eyes roving meaningfully over Dorian’s bare chest. “It’s only fair, I suppose.”

And with a thrill of danger, she reached behind herself, and let her breastband fall to the floor. Bull burst into laughter and Dorian cheered, but all she could feel was the delicious way the silk brushed over her nipples, tightening them into peaks, and she glanced up to find Solas rigid in his chair.

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she realised with another spark of arousal that he’d lowered his book over his lap, and his eyes were fixed on where the silk scarf ghosted over her breasts.

“Come on now, Kadan,” Bull said, getting to his feet. “I’ve watched you sitting there half-naked for far too long.”

Dorian squawked as the Qunari hoisted him over his shoulder, and Bull winked at her knowingly as he carried him from the room.

And then it was just her and Solas left.

She suddenly became very aware of the heat from the fire on her skin, the crackling of the wood in the hearth, and the growing wetness between her legs. She smiled coyly, the wine making her brave, and Solas’s hand tightened on the arm of his chair.

“Are you enjoying your book?” She asked him, and the teasing lilt of her smile grew when he swallowed, hard.

“It has been… Illuminating,” he said softly, and his eyes flicked from her face to her chest and back up again quickly.

She laughed and got to her feet, the silk falling in ripples over her as she stalked towards him.

“Illuminating? Is that so?”

He didn’t answer, and she stopped in front of him and tilted his chin so he was staring up at her. There was an alluring sheen of sweat on his top lip, and his book slipped to the floor, forgotten, revealing the rigid length already straining against his leggings.

She bent down, placing her hands on either side of the chair, allowing the scarf to fall across his lap and her breasts to dip lower in front of him. In the silence, both of them heard the way his breath caught in his throat, and her skin began to burn with desire.

"And just how illuminating did you find it?” She purred.

Chapter Text

It was his own fault, but that didn’t make his predicament any easier to bear. Although he thought her beautiful at all times, something about seeing her in the dress, her breasts pushed up by the corset and her eyes alight with righteous fury as the silk flowed across the floor around her, had stirred something inside him he’d been trying very hard to ignore.

And then, of course, she’d joked about Corypheus killing her, and his desire had mixed with a potent sense of guilt, fear, and protectiveness that had him on his feet and untying the ribbon before he’d known what he was doing.

With the fire warm at his back and her body pressed along his front, he’d breathed in the scent of her and lingered over the knots, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to touch her in front of everyone. The smooth expanse of pale skin that had revealed itself to him as he worked was irresistible, and he imagined running his tongue down the hollow of her back before he’d had time to control his thoughts.

He couldn’t resist brushing a finger down the soft skin, and when she leant back into him he murmured into her ear, feeling the now-familiar ache starting to grow between his legs.

And of course, she’d responded in kind, which was why he was now sitting through the most exquisite torture he’d ever experienced, as she removed her tunic and let it tumble to the floor in front of him.

The ache between his legs grew and he gripped his book tightly, unable to draw his eyes away from where the curve of her breast rose beneath her breastband, and the muscles in her waist flexed when she moved.

“You’re next, Tevene,” she grinned at Dorian.

“Maker’s Breath,” the magister said. “Why do I open my big mouth?”

Ellana picked up her wine and took a leisurely sip, and her eyes met his, teasing him knowingly. He felt himself harden almost painfully, and dropped his gaze back to his book before he could give himself away.

The heat from the fire was over-whelming, and he knew that his skin was damp with the force of his desire, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit defeat and leave. And with the evidence of his arousal now straining uncomfortably against his leggings, there was no way to stand up and walk out without his body betraying the reason why.

He watched the games pass as the other players lost their clothing, and when Varric finally bowed out he breathed a sigh of relief. It would be over soon, and he would go back to his room and positively drown himself in cold water, and his dignity would be saved.

But then Dorian threw down the final challenge, and he stifled a groan as everyone but Bull left, and Ellana accepted the final hand.

He couldn’t draw his eyes away from the soft curve of her waist, and the sharp lines of her collarbones. Every breath she took made the scarf ripple across her skin, and he tightened his grip on his book as he imagined trailing kisses along her stomach, the silk brushing against him as he moved lower.

His cock twitched and he bit back a groan, shifting uncomfortably in an effort to relieve the pressure between his legs. When Dorian called for the cards to be shown, he still didn’t know whether he wanted her to win or lose, and when Bull and the magister began to jeer, he dug his toes into the carpet as she twisted towards him.

His breath caught in his throat as she let her breastband fall to the ground, and he watched her nipples tighten into peaks beneath the gentle caress of the silk. His cock pulsed again, an insistent tugging sensation that somehow managed to start in his spine and shoot right to the base of his balls.

He dropped the book over himself to hide the evidence of his arousal, but with his eyes fixed on Ellana, he barely noticed when Bull hoisted Dorian over his shoulder, and carried him from the room.

She watched him knowingly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her lips, and he thought he might go mad for want of her.

“Are you enjoying your book?” She asked, her voice low and impossibly alluring.

He swallowed, hard.

“It has been… Illuminating.”

His whole body was rigid with pent-up need, and his eyes flicked to her chest and then back up again without his conscious permission.

She laughed softly, and the sound sent another pulse of heat through his groin, until he thought he might simply come right there. She got to her feet, impossibly graceful, her pale skin softened by the glow of the fire, and the silk rippling over her breasts and her stomach as she moved slowly towards him.

“Illuminating? Is that so?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, his body screaming for anything, anything that would relieve the ache building in his veins. She came to a stop in front of him. Her scent filled his nose and he had to stop himself from palming his cock through his leggings, already desperate for the small relief it would bring.

Her hand came up to brush his chin until he was looking up at her, and where her finger rested, electricity leapt across his skin. She was exquisite; her lips soft and plump with wine, her eyes sparkling, and the silk falling into his lap to brush maddeningly against his rigid length as she bent over him.

“And just how illuminating did you find it?” She purred.

His self-control broke.

With a groan from low in his throat he surged up to meet her, his hands digging into her hips as he pulled her closer and his lips met hers clumsily.

She responded in kind, her mouth opening and his tongue rolling against hers, until the fire in his body became an inferno.

They both gasped when she moved to straddle his hips and she pushed down against him.

The wave of pleasure that rolled through him at even that brief contact made him buck his hips up into her, and he muffled his whine in her mouth.

When he finally pulled back to breathe, her eyes were dark with desire and he already felt his orgasm building. She rocked against him and he howled, holding her still as his whole body trembled with restrained need.

“Vhenan,” he gasped. “Vhenan.”

She suckled at his lower lip and he keened.

“I want you, Solas,” she breathed, and he let out a howl of frustration that was very nearly a sob, and buried his face in her shoulder.

“I can’t,” he whined desperately. “Vhenan, please. I can’t.”

He was desperate with desire, frantic with his need. But if he did this to her - if he took her when she didn’t know the truth of him – he would never be able to forgive himself.

She rolled her hips and he cried out, his balls tightening and his hands scrabbling for purchase on her hips. The ache between his legs was unbearable, and he thought he might simply go mad if he didn’t find a way to relieve it soon.

A panicked part of his mind wondered whether he could simply throw her from his lap and take himself in hand, and he realised he had no precedent for what was happening to him. How was a body meant to react after millennia without an orgasm?

Like this, his brain supplied unhelpfully, and then she began to kiss along his jawbone and he felt himself start to shake.

“Vhenan!”

The panic in his voice stilled her, and she pulled back to look at him, her gaze open and concerned.

“Solas?”

His breath was coming in shuddering gasps, and he screwed up his eyes, shaking his head and digging his fingers into her hips so tightly he was sure they’d leave a mark.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he chanted under his breath, rocking backwards and forwards as the ache in his cock became painful in its intensity.

“Solas.”

She pressed a hand over his chest, grounding him, and he dropped his forehead to hers, a whine building in his throat.

“Look at me.”

He opened his eyes and focused on her through the haze of his desire. She was looking at him gently, and with the same kindness he’d fallen in love with her for. But for the first time, it didn’t help. He was delirious with his need, knowing in a primal way that he couldn’t stop this now, and already hating himself for it.

“Tell me what the problem is,” she held up her hand to pre-empt him, and continued gently. “We can’t lay together, is that it?”

He nodded, his eyes wide, unable to stop his hips rolling up to meet her, and sending another spike of painful pleasure through his body that made him gasp.

“And this problem you have, it’s to do with taking something from me, isn’t it?”

He shuddered and nodded again, and she stroked his face gently.

“How long has it been, Solas?” She asked softly.

“Too long,” he managed to choke out, and as he rocked and keened against her she studied him carefully.

“I don’t want to take anything from you that will make you regret this later,” she said. “But I don’t want you to torture yourself like this either.”

He let out a strangled laugh, already so far gone he could hardly understand what she was saying.

“So, tell me,” she said. “Would it be so terrible to let me take care of you, in a… Slightly unconventional way?”

He tried to focus on what she was saying through the building pressure in his cock, but he couldn’t understand what she wanted.

“I don’t,” he breathed in. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She softened, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek that somehow still ran straight through his body.

“Tell me what you need,” she whispered.

“I need-” she rocked her hips and he howled. “I need to come.” He burst out at last. “Oh, please, vhenan, I need to come. I can’t wait, please. Please. I need to come so badly. I can’t.”

The last words ended on a desperate sob and he gripped her tightly as though she could draw him back from the brink.

“If I make you come, ma lath,” she breathed in his ear. “Without touching you where you need, would that be okay?”

He stilled, his forehead pressed against her shoulder and his mind scrambling to make sense of what she was offering him. When his brain had finally caught up to her words, he sagged against her, pressing grateful, needy kisses to her neck.

She had given him a way out; a way to relieve his desperation without compromising her at all.

“Oh, oh,” he moaned. “Vhenan, yes. Yes.”

She nipped his ear and he moaned.

“Then let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Somehow, he managed to stand, his whole body pulled taut as bow string and every brush of fabric against his cock making him buckle and moan.

She helped him out of his tunic, and when she began to untie the laces on his leggings, the brush of her fingers over him made him cling to her shoulders for support. She pushed them down, and his cock sprang out, purple and swollen with desire, the head already glistening.

“Vhenan,” he begged, all dignity forgotten. “Vhenan, please. I need to come. I need, I need-”

“Hush,” she said. “It’s alright.”

He whimpered, his hands clenched into fists as he stood rigidly, with no trace of shame, naked in the glow of the fire. He could feel the sweat on his skin, and was dimly aware that in another situation his desperation would be embarrassing, but all he could think about was the frenzied heat in his cock and the furious need for release.

She walked behind him and placed her hands gently on his hips, and he bucked forward, desperate for friction.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, vhenan.”

She brought her lips to his ear.

“Get on your knees.”

He scrambled to comply, and when he was settled, she knelt behind him so that her body was flush with his, and one hand rested lightly on his hip. He groaned and pushed backwards, feeling the silk of her scarf rippling over his back, and her breasts pushed up against him.

She pressed her lips against the soft skin behind his ear and scratched her nails lightly over his hip, and he howled, the twin touches like lightning through his veins.

“Vhenan!”

He reached behind him to hold onto her, and she caught his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

“It’s ok, Solas.”

He canted his hips, whimpering, certain he would go mad with need. The pleasure running through him was too intense, his body screaming its desire until it was almost painful.

“Tell me what you need,” she asked him again.

He sobbed.

“I need to come. Vhenan. I need to come, please. I can’t wait any longer. It’s been so long-” she nipped his ear and he practically screamed. “I can’t, I can’t, I have to, I’m going to-”

The rest of his sentence dissolved into a keening moan as she circled his nipple with her thumb and swirled her tongue behind his ear.

It was too much. He screwed up his eyes, his hips moving desperately in the air until he was bouncing against the balls of his feet, the ache spreading from his cock until it settled dully in his stomach and rushed down his thighs.

But it wasn’t enough. He needed more to tip him over the edge, and he thrashed his head in frustration as his legs trembled beneath him.

“Are you ready?” She whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Oh, please, please. Don’t make me wait. I can’t wait. Vhenan. I can’t wait anymore.”

“Come for me,” she hissed, and at the same time, she nipped his ear, raked her fingernails over the soft skin of his stomach, and rolled his nipple between her fingers.

“Oh, oh, oh!” His voice rose, higher and higher, the pleasure shooting from the three points of contact until he could hardly bear it.

For a single second, he panicked that it wouldn’t be enough, but then she sucked his earlobe into her mouth and pinched his nipple again, and he felt his balls start to tighten and sparks danced behind his eyes as the first waves of his orgasm crashed over him.

“Vhenan!”

He screamed, his whole body shaking, pleasure racing from the root to the tip of his cock and back again, over and over, until he felt like the waves would never end as he spent himself in thick strands over the rug.

He groaned, lost in the intense pleasure as it somehow built again, and his vision went white as he tipped back against her, his hips rolling with the rhythm of his end.

When he finally came back to himself, he was trembling, and her arms were locked tightly around him, holding him to the earth.

“Vhenan,” he whimpered brokenly. “Vhenan.”

“It’s ok, ma lath,” She reassured him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ve got you.”

He shivered, the sweat on his skin suddenly cold and clammy, and his body weak and sated.

“Vhenan,” he mewled again, plaintively, and she rearranged them until he was lying between her legs and could twist to press his face into her neck.

“It’s ok, ma’sa’lath,” she said softly. “You were so good.”

She ran her fingers down his back and he clung to her like a lifeline, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than he could say.

“You were so good,” she repeated again. “You are so beautiful like this.”

He choked on a gasp as she trailed soft kisses along the side of his face.

“I’m so glad you let me do this for you, ma lath. You were so good for me.”

She tilted his face and he looked up at her, another wall around his heart crumbling as he saw only love and soft understanding in her eyes. She bent her head to kiss him, and he responded hungrily, making high-pitched, needy sounds into her mouth.

She held him like this, her hands and mouth soothing him until he stopped trembling, and he let his head fall, exhausted, onto her shoulder.

“You’re so beautiful, Solas,” she said, and he screwed up his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. “So beautiful.”

“Vhenan.”

“What is it, my love?”

He pulled back to look at her, his gaze open and exposed.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Her face softened, and she kissed him sweetly.

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she said. “You deserve everything.”

He rose up to kiss her again, pouring every ounce of love and hope and need into the kiss that he could, until both of their mouths were swollen and her eyes were dark with lust.

She drew a ragged breath in when they broke apart, and rested her hand on his chest.

“Enough, now,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I said I didn’t want to take anything from you that you weren’t ready to give, and I won’t. But I am going to take you back to my bed for tonight, if that’s ok?”

He let his forehead fall against hers, breathing her in as the sweat dried on his body and he curled himself tightly against her.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please can I stay with you tonight?”

She kissed the corner of his mouth and smiled softly down at him.

“Of course, emma lath. Come with me.”

Chapter Text

He had seen her face down demons, stand toe-to-toe with Red Templars, defy the Nightmare of the Fade and fell the undead that crawled from the dismal mud of the Fallow Mire, and she had not wavered. But now, in the villa they’d taken rooms at beyond the Winter Palace, she was pacing agitatedly across the Inquisition’s shared penthouse, and driving the servants who were attempting to finish her hair and makeup slowly mad.

“Tell me again,” she said to Josie.

“Inquisitor, it really isn’t necessary to know the names of the second cousins of the Duke’s sister,” Josie soothed. “You’ve done remarkably over the last few weeks. You will not falter in court.”

Ellana batted away the hands of the woman attempting to remove the satin wrap from her hair.

“But how can you know that?” She fretted. “They all certainly know that I don’t have an encyclopaedic knowledge of lineage, what if they-”

“Peace, Inquisitor,” Cullen said from the doorway, and Ellana turned to face him. “I know even less than you of the machinations of court, but what I do know is that the nobles are sure to be flushed with their own importance, and unfailingly receptive to charm. You need not know the intricacies to play the Game well.”

Something about Cullen’s similar discomfort seemed to soothe her, and Solas stifled a ripple of jealousy that he had been the one to ease her fears.

She let out a sigh and nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “Fine.”

She sank down onto a chair and the woman tasked with finishing her hair began to unwrap it before she could start pacing again.

“I know I’m being ridiculous, I just…” She flailed her hands helplessly. “This is not where my strengths lie. Give me a bow and an animal to track, a blade and a bad guy to strike, or even a Conclave to spy on,” she smiled wryly at her own joke. “And I’ll be fine. Put me in court and tell me to be charming, and, eurgh.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes while the woman teased the curls from her head.

Varric chuckled from across the room.

“Ember, you are charming,” the dwarf said, and Solas privately agreed.

To his surprise, she laughed bleakly.

“I am not charming,” she chuckled. “I am hot-headed and sarcastic and easily angered by idiots.”

“Well, you charmed us,” Cullen said, and Solas narrowed his eyes.

“Quite so,” Cassandra agreed. “Or do you forget that I was all set up to have you executed when we first met?”

That drew a true laugh from her and some of the tension fell away from her shoulders.

“That is true, Seeker,” Solas said. “But you were quite eager to execute a few of us that day, if I recall.”

She waved him away with a laugh.

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Not for a little while longer, no.”

Ellana caught his gaze from across the room, smiling, and he returned it with a rare soft smile of his own. Although, if he was being honest with himself, this strange, new, softer side that she brought out in him was becoming less and less rare, recently.

Since she’d goaded him into relinquishing control so completely with her exploits at the card table, he’d found himself curiously open with his feelings and affections. It wasn’t just that she’d broken him down until he was a gibbering mess, it was that even when he’d been at her mercy and ready to cross a line he knew he didn’t want to, she’d pulled him back from the brink.

It would have been so easy, he knew, for her to have taken whatever he would have given her – which in that moment, had been everything – and to worry about the consequences later. But even in the midst of her own desire, she’d recognised his conflict, and maintained his boundaries for him even when he was incapable of doing it himself.

She had taken care of him, not just physically, but emotionally, and now whenever he was around her, he couldn’t deny that he felt safe. It was a strange sensation. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, and most nights now he found himself slipping secretively to her quarters, certain in the knowledge that she wouldn’t try to persuade him to give her what he was still uncertain he should give.

He’d worried, at first, that his refusal to take their physical relationship further was going to hurt her, and that his curiously chaste presence in her bed might be taken as a sort of teasing cruelty. After all, she’d made no secret of her desire for him, and he’d so far been singularly selfish in that regard. At least, he was sure, it would seem that way to her.

But when he’d eventually worked up the courage to come to her with his worries, his head bowed and a tight ball of shame in his stomach, she’d simply kissed him softly and promised that if she ever resented his behaviour, she would tell him.

And selfishly, he couldn’t give up what had now become his favourite part of the day. After sitting with him in the rotunda, reading or talking quietly, she would press a kiss to his lips and leave for bed. Alone in the dim light, he would sit at his desk trying, and failing, to concentrate on his work, until the library fell quiet and Leliana retired from the rookery.

Then, with a giddy sense of anticipation, he’d carefully store his work away, taking his time to arrange everything in its proper place, and enjoying the peacefulness of the dark. With measured steps, even though by then he always wanted to hurry, he’d slip quietly into the hall and pad softly through the doorway.

By the time he reached the staircase that led to her rooms, his heart was always beating out a song in his chest, and it was an effort to keep his steps silent. He lingered, for as long as he could stand, with his hand on her door handle, savouring the sweet moment of knowing he would be with her soon.

Then, when his patience finally ran out, he’d slip inside to find her already under the blankets, curled onto her side with a single candle casting a gentle glow over her face. She was more beautiful to him in that moment than anything he could remember, and he’d watch her until she opened her eyes and smiled at him, soft with sleep.

“Come to bed, vhenan,” she’d whisper. “It’s cold out.”

And he’d cross the room and remove his tunic, shivering in the chill, and slip beneath the blankets and into the warmth of her arms, already open and waiting for him. She’d curl into his chest and kiss him gently, and he was finally home, and safe, and loved. It was sometimes difficult to draw himself away from her and into the Fade, but he found her there most nights, anyway.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that she’d slipped out of the drawing room to change, until her voice echoed through the doorway and the sound of their companion’s laughter brought him back to the present.

“Dread Wolf take this damned clasp!”

He couldn’t hide his own laughter, imagining, vividly, tearing the offending item from her clothes with a wicked smile.

“It’s ok though, isn’t it?” Josie’s anxious voice said from behind the door, and he caught the placating tone of Ellana’s answer even if her words were too quiet to hear.

He readjusted his own tailored sleeves, enjoying the feel of the fine material on his skin. While he and their companions were all dressed in the same military finery – to present a united front, Josie had said – they’d decided the Inquisitor had to stand out.

Ellana wasn’t happy with it, especially since she loathed the idea of a dress – I don’t need so much air around my cunt while I’m trying to work! she’d said once in a fit of temper, and reduced the entire room to roars of scandalised laughter. But he knew she’d approved the designs for Josie’s second attempt at dressing her, and he couldn’t shake a small tingle of anticipation as he heard her moving on the other side of the door.

She was beautiful to him at all times; covered in mud and blood and ichor, sleeping peacefully in his arms, lounging on his sofa or chasing Sera through the keep. It didn’t matter. But while she was a Dalish elf, more at home in forests and fields, he was not truly an apostate from the wilds, and this was his natural home.

He felt lighter, in the grand halls of the penthouse, garbed in fine material with servants to offer him delicate cakes and sumptuous wines. He was already looking forward to being a voyeur at court, and watching the Orlesian machinations unfold.

It was a shameful delight that he was still, after all of these years, more comfortable with power than with want. And in his meandering daydreams, he had often imagined Ellana in the courts of Arlathan, dressed in silk with her hair tumbling down her back, his hand on her hip as he introduced her to the Elvhen as his.

Even so, when she stepped back inside, an embarrassed blush sitting high on her cheeks, he suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

She was a vision in silk. The dress was simple and elegant, high-necked lace detailing sitting delicately at the curve of her throat, and shimmering fabric just brushing across the tops of her arms. The pale silver material flowed over the curves of her body, not tight enough to be scandalising, but enough that he could see every ripple of muscle as she moved beneath it.

The silk brushed the floor, and when she turned, he saw with a rush of heat through his body that it plunged at the back, the curve stopping just at the base of her spine and revealing the exquisite dimple he longed to dip his tongue into. In acknowledgement of her Dalish roots, fine strands of embroidered crystals weaved through the design like vines, and her hair fell in soft waves of red over one shoulder, leaving one side of her neck deliciously exposed.

“I feel ridiculous,” she muttered, and his heart clenched when he saw the uncertainty in her eyes.

Had she no idea how truly stunning she was?

“Ridiculous?” Varric echoed disbelievingly. “Andraste’s tits, Ember, have you not looked at yourself?”

She frowned, twisting her hands together in a show of vulnerability that made him long to catch them between his own.

“You are…” Cullen swallowed, blushing, and Solas felt a surge of possessiveness rise in him. “You certainly look the part.” The commander said at last, and she smiled hesitantly, her posture rigid.

Nervously, she raised her gaze to him, and he caught the question in her eyes and felt his heart melt.

“You are exquisite,” he said sincerely, ignoring the smug look that Varric levelled at Cassandra. “There could be no-one lovelier, even in the courts of kings.”

She blushed and shook her head, but her eyes were bright and her shoulders relaxed, and when they eventually made ready to leave, he couldn’t resist pulling her into a dark corner and running his hands over the silk, tracing the lines of her body.

She squeaked in surprise and delight as he pushed her back against the wall, his fingers dancing lightly over her hips and his teeth nibbling at her neck.

“Solas,” she gasped breathlessly, her hands gripping him in return. “The carriages are waiting.”

“Let them wait.”

He brought one hand up to stroke through her hair, breathing in her usual scent of Spring and almost groaning at the addition of orange blossom and jasmine he detected, that someone had dabbed onto her neck.

“You smell divine,” he whispered. “You are divine.”

She giggled and nuzzled fondly into his cheek.

“I still feel ridiculous, but I’m glad you approve at least.”

He pulled back then, holding her in place gently with one hand on her hip, while he cupped her cheek with the other. Her green eyes sparkled and her lips had been brushed with rouge, and he couldn’t resist sucking the lower one into his mouth and running his tongue along it teasingly.

The soft whimper she made in response went straight to his cock, and he pulled back before he could lose himself in her completely.

“You are many things, vhenan,” he said softly. “Brash, strong-willed, intelligent, infuriating, graceful, kind, impossibly lovely.”

She was blushing, and he couldn’t resist leaning in again, punctuating each honeyed word with soft kisses over her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, and her lips.

“Curious,” he continued. “Remarkable, quick-witted, sharp-tongued, beautiful, desirable, and quite possibly the singularly most distracting, alluring, impossibly precious creature I have ever encountered, in this world or the Fade.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth, shivering as her fingers danced across the nape of his neck.

“But ridiculous?” He finished. “Never.”

She sighed happily against him and pressed her forehead to his.

“Sweet talker,” she murmured.

He pressed a final playful kiss to her nose and then stepped back, running his hands down her sides under the guise of straightening her dress, but really so he could feel the silk slip beneath his fingers once more.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But nothing I said was a lie.”

She beamed at him, her face flushed and her hair curling over her shoulder. Filled with bravado that came from fine wine, luxurious silk, and a truly wonderful woman smiling up at him, he extended her his arm.

“Shall we?” He asked.

“People will talk,” she teased, but rested her hand in the crook of his elbow nevertheless.

He smiled, and brushed his fingers over hers.

“Let them.”

Chapter Text

Ellana didn’t know why these things always seemed to happen to her. She’d managed the court as well as she could, gaining approval from enough quarters that she could relax enough to take stock of her surroundings. When they’d introduced Solas as her serving man she’d had to bite back a laugh and stop herself from glancing behind her to see the look on his face, but she’d also managed to listen in to enough conversations that she had gossip on a fair few players.

She’d managed not to trip over her own feet, she’d bit her tongue and smiled at the frankly asinine conversation of the Orlesian nobles, and she’d rescued Cullen from being propositioned by at least three masked and giggling women.

So why, when she slipped towards the servant’s quarters, did she have to stumble into an ambush?

She slid the blades strapped to her inner legs and hidden beneath her dress free as the Venatori attacked, cursing the fact that she hadn’t brought her companions with her. As a Tevinter mage sent streams of fire towards her, she imagined the lecture Solas was going to give her later, when he realised that once again, she’d rushed into danger without looking first.

She pirouetted and sliced the throat of a warrior, the silk around her rippling, and as the blood arched towards her and then slid away, she was suddenly very glad for the repelling spell Solas had placed on her dress; a trick he’d learnt in the Fade, he’d said. The mage sent another burst of fire at her and she twisted quickly, deciding that returning to the ballroom with singed fabric was probably not going to endear her to the court.

Despite the danger, her pulse had slowed to a crawl, her hunter’s instincts kicking in and the fighting strangely soothing after the subtle machinations of the court. At least in battle, she knew where to point her blades.

She dispatched another two warriors with startling finesse, even by her own standards, and then it was just the mage left. He was powerful, and there was a feverish intensity to his movements that put her in mind of a caged animal. He would not fall easily.

She lunged forward and then feinted right, and he threw up a barrier quickly enough that she lost her footing. She twisted in the air, landing on her feet and narrowly avoiding a blast of frost that caught the ends of her hair. Before she could gather herself, he’d moved in, the pommel of his staff catching her full in the stomach and her breath flying out of her.

She dropped to her knees and dove left, suddenly wondering what political intrigue would develop if anyone were to find the Inquisitor lying dead in the courtyard a few hours from now. But the mage had let his guard down, too sure of his victory, and when he moved in for the kill, she thrust both of her daggers up through his chest, and he fell to the ground, his throat gurgling.

She stood up, her legs uncharacteristically shaky. It had been a long time since she’d fought without a team, and she wasn’t as quick as she’d have liked.

Taking stock of her surroundings, her gaze fell on the body lying prone at the edge of a fountain. A Council of Herald’s emissary, she noted grimly, and the blade bearing Gaspard’s crest.

So much for a quiet night.

She stepped forward, and that was when the Harlequin struck. She barely had time to register the assassin before he’d slit the throat of a serving elf and stealthed to the top of a balcony.

Shit.

This was bigger than she’d realised, and she knew she should collect Solas and the others before pursuing him, but if she waited, there was a chance she’d lose him entirely. She hesitated for only a second, before sprinting forward and following him into the chambers.

It was a mistake, she realised, as she fought through the third wave of Venatori agents. They were everywhere, and as quick as she was, she couldn’t watch every corner of the battle. By the time she made it to the second level, her hair was dishevelled and the silk of the dress was sticking to her body with sweat.

She barely had time to turn and see the assassin before he was on top of her, and she twisted out of the way just as a dagger thrown from beyond the room pierced his neck. The blood spattered over her, glancing off her dress but managing to spread a fine mist over her face.

Briala.

***

By the time she returned to the court, she was fashionably late, and she knew her tension showed. She’d wiped the blood as best she could and sent a cooling wave of magic through her body, but her mind was racing.

Venatori agents. Orlesian assassins. Elven spies. And Morrigan, the arcane advisor. She didn’t know which way to turn next.

She desperately needed a drink, but knew that she had to keep a clear head. The masked faces around her made her feel vaguely off-balance, and she stalked through the halls, seeking a familiar face in the sea of painted smiles.

When she rounded the corner, and saw Solas lounging against a statue as though he was born to be there, she had to stifle a shocked laugh. It wasn’t just that he was smiling, clearly enjoying himself at the court’s expense; it was the frankly ludicrous hat he was wearing, that he definitely had not had on when they arrived in the carriage.

He caught her eye across the room and raised his glass to her, and all at once, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She walked towards him and rested a coy hand on her hip when she reached his side. He smiled, his eyes light.

“I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” he said, and she clamped down on her grin before it could grow.

“You seem more comfortable with a grand Orlesian ball than I’d have expected.”

He took a sip from his glass, a certain mischief in his face she hadn’t seen there before, but decided at once that she liked.

“I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade. The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change.”

“That does not reassure me,” she sighed. “Have you had any trouble with the nobles? You know, since you are my elven serving man, after all.”

He laughed, loudly enough that a masked man turned to look at them, and she subtly turned so her back was facing him and she could block Solas from view.

“The Orlesians do not quite know what to make of me,” he said.

“They wouldn’t be the first,” she smiled, and he acknowledged her with a nod.

“I have kept to myself, for fear of giving them some purchase to cling to. The food and drink are excellent, however, and the servants have been happy to refill my glass.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, at least.”

He focused on her then, and she glanced away as his eyes roved searchingly over her face.

“What-”

He stepped forward, his hand raised towards her before he caught himself and stepped back. At once, his posture changed entirely, and she could feel the waves of tension radiating from him.

“Vhenan,” he said dangerously. “Why do you have a spot of blood on your cheek?”

“Shit,” she said, raising her hand and scrubbing at the mark. “I thought I’d got it all.”

He grit his teeth.

“Vhenan.”

“It’s nothing. Morrigan gave me a key to the servant’s quarters and I got ambushed by a bunch of Venatori while I was poking around.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking very much as though he wanted to shake her instead.

“Did it ever occur to you that situations like that are precisely why Cassandra, Varric and I are here?”

“Well it wasn’t like I had time to double back! And besides, if I’d let the assassin go half the elves in the castle could be dead by now.”

He opened and closed his mouth twice, before letting out a long breath and controlling his voice into a quiet fury.

“Perhaps you had better start from the beginning.”

She sighed and chewed her lip.

“Vhenan,” he warned, his eyes darkening.

“I’m thinking!” She said, and then brushed her hand over her forehead agitatedly. This was not her natural home. Her head was buzzing with a thousand conflicting problems, and there was a dull ache in her stomach from where the mage had caught her with his staff. All she wanted was to take Solas out of here and curl up against his chest somewhere quiet, but the night was still young and she knew she’d have to do far more before it was over.

Solas’s gaze softened.

“Vhenan,’ He said, more gently. “Tell me.”

She did, starting with Morrigan and the disappearing servants, and the Council of Herald’s emissary with Gaspard’s dagger in his chest. When she got to the bit about the Venatori and the assassin, his jaw tightened and his eyebrows drew into a frown, even though she missed out the details of her near-miss with both the mage and the Harlequin.

“So basically,” she said. “It looks like Gaspard’s trying to orchestrate a coup, I have no idea what Morrigan’s role in all of this is, the Venatori are somehow crawling all over the place undetected, picking off elven servants, and I’m still no closer to confirming who exactly is here to kill Celene, or even if they’re here at all.”

She ghosted her hand over the throbbing in her stomach absently, and fixed a smile on her face as a couple of masked nobles glanced their way.

Solas mimicked her smile, but she could see the frustration in his face.

“There are a number of powerful players involved here,” he said. “And it would be beneficial for the Inquisition to uncover as many as they can.”

“Well yes-”

He held up his hand, and she suddenly became aware of the force of his stare and the tension radiating from his body.

“But my more pressing concern is that once again, you have thrown yourself into danger without any regard for your responsibility.”

She felt her anger rise.

“Without regards for my responsibility? She echoed disbelievingly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is my responsibility.”

“Your responsibility is to keep yourself alive,” he practically growled. “Without you there is no point to any of this. Throwing yourself into situations where you could easily be hurt, or worse, is not only incredibly foolish, it jeopardises everything. Not just for the Inquisition, but for the whole of Thedas.”

“Oh hang the whole of Thedas,” she snapped back, the throbbing in her stomach and the eyes of the court making her irritable. She felt exposed here, and although she knew that Solas was right, she’d come to him for a partner’s comfort, not an Inquisition lecture.

“You very nearly could have!” He responded, his voice rising, and she forced a laugh and gave him a pointed stare as a group of masked Orlesians turned to look their way.

With some difficulty, he reigned his temper in, a muscle in his jaw twitching and the lightness of his earlier mood forgotten.

“Forget it for now, ok?” She said softly. “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

He huffed out a frustrated breath, still scowling.

“Then why are you here?”

She flinched as though he’d struck her, and for a ridiculous second wanted to cry. She was over-wrought, and uncomfortable with the barbed niceties of the shem nobles. Despite Josie’s best efforts, she still felt like a painted doll being trotted out for the amusement of the court.

She’d narrowly avoided being killed twice already, her stomach was aching and sore, and somehow, she was meant to save a kingdom from falling into chaos when every whisper and piece of advice she came across could simply be misdirection.

And now Solas was angry at her.

She sighed and let her shoulders fall, suddenly feeling the full weight of her exhaustion and wishing she could just crawl into bed.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s not important.”

She made to turn away, but he caught her hand and then let go before someone could see.

“Vhenan,” he said, his voice gentling. “Ir abelas. Forgive me. I did not mean to suggest that I was unhappy you were here.”

She met his gaze, suddenly desperate to hold him, if only for the sense of safety his arms provided. Something in her eyes must have shown her need, because his face softened and he took an aborted step towards her before clasping his hands behind his back, as if to keep himself in check.

“Ir abelas,” he repeated. “This evening cannot be easy for you.”

She laughed softly, rather than give into the urge to cry.

“No,” she admitted. “Although Briala has offered me an army of Elven spies, so at least someone here’s forthright about something.”

She smiled wryly.

“What do you think I could do with an army of Elven spies?”

His eyes flashed with humour and the smile he offered her was warm.

“Untold amounts of trouble, I should think.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders and she rubbed absently at the ache in her stomach. She will ask Solas to heal her later, she decides, just as the bell starts to chime.

“Already?”

“Dancing is a serious part of politics in Orlais,” Solas smiled.

“Do you have any interest in dancing?”

“A great deal. Although dancing with an elven apostate would win you few favours with the court.”

“Oh, the Blight take the court,” she huffed, and he chuckled.

“Perhaps once our business here is done.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, you know.”

“I would be sorely disappointed if you didn’t.”

The second bell chimed and she sighed.

“Go, vhenan. You will be magnificent.”

She smiled and turned to leave.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

A few steps away, a thought struck her, and she looked back over her shoulder at him mischievously.

“Oh, and Solas?”

“Yes?”

She grinned.

“Your hat is ridiculous.”

Chapter Text

All in all, it could have gone worse. Celene and Briala had agreed to a tenuous truce, the details that Josie was even now beginning to work out, and despite a fight that had left her feeling even more exhausted than she had been earlier, Florianne was now being guarded by Inquisition soldiers, ready to await her judgement when they returned to Skyhold.

As Morrigan left her on the balcony, Ellana leant against the railings, finally giving into the ache that had spread through her body. Her head was pounding, no doubt a combination of stress and forced smiles, her stomach ached dully, and even the muscles in her legs felt weak.

She had been pushing herself too hard, she knew, and now she was looking forward to curling up with Solas in bed at the villa, and forgetting about Orlais’ nest of vipers for a few blissful hours of rest.

As if summoned by her thoughts, her slightly drunk apostate in his ridiculous hat settled himself beside her, and she smiled instinctively.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here,” he said. “Thoughts?”

She sighed.

“I have a feeling this is only a temporary victory.”

“There is undoubtedly much more trouble ahead,” he agreed.

“Thank you. That’s very comforting.”

He laughed quietly.

“For now, focus on what’s in front of you.”

“Like you and your silly hat?”

“I’ll have you know I thought this hat rather dashing.”

She couldn’t help it; she smiled fondly at him and shook her head.

“Far be it from me to question your fashion choices,” she said. “Although you must let Dorian see you wearing it when we get back to Skyhold.”

“I shall do no such thing.”

“Coward.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and then he placed his hand on her waist, his thumb running over her hip.

“Come. Before the band stops playing. Dance with me?”

He moved behind her and bowed low, holding out his hand with a knowing smile on his face, and despite her exhaustion, she felt her cheeks flush with pleasure.

“I’d love to.”

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close, and she let him guide her in a gentle waltz around the balcony. For the first time since they’d arrived, she let herself relax, sinking into his embrace and resting her head on his shoulder while his hands held her firmly.

“You dance very well, for an apostate,” she smiled against his shoulder, and felt him chuckle lightly.

“And you for a Dalish savage.”

She sighed contently as his fingers danced over her back and the scent of him, parchment and magic and something like sandalwood, soothed her as it always did. Bathed in the sun’s dying glow, held safe in his arms while music wafted through the open doors, she let herself pretend that they were just two people, without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

She hummed softly as he began to trail kisses along her neck, and pulled back to capture his mouth with hers in a hungry kiss. He responded in kind, backing her up to the balcony wall and pulling their bodies flush together, until she could feel him stirring against her leg.

“Someone is enjoying themselves this evening,” she teased, and sucked his lower lip into her mouth, drawing a soft moan from him that pooled straight between her legs.

“Solas…” She breathed, suddenly needing him desperately, the weight of the evening finally crashing over her.

But before he could respond, the sound of footsteps made them break apart, and Josie poked her head out to tell them the carriages were ready.

As they left the palace, she caught his eye and smiled, and the hunger in his gaze nearly undid her.

Despite the horrors of her evening, Solas seemed lighter in ways she’d never seen him before, and as they settled next to each other in the carriage, she drew idle patterns on the back of his hand with her fingers.

She felt him stiffen, and press his leg hard against hers, and a shiver of anticipation rippled over her skin. He had said he needed time before they took their relationship further, but since they’d arrived in Orlais, he’d uncharacteristically initiated all of their stolen kisses.

Perhaps, she hoped fervently, he was ready after all. If so, she would take whatever he gave her. Despite the success of the evening, she simply felt drained, and small, and afraid.

This was not a place for a Dalish elf with no knowledge of courts or kings. All night, she’d oscillated between feeling like an instalment at a freak show for the shems to gawp at, a halla being stalked by a predator, or simply a child woefully out of depth in their surroundings.

In the field, or at Skyhold, she could pretend to herself that she was in control; that despite being thrown into the role of saviour of the world with no training whatsoever, she was capable of making the right decisions and fighting when it was necessary.

But in the palace, with the fate of an empire as well as the Inquisition resting on her shoulders, it had become abundantly clear just how absurd it was that she was what stood between chaos and order.

Ordinarily, she delighted in being the person other people came to for help. It was in her nature to want to protect the people she loved. But now, with her body aching and the adrenaline of the night draining away, if she’d ever needed to lose herself in another person, and have someone take care of her for once, it was now.

She felt her desire rise as they pulled into the villa’s courtyard, and clamped down on it quickly. She had no idea if Solas was ready, and right now, all she really needed was for him to hold her and tell her he was there. And, she winced as she climbed out and into the cool night air, for him to heal her stomach, which was still throbbing persistently.

Still, with everyone arriving in separate carriages and the two of them alone, it was Solas who took her into his arms and pulled her tightly against him. She melted into his touch and sighed softly into his mouth when they broke apart again, breathing hard.

“Vhenan,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful like this.”

She looked up at him, to find a look of wonder and desire in his eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair and ghosted his hand along her waist.

“I’m glad you think so,” she smiled softly. “Come with me.”

She lead him by the hand inside, up the stairs and along the corridor to her rooms. All the way there, he traced patterns on the back of her hand with his thumb, and at her doorway, he pushed her into the wood and she felt him straining against the fabric of his trousers as he kissed her.

His lips were hungry on hers, and she tasted wine and sugar on his tongue and knew she could get drunk on it. He pulled back to nip lightly along her jaw and then suckle softly at her neck, and she keened and scratched her fingers down his neck in response.

Desire ran through her, competing with pain, and she felt her throat grow tight with the tumultuous emotions of the evening. She needed him. In whatever way he would offer himself to her, whether it was sex, or simply his arms around her, she didn’t care. She wanted to get lost in him, and have him take care of her now that she was finally free to fall apart.

She pushed him away slightly so that she could open her door and slip inside, and he followed, his hands never leaving her waist. As soon as the door closed behind them he was on her again, pushing her back towards the bed and devouring her with his lips and his tongue and his teeth.

She responded in kind, ignoring the pain in her stomach in favour of the delicious fluttering in her chest at the thought of finally having him the way she wanted. She didn’t want to think about the stress of the court, or the fear of battle, or the terror of feeling so small and helpless in the face of powers she didn’t understand. She just wanted to feel him; his hands on her, his tongue tracing her lips, his breath sweet in her mouth.

She groaned as he bent her backwards onto the bed, and she felt him grind himself into her, but as she wrapped her legs around his waist and attempted to pull him closer, he suddenly froze.

“Vhenan,” he breathed, and then his arms were gone from around her and he’d stepped back and away, leaving her cold and confused and still sprawled across the bed.

She sat up, her heart racing and her skin still hot where he’d touched her.

“Solas?” She asked dazedly, and he took another step away, his cheeks flushed and the rigid length of him straining against his clothes.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… I…”

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head, his gaze conflicted.

“Solas-”

“Please, vhenan,” he said. “Ir abelas. I should not have… I would blame it on the wine, but that would seek to excuse my behaviour.”

She fisted her hands into the soft sheets of her bed, and tried to summon up the empathy she normally found so easy to give him. She could see he was trembling, and although she didn’t understand why this was so difficult, she had promised to give him time.

She let out a breath, controlling the bitter feeling of rejection that swelled in her chest.

“I should go,” he said regretfully, and her head snapped up to look at him, a feeling very much like panic rushing through her veins.

“What?” She asked disbelievingly. “No!”

But he was already walking towards the door, and all at once the stress of the night washed over, and she felt hurt and anger burn through her in equal measure. She didn’t need him to fuck her. She just needed him to stay with her. Couldn’t he see that her composure had been hanging by a thread for days?

She took two steps across the room, reaching for him, too fragile in her need to be ashamed of begging.

“Solas, please,” she said. “Stay with me.”

“Vhenan,” he warned, holding up his hand. “Please. You know I can’t.”

And suddenly, she really was furious. How many nights had she held him, chastely, in her bed? How many nights had she clutched him close when he needed her to be there for him? And now, as she felt her own fragile control crumbling and reached for the safety of his arms, he ran from her as though she were trying to ensnare him. Hadn’t she proven enough that she was ready to wait?

“Dread Wolf take you, Solas!” She said, her voice rising. “How many nights have we spent together now?”

His face fell in shock and hurt.

“A great many,” he said softly. “But I thought you understood. This is a line I cannot cross.”

“And whose fault is it that we’re even talking about it now?” She flung back, her eyes burning. “It wasn’t me who was pushing you into walls or onto beds. Any conflict you feel now is your own doing!”

He looked strangely lost, and opened his mouth twice before speaking.

“Forgive me,” he said at last. “I didn’t realise my advances were unwanted. If they were-”

She let out a brittle laugh and brought her hands to her face in frustration.

“Of course they’re not unwanted! You should understand well enough my feelings for you by now.”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand-”

“By the Blight, Solas, this wasn’t about sex until you made it so!” She said, and then there were tears falling down her cheeks and her chest was burning and she choked on a helpless sob. “I’m glad, truly, that you enjoyed yourself tonight, but surely you must realise that I didn’t?”

She looked at him through the haze of her tears, her shoulders shaking.

“I’ve spent weeks preparing, endless hours with Josie trying desperately to learn the politics of this place. I’ve had lessons in etiquette, dancing, dynasties and half-truths, and still none of it mattered because the only thing anyone sees is that I am a Dalish elf, and no matter what I do, I do not belong here!”

She drew in a shuddering breath and scrubbed at her face.

“But like everything else since this mark appeared on my hand, I didn’t have a choice. And so I’ve spent this evening walking through a nest of vipers, listening to false praise and false smiles, fighting Venatori and assassins and damned, insane enchanters, to save an empire I’m not even sure should be saved, so that at some point, somehow, I might live long enough to save the whole of Thedas.”

She let out another bitter laugh that ended on a sob, as more tears fell down her face and her chest heaved.

“I’m exhausted, Solas. And I’m scared, and I ache. The weight of an empire is too heavy to carry, and I just keep going, one day at a time, and hope and pray to gods I don’t even believe in that it will be enough. That I’ll be enough. That I’ll know how to make the right decisions when it matters. But the truth is I have no idea what I’m doing. Everyone’s looking to me to be able to fix it and I don’t know how.”

She sank down onto the bed, her body aching and her tears still falling freely.

“And all I wanted at the end of the day was to curl up and go to sleep next to you, and you couldn’t even give me that,” she sobbed. “I didn’t need you to fuck me, Solas. I just needed you.”

She didn’t look up, but she felt him make a move towards her and then stop himself, his indecision almost as painful as his desire.

“Vhenan,” he said, and his voice was pained. “Vhenan, I-”

“Don’t,” she warned, and drew another shuddering breath in as a feeble attempt to compose herself. “Just, don’t right now, Solas.”

She sagged, her anger leaving her as quickly as it came, leaving only exhaustion in its place.

“Just go,” she said softly. “Please. I don’t want to see you right now.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, and then quietly she heard him open the door and slip outside without a word.

Alone in the opulent room, she buried her head into her pillows, and cried.

Chapter Text

He was a stupid, heartless, selfish man, and in a life that had been marked by self-loathing and terrible decisions, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt as wretched as he did when the tears had started to fall down her face.

And the worst part was, she was right to be furious with him.

He had been so caught up in the heady blend of finery and wine and power, that he’d hardly spared a thought for what she was going through. In part, it was because she played her role so well. Moving with her usual restrained grace, cloaked in silk and easily the most beautiful and elegant player in the Game, he’d watched her with thinly disguised desire all night.

The only time he’d felt a flash of fear was when she’d arrived with blood on her face, and even then, it was swiftly forgotten in her mockery of his hat and the confident way she commanded the room.

For a moment – just a moment – he’d managed to convince himself that this was where they both belonged. That he could dance with her on the balcony and feel her body move against his. That he could slip his hands through the silk and tangle her hair in his fingers and there would be no reason whatsoever not to.

And with the wine cloaking him in a pleasant warmth and her body so soft beneath his, he’d pushed her against the bed and pushed himself to the brink before he’d remembered that he shouldn’t. Only with her legs wrapped around his waist – and he hated himself, that even in his misery, that memory sent a pulse straight to his cock - had he remembered to hold himself back.

He was even more ashamed that he’d been angry with her for trying to tempt him to stay, before her tears had started to fall. He’d been so free with his affections up until then purely because she’d seemed so ready to maintain his boundaries, and with his cock hard and wanting between his legs, he hadn’t spared a thought for the fact that her thoughts, at least, might not be as primal as his.

While she’d cried, he’d felt his heart start to break. Everything she said was so right, and so obvious, that by the time she’d dropped down onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, all he’d wanted to do was pull her into his arms and hold her like she deserved. And she did deserve it, and more.

Alone in his own bed, he tossed and turned, shame and guilt burning in his throat, along with a desperate, almost painful desire to go to her. What had she ever asked of him, really? Nothing, save for his affection. She’d held him on so many nights when he’d been lost and scared. She’d courted him, slowly, patiently, with thoughtful gifts that made him smile until he could hardly wait to kiss her.

And what had he given her in return? Half-truths about who he was, his magic burning in her hand, and feverish desire that he couldn’t fulfil, when all she’d wanted was comfort.

He didn’t deserve her. But he desperately wanted to try to.

***

The next day, he dressed early, hoping to catch her and apologise before they had to get into the carriages for the long journey back to Skyhold. But despite his attempt, she managed to successfully avoid him, and by the time he made it outside, Leliana, Josie and Cullen were settled with her, and he was forced to take the second carriage with Cassandra and Varric.

Before the door closed, he caught sight of her staring sadly out of the window, her face pale and dark rings beneath her eyes, and he very nearly pulled Cullen out of his seat simply so he could take her in his arms and try to chase the haunted look from her gaze.

Instead, Varric sat opposite him, looking at him strangely for the length of the first day’s ride, while he stared unhappily at the countryside as it passed them by. He suspected the dwarf was well aware of their relationship by now, and despite the irritation of his focus, he was thankful he didn’t press him on the matter further.

As the sun was dipping below the horizon, they pulled into an Inn at a crossroads beyond the borders of Orlais, and Solas slipped out quickly, his eyes searching for her.

Ellana’s carriage had arrived ahead of theirs, and by the time he went inside, Josie told him the Inquisitor had already retired for the evening, claiming not to be hungry.

He picked at his food while the rest of them sat around a table near the bar, his stomach feeling hollow and nauseated, as he considered what he’d done. It was true, he knew, that everything he touched seemed to fall apart, but she was so bright, and had treated him so kindly, that he couldn’t bear the thought that he had chased that light away.

Selfish, stupid man.

He sat for so long lost in his thoughts, that he didn’t realise that everyone had retired for the night until Varric sat down opposite him.

“So,” he said awkwardly. “Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

His fingers tightened on the fork in his hand, although he couldn’t remember actually having eaten from it that evening. A caustic refusal was on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered the way her shoulders had shook, and the desperate loneliness on her face, and he dropped his head into his hands instead.

“I’m an idiot,” he said with feeling.

“Well, I’d guessed that much,” Varric said lightly. “What did you do?”

He looked at the dwarf over the tips of his fingers, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he could say.

“It was more what I didn’t do,” he said grimly, and then sighed. “I forget that she’s not been born to this. She’s…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, unfamiliar with the need to spill his heart out to someone and second-guessing whether or not he should.

“Can I level with you, Chuckles?” Varric took a swig from a mug of ale and leant back in his chair. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you and the Inquisitor, but any fool can see that she loves you, and even though I think you’re a strange, prickly, aloof son-of-a-bitch, I’m pretty sure you love her too. Am I right?”

He stilled, suddenly aware that he’d never admitted it out-loud to anyone but her, and feeling strangely exposed by Varric’s forthrightness.

“Am I?”

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat when he thought of her tear-streaked face staring at him in such distress.

“Right then. Well, good.” He took another swig. “Now, personally, and don’t take this badly, but I think she deserves better.”

Solas laughed bitterly.

“That makes two of us.”

“Hm. But for whatever reason, that woman has given you her heart, and I don’t need to tell you that she’s special, and you’re certainly not the only one in this Inquisition who cares for her,” Varric said. “So, if talking through whatever’s going on with me will help get you to a place where you’re able to make her smile again, then I suggest that you do it. Because I’m pretty sure there’ll be no end of people lining up to punch you in the face if she keeps on walking around with that goddamn wounded look in her eyes that we all saw today.”

He let out a breath and slumped back in his seat.

“As always, Master Tethras, you cut right to the heart of the matter.”

“It’s what I do.”

Solas nodded, trying to arrange his thoughts.

“So?”

“I am an idiot,” he said again. “A stupid, selfish, hot-headed idiot, and I don’t deserve her.”

“Well, look at that! We agree on something,” Varric said, but the dwarf was smiling, not unkindly, and Solas returned it with a small smile of his own.

“She’s just so…” He trailed off, searching for the words and knowing there were none that would do her justice. “Remarkable. She’s taken everything in stride, gone from anonymous Dalish elf and a prisoner of the Chantry, to the leader of the Inquisition in no time at all. She’s faced demons, and Red Templars, and Nightmares in the Fade, and a madman intent on destroying the world, and she hasn’t flinched.”

He paused and took a sip from his own drink, his heart clenching as he thought of all the things he’d seen her accomplish, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and wistful and his gaze far away.

“She’s shown wisdom and patience where others would have been rash and cruel. She’s offered kindness to anyone who asked for it, even, and especially if they didn’t deserve it – and I count myself among them. She has a gift for bringing people together, for seeing the best in them, and through whatever she’s faced, she’s come out smiling, and somehow with nothing but compassion.”

He felt his voice start to grow thick and took another, much larger swig of the ale at his side.

“I know I’m not the only one to have seen it. But despite knowing her as I do, and…” He swallowed. “And loving her, for who she is, somehow, in the excitement of the palace, I forgot that she’s really just one person. She’s just Ellana, no matter how remarkable she is, and she’s trying her best against over-whelming odds.”

To his horror, he felt tears prick at his eyes, and he closed them quickly while Varric patted his hand comfortably.

“Easy, Chuckles,” he said. “Take your time.”

He drew in a breath and waited a moment before opening them again.

“And last night, she was tired, and frightened, and over-whelmed, and I was so caught up in...” He shook his head disgustedly. “In my own needs, that I didn’t even stop to think about hers. And when she poured her heart out to me and told me to leave, I didn’t even fight her on it. I just left. Like a coward!”

He felt tears well behind his eyes again and didn’t even bother trying to hide them.

“She needed me and I left her,” he whispered. “And I don’t know what to do to make it right again.”

He dropped his head into his hand and blinked the tears away quickly.

“I don’t deserve her,” he said miserably. “But I would like to.”

Varric hummed thoughtfully, and when he looked up he was looking back at him with something that looked a great deal like respect.

“Well, Chuckles,” he smiled. “I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This!” Varric gestured. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

“More than I can say,” he said softly.

“I’m starting to see that.”

The dwarf considered him carefully.

“Do you want to know what I think?”

He nodded.

“I think that there are very few people in this world who deserve Ellana. I don’t think her clan deserved her, sending her off to the Conclave like that. I don’t think the Inquisition deserves her, although we’re lucky to have her, and quite frankly, I don’t think Thedas deserves her.”

“On that, Master Tethras, we agree.”

“But what I do think, is that she’s seen something in you that she wants, and perhaps even something that she needs. Now, I’ve already said that I don’t know what that thing is, but I find it hard to believe that Ellana is the sort of person to give her heart away on a whim. And just now, I think I got a glimpse of what she means to you as well.”

Solas looked away, the tips of his ears reddening.

“So, if she has chosen you, then it’s your job now to make that choice worth it. We all fuck up with the people we love, but there’s no point wasting your time on self-pity. You might not think you deserve her, and I might agree, but that isn’t what she thinks. So, my advice, is that you spend the rest of however long you’ve got together, trying to live up to the person she thinks you are, in any way that you can.”

Varric took another sip and set his mug down gently.

“I think you’re part way there already, since you’re breaking all your usual habits and shooting the shit with me. And it’s a good thing, Solas, because there’s a lot of people who’ll be ready to support her if this goes tits up, but far fewer who’ll come to bat for you.”

Solas smiled grimly and nodded in acknowledgment.

“But despite all your weird shit,” Varric went on. “I like you, and I reckon under all that silence you wear like armour, there’s a decent guy hiding away somewhere, and maybe that’s who Ellana sees.”

Solas smiled despite himself.

“Thank you, Varric,” he said softly.

Varric drained his drink and stood up to leave.

“You’re welcome, Chuckles. Just don’t fuck this up, alright?”

He nodded.

“I won’t. You have my word.”

Chapter Text

The next day, they left with the sunrise, and once again Ellana’s carriage was full before he could talk to her. Not that he particularly wanted to speak to her in front of everyone else, but if anything, she looked even more pale than she had the day before, and he climbed into his seat with a feeling of dread sitting heavily in his stomach.

Varric sent him a sympathetic glance which he acknowledged with a small smile before turning to stare out of the window again. The country was growing wilder around them, and the wheels of their carriage jolted on the dirt roads, doing little for the sickness bubbling through him.

As she always did, Ellana had awoken another old emotion in him that he’d thought long-buried; a sort of feverish anxiety that he was about to lose something immeasurably precious, as well as a gnawing ache that she was suffering, and he desperately wanted to help.

As the day passed and the carriage lurched onwards, he found himself uncharacteristically clenching his hands against his legs, his worry for her growing with every passing moment. Would Josie know the right words to say to calm her if she expressed any of her fears to her? Would Leliana be sympathetic? Would Cullen take her in his arms instead of him, and stroke her hair while she cried?

The thought made a hot ball of longing choke his throat, and the force of his need to hold her made his eyes burn. If he could only take her in his arms and apologise, and hold her close while she cried, or screamed at him like she should, then it would be alright. But until then, all he could do was wait, and swallow down the tears in his throat, and hope that she was ok.

He was so lost in his thoughts of her, that he hardly noticed that their carriage was starting to slow until Cassandra poked her head out of the window.

“What’s happening?” The Seeker asked their coachman.

“The other carriage has stopped up ahead,” came the reply.

All at once, the non-descript sense of dread in his stomach crystallised, and Solas was out and standing on the side of the road before he heard Cassandra’s reply. Up ahead, the carriage door was opening, and he watched as Ellana stepped shakily onto the ground and walked a few paces away.

Cullen was out after her a moment later, but Solas could already see that she was swaying, one hand pressed to her forehead and the other holding her stomach. The air left his body in a rush. Something was wrong.

He’d only managed to take two steps forward before she crumpled to the ground, the Commander only just catching her before she hit the floor.

“Shit,” Varric said behind him.

And then he was running, shouting her name so loudly that the eyes of the other carriage turned towards him in shock.

He slid to a stop and dropped to his knees, pulling her from Cullen’s arms much as he had done at Haven, and settling a hand on her cheek.

Her skin was ashen and a sheen of sweat beaded across her face, her eyes flickering as she moaned. He pressed his fingers to her forehead and she was cold and clammy to the touch, her pulse beating erratically.

His heart stuttered, his mind trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Poison, perhaps?

“Ellana?” He pleaded. “Ellana, I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Her head rolled to the side but she didn’t respond.

“Ellana,” he tried again, and then his panic rose: “Vhenan, please. Please, look at me.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she let out a louder groan, and he knelt beside her and cupped her face with both of his hands.

“Vhenan,” he said again, his voice hoarse. “Vhenan, open your eyes. I know you can do it. Please.”

If it was poison, there was nothing he could do for her on the side of the road, and by his calculations they were at least two hours away from the nearest town.

With a pained gasp, she lurched in his arms, her eyes opening and her gaze falling on him in confusion. He nearly sobbed in relief.

“Tell me,” he said at once. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”

She reached up and curled her fingers around one of his hands, her eyes screwing up again in pain.

“Solas,” she choked, and he wiped away the tear that had slipped down her face with his thumb.

“I’m here, vhenan,” he promised her, his voice thick. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Stomach,” she whispered. And then, more faintly: “Magister caught me, with his staff, at the palace. Didn’t think it was…” She drew in a rattling breath. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

No.

His hands were shaking as he undid her tunic, and when the material fell away there was a ripple of panic from the people around him that he felt curdle in his chest.

The skin of her stomach was mottled deep black and vivid purple, emanating out from a circular bruise in the centre of her abdomen. It didn’t take a healer to know that she was bleeding internally, and with two days since the injury, there was no telling what damage had been done.

For the first time in his life, he froze through fear alone. There was a ringing in his ears and his head felt light, and he couldn’t seem to draw in enough air. This was beyond roadside healing. She needed potions, and hours worth of complex spirit healing to fix this sort of injury.

“Solas?” Someone was saying, but all he could see was the livid bruising on his heart’s body as her lifeblood drained away inside her.

If he’d stayed with her two nights ago, he’d have known about it by now. He could have healed it as soon as it happened, rested his hand gently over her in their bed and soothed it away. But now, because of his selfishness, she was bleeding out in front of him, miles from anywhere that could help her.

“Solas?” The voice said again, and he looked up to see Varric staring at him pointedly. “You can fix her, right?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out around the lump in his throat. He tried again, but the same thing happened, and suddenly, he wanted to scream. She couldn’t die.

Not like this. Not here.

“Solas.”

He dropped his eyes back down when she spoke, his hands reaching to cup her face again as he curved his body low over her as though it alone could protect her.

“Emma lath,” she said weakly. “Tell me.”

He drew a shaky breath in, and then it all flew out in a rush.

“You need potions,” he said. “Lots of them. And more healing than I can do here. It will be hours, if not a full day, and I don’t know-” His voice choked and she gripped his hand, her eyes glistening. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he confessed, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I don’t know. Vhenan. I don’t know!”

At some point, his voice had risen in panic, and now he bit back a sob as he bent his head to hers.

“Vhenan, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t, oh, gods. Vhenan.”

“Solas…” She breathed softly, and then all of a sudden, she went rigid in his arms.

He pulled back, his eyes wide in horror as she choked and retched, the blood bubbling from her mouth stark and bright against the drained white of her lips.

“No, no, no, no, no.”

He lifted her half off the ground, tilting her so she could lean over his arm and retch streams of crimson onto the arid dirt. He pressed his face into her shoulder, one hand massaging her back while the other clung to her arm to hold her steady.

“Vhenan,” he murmured into her skin, like it was a prayer. “Vhenan.”

At last, the retching ended, and she drew in a wheezing breath and slumped against him, drained. He gripped her tightly for a second, holding her as close to him as he could, and then lowered her carefully to the ground.

“Ok, Chuckles,” Varric said, from what seemed like a long way away. “The panic’s been nice, but you’re our only healer and we kind of need you to snap out of it now. What do you need?”

He looked up at them, his thoughts stuttering.

What did he need?

Beneath him, Ellana’s face was streaked with blood, and her eyes were rolling back in her head. And he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

“I don’t...” He shook his head. “I don’t. I can’t-”

Suddenly, his field of vision was filled by Cassandra’s face, staring at him sternly as she knelt alongside Ellana.

“Solas, you will forgive me for this,” she said firmly. And then she brought back her hand, and slapped him across the face so hard his teeth gnashed together and his ears rang.

The sting leapt through his cheek and his head snapped to the side, and he let out a long breath and sat back as his mind cleared.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice steadier as his thoughts scrambled to catch up.

“What do you need?” Leliana said, and he knew.

“Get me healing potions,” he said. “Every single one we have. And a regeneration potion if we have it.”

He bent over Ellana as Leliana ran for the carriage.

“Cullen?”

The Commander stepped forward at once.

“What do you need?”

“Lyrium potions,” he said. “If I’m to have a hope of seeing this through it’s going to take as many as you can get me.”

“Understood.”

The Commander rushed to follow Leliana.

“This can’t be done on the roadside,” he said, thinking out-loud now. “Healing internal wounds is far more delicate and requires much more power than surface wounds. How far away are we from the nearest town?”

“There’s a village about 2 hours from here,” Josie said. “But it won’t have a healing centre, it’s too small.”

“I don’t need a healing centre, I just need a bed and somewhere quiet we won’t be disturbed. If we can get her settled somewhere that I can draw on the Veil consistently then all it should take is time, and an awful lot of power.”

“Will she make it there?” Varric asked, and panic clouded his thoughts again before he resolutely pushed it back down.

“She has to,” he said. “I’ll need to be with her in the carriage although there’s only so much I can do on the move. Varric, you come with me to help keep her calm. And Cassandra?”

“Yes?”

“You come with us to help keep me calm.”

The Seeker offered him a smile which he returned, just as Leliana and Cullen arrived with the potions.

“Thank you.”

He took the regeneration potion from the spymaster first, frustrated to find that his hands were still shaking as he un-stoppered it and bent over Ellana again.

“Vhenan,” he said softly, cupping her face gently and tilting her head. “Vhenan, I need you to drink. Just a single mouthful of this, ok?”

She made a choked noise that he took for assent, and he tipped the vial to her lips and held her still as she struggled to swallow.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Just a little more.”

She coughed and spluttered, but then her eyes cleared a little and her lips quirked up in a smile.

“So, did we decide whether or not I was dying yet?” She asked weakly, and Solas bit his lip so hard it hurt, uncertain if what was about to come out of his mouth was a sob or a laugh.

“Not yet,” Varric said. “But Chuckles here got a taste of the Seeker’s right-hook.”

Ellana’s eyes widened as she saw the vivid red mark blooming on his cheek.

“What? Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Varric smiled.

Solas picked up a healing potion and avoided her gaze, certain that if he looked now, he’d have to kiss her, and that if he did that, he might just fall apart again.

“Now this,” he said, tilting the vial towards her and holding her steady while she drank.

Three more health potions later, and she was starting to look slightly better, but he knew it was only a temporary reprieve. Without proper spirit healing, the wounds would keep re-opening and he didn’t want to think about how much blood she’d already lost over the last two days.

“That’s enough for now,” he said. “We’ve only got four more left and we’ll need them for the journey.”

“I can purchase more when we reach the town,” Josie offered.

“That would be beneficial, thank you.”

He lifted Ellana into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and cradling her close against his chest. She curled her hand into his tunic and nuzzled into him gently, and he pushed his face into her hair as he stepped into the carriage.

“Vhenan,” he murmured softly. “Ir athra.”

Chapter Text

The carriage lurched over the uneven track as the coach driver urged the horses on. Solas sat with Ellana’s head cradled in his lap, while Varric and Cassandra sat opposite them, a case of potions between them. The first hour of the ride had been relatively uneventful.

He’d kept up a steady stream of mana to try to hold the wounds closed for as long as possible and bolster her energy, and Varric had told her stories that made her smile exhaustedly even as she winced in pain.

Now though, as the second to last health potion wore off, the road was becoming bumpier, and with every slip and bounce of the wheel she cried out, her hands reaching for him and her eyes shut tight.

“Should we give her the last potion?” Cassandra asked anxiously, for the third time in five minutes.

He shook his head, his jaw clenched.

“We’re still only just over halfway there,” he said. “If we give it to her now we might find we need it more desperately later.”

A particularly violent bump swung the carriage to the side, and Ellana let out a scream that quickly turned into a retch, and a stream of blood left her mouth and spattered over the floor. He lifted her into a sitting position against him and held her steady while she vomited, until the floor resembled a murder scene and she collapsed back against him, whimpering.

“If she keeps going like that we won’t be able to get another potion into her,” Varric said, and Solas wiped her mouth with his sleeve and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Solas,” she pleaded, reaching for him weakly.

His heart broke, and, deciding that he didn’t care what Varric and Cassandra saw anymore, he pulled her back so she was cradled fully on his knee, her face pressed into the crook of his neck as he rocked her gently.

“Ir athra, vhenan,” he murmured.

“It hurts,” she choked, and he closed his eyes against his tears and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I know, ma lath,” he whispered. “Ir abelas. It won’t be long now.”

Another bump in the road, and this time she muffled her scream in his neck, and he felt it rip through his body like a physical pain.

He would give anything, anything at all to take the pain away from her, but all he could do was hold her more tightly and send another wave of mana through her blood.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I should have told you, I didn’t-”

He pulled back and cupped her face with his hand so he could press his forehead against hers.

“Don’t you dare apologise to me,” he said hoarsely. “You have absolutely nothing to apologise for. If you weren’t on my knee right now I would get down on the floor and beg for your forgiveness.”

She laughed softly and rested her hand on his cheek.

“I mean it,” he said with feeling. “I was an ass, and if I hadn’t have-”

His voice cracked and he fell silent, holding himself in check only because she needed him to.

“Solas. Tel’abelas.”

He kissed her temple gently, resting his nose against the damp curl of her hair he found there.

“I do not deserve you,” he whispered, uncaring of Cassandra and Varric sitting so close by; not while she trembled in his arms.

Ellana shook her head and stroked her fingers along the curve of his jaw.

“Ar lath ma,” she said softly.

He tucked her back under his chin and buried his face in her hair.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

When he looked up again, he was shocked to find Cassandra fighting back tears, and Varric giving him a gentle smile. Despite the situation, he blushed and looked away, and then she tensed and whined in his arms and he pulled her still closer, mumbling soothing words into her ear.

***

By the time they made it to the village, the last health potion was long gone, and every jostle of the carriage made her scream and cling to him tighter. He, along with Varric and Cassandra, had long ago given up on not crying, and now all three of them soothed her with tears streaming silently down their faces as she cried.

It was the purest torture he’d ever known, to hear her cry out in such distress and to be able to do precisely nothing to help her.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispered, again and again. “Ir athra. We’ll be there soon. Ir abelas. Hold on. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma.”

When they pulled up outside the Inn, he practically ran inside with her in his arms, Cassandra and Varric not far behind.

“A room,” Cassandra demanded of the startled innkeeper. “Any room. Quickly. Our friend is hurt.”

Before he could reply, she dropped a heavy bag of Inquisition gold on the counter, and his eyes widened as he fumbled for a key.

“Family room,” he said. “Biggest in the place. Second floor. Third door on the left.”

Solas was already on the stairs, every footfall making Ellana tense and whimper against him as he ran.

“Soon, ma lath,” he whispered. “We’re nearly there.”

On the second floor, Cassandra opened the door, and they entered into a large space with a double bed on one side, and five smaller cots along the walls.

He rushed to lay her down on the bed, pressing a swift kiss to her forehead as he dragged over a chair to her side.

“Chuckles, what do you need?”

“One of you find Josie and tell her to get as many health potions as she can.”

Varric was out of the door before he’d even finished speaking, and Cassandra hovered anxiously at his shoulder.

“Anything else?”

“Pull up a table and set the lyrium potions out near me.”

He leant over Ellana and rested a hand on her forehead.

“It’s ok, vhenan,” he reassured her softly. “The worst is over, I promise.”

She reached up so she could bring his hand down and kiss it, and he bent his head to press a soft kiss to her lips, and pretended he didn’t taste blood when he pulled away.

Within a few minutes, Varric was back with Leliana, Cullen, and Josie in tow, the latter carrying a case of twelve healing potions and an apology on her lips.

“I’m sorry, these were all they had,” she said, arranging them hurriedly next to the lyrium. “Will they be enough?”

“We will have to hope so,” he said.

He held three to Ellana’s lips while she drank, conscious of the five pairs of eyes that watched from behind him, all of them hardly daring to breathe. After the final potion, she let out a soft sigh and slumped back against the pillows as some of the pain began to recede.

“Ma serranas,” she smiled, and he took a deep breath in and scrubbed the tear tracks from his cheeks.

“Now what?” Cullen asked.

“Now I reach beyond the veil and call on a spirit that can help me heal her,” he said, with more calm than he felt.

It was a mark of how worried they all were, that even Cullen didn’t object.

“What do you need from us?” Cassandra asked.

“Quiet,” he said. “And someone to feed me the lyrium and Ellana the healing potions when I say so.”

“I’ll do it,” Cassandra said at once, and pulled up a chair at his side.

He nodded and turned back to face Ellana, allowing himself a moment to give into the fear that was choking him as he leant forward and pressed his face into her shoulder.

“Vhenan,” he said softly, his voice strained.

She brought her hands up and held him gently to her, rubbing soft circles on the back of his head with her thumb.

“Ir athra,” she replied. “I trust you.”

He swallowed down his panic and pushed his face into her neck.

“Aneth ara,” he whispered. My safe place.

She pressed a kiss to his temple, and then he pulled back and settled into his chair, his fingers ghosting lightly over her stomach.

As he settled into the trance needed to reach across the veil, he heard their companions take seats behind him in the room, and the sound of someone stoking a fire in the hearth. He steadied his breathing and closed his eyes, focusing only on inhaling and exhaling, and feeling for the flush of magic beyond the Fade.

Slowly, the sounds of the room fell away, and he held himself in the in-between state, half-aware of Ellana shifting beneath him, of the heat of her beneath his fingers, and the other half focused far beyond.

It should have been easy for him to call on a helpful spirit, but emotions shaped the Fade as much as intent, and he found himself attracting three demons in disguise before he was able to safely latch onto one who truly wished to aid him. The Spirit of Compassion joined him by her bed, and together, they slipped into a calm give-and-take, pushing and pulling their magic between them like a tide, and working it beneath Ellana’s skin.

Her injuries were severe, the staff driving into her spleen and tearing the tissues, so the blood pooled into the abdominal cavity and pressed against her liver. He found a small tear in that organ as well, and directed as much magic as he could towards it without draining himself entirely.

It took intense concentration and calm to perform this sort of work, and the hours slipped by slowly as he settled into a restrained rhythm. He barely spoke, except to warn Cassandra when Ellana’s pulse began to race and she needed another potion, or to tilt his head and open his mouth for the Seeker to tip the lyrium down his throat when he felt himself weaken.

Night fell, and the stars traced across the sky while he and the spirit worked, his concentration only wavering when Ellana let out a cry as he was forced to tug sharply on the skin to disperse a blood clot hovering too close to her heart. He murmured an apology, allowing his eyes to flick to her face only briefly before closing them again.

Soon afterwards, he lost track of time entirely, lost in the steady flow of magic and holding himself as still as an eye in the centre of the storm. When he finally felt the last ragged edge knit itself together and the spirit took its leave again, he pulled himself from the veil and fell heavily back in his seat.

All at once, the pain in his own body made itself known, his limbs trembling with exertion, a sheen of sweat cold and clammy on his skin, and an exhaustion settling so deep in his bones that he very nearly slipped from the chair.

Cassandra leant forward and steadied him instantly.

“Solas?” She asked, and he heard the movement of the others behind him, rousing themselves to listen intently.

“It is done,” he whispered, through cracked lips and a dry mouth.

“Here, Chuckles,” Varric said. “Drink this.”

The dwarf tipped a skin of water to his mouth and he gulped it greedily, his mana buzzing erratically in his veins.

“Will she be ok? Josie asked.

He swallowed a final mouthful and looked down at her for the first time, relief and exhaustion swelling in his chest. She was asleep, her face pale and sweating, and her chest still rising and falling rapidly, but she was alive.

“She will be fine,” he said. “Although she’s lost a lot of blood, and it will be a few days before she’s ready to travel again.”

“And you?” Casandra asked him. “You’ve been working all night, Solas. Will you be alright?”

He noticed for the first time that the morning sun was streaming in through the window, the dawn chorus just beginning to rise over the village. He drew a deep breath in, letting the peace of the day blanket him, his terror a mere memory with the evidence of Ellana’s soft breaths so close by.

“I will be fine,” he said. “I just need to sleep.”

But the only thing he needed more than that, was her.

Shakily, he peeled off his bloodstained tunic, slick with sweat, and crawled over Ellana to the other side of the bed. No-one stopped him as he buried himself beneath the blankets and curled around her back, slipping one arm beneath her and using the other to draw her tightly into his chest.

He drew her closer, his hand resting over her heart, until his chest was flush against her back and he could feel the steady rise and fall of her breaths against his skin.

Safe. She is safe.

The relief hit him like a physical blow, and he buried his face in her hair and sobbed silently, clutching her to him until there was no space left between them, and she stirred and laced her fingers with his, holding him tightly.

“Ir athra,” he heard her murmur. “I knew you would save me, ma’sa’lath.”

He drew a shaky breath in and quieted his sobs, until it was only silent tears that ran down his cheeks and collected in the damp waves of her hair.

“I didn’t,” he whispered into her ear, so quietly only she could hear. “I didn’t know if I could.”

She pushed back against him and he held her fiercely, burrowing his face into her neck and breathing her in until all he could feel was her.

“Sleep now, ma lath,” she whispered. “We are safe.”

He let out a sigh and kissed her neck, and as the two of them slipped into sleep, curled around each other as though even an inch of space between them was unbearable, their companions watched silently over them.

“I never would have thought it,” Leliana said at last.

“He truly does love her,” Cullen agreed wonderingly.

“I’m glad they have each other,” Josie said softly,

And to no-one’s shock more than her own, Cassandra promptly burst into tears.

“If you tell anyone about this,” she sobbed, as Varric patted her awkwardly. “I’ll kill you myself.”

“Don’t worry, Seeker,” the dwarf smiled. “No-one would believe me if I did.”

Chapter Text

They stayed for four days in the village, a place so small it didn’t even seem to have a name. Josie, Leliana, and Cullen worked feverishly at tables they’d pulled into the family room, writing missives and sending them back to Skyhold with the crows that seemed to endlessly perch on their windowsill.

Their travel delay had left a number of minor crises in its wake; diplomats to placate, troop exercises to reschedule, and, if Leliana was to be believed, a number of her spies severely out of the loop.

But despite the undoubtedly unfortunate strategic issues, Solas found himself quietly content. Both he and Ellana were still too weak to do much more than move from the bed to the sofa, and with everyone now aware of their relationship, he found an absurd satisfaction in being able to touch her whenever he liked; which, it turned out, was all of the time.

While Cassandra and Varric played endless games of cards on their cots, and the advisors worked diligently, he and Ellana dozed against each other in their bed. On the first day, he had helped her to eat some of the stew the cook had sent up, and then been mortified that Varric had to help him do the same.

But the embarrassment soon passed when the bowls were removed, and Ellana immediately rolled over with a soft sigh and pillowed her head on his chest. Overcome with exhaustion himself, it was all too easy to bring his arms around her and slip quietly into the Fade, his nose buried in her hair.

By the third day, both of them could walk again, and Ellana pulled him over to the sofa so she could sit back against him as she played cards with Varric and answered the occasional question from Skyhold.

Still weak, and with the memory of how close he’d come to losing her still fresh in his mind, Solas roused himself enough to do no more for the remainder of their stay, than slip his arms around her waist, or rest his head on her shoulder; so content to simply hold her, that he wondered how he’d ever gone so long without it.

So, when they finally returned to Skyhold, and Ellana was immediately whisked away into various meetings, he found himself at something of a loss. He sat down at his desk in the rotunda, and gazed at the work he knew he should be doing, but somehow couldn’t find any motivation for.

Above him, the rookery rang with Leliana’s orders, and he could hear Dorian and Vivienne debating the finer points of the Circles from the library. For the first time, he found that he craved someone else’s conversation, if only to speed up the time until he could hold Ellana again.

It was an odd sensation to grapple with. While Ellana had inserted herself into his life as though she had always belonged there, he was usually content to limit his friendships to spirits, but one problem he’d found recently was that they didn’t know her, and he realised he wanted to be around people who did.

The ache of nearly losing her, of watching her slip away while he was helpless to watch, still pulsed unsettlingly in his chest. And his own selfishness that had lead them there made the feeling even worse.

Deciding that his work wasn’t going to get done until he knew that she was ok after her first full day back at Skyhold, he left the rotunda and went for a walk. It was warm outside, despite the cold wind from the mountains, and as he rounded the corner into the training area, Bull called him over to where he, Varric, and Krem were grinning together.

“Solas!” The Qunari greeted him. “So, the Inquisitor’s out of the bag, eh?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“So it would seem.”

“I knew it!” Bull grinned. “So, how long’s it been going on?”

He cast his mind back, wondering when they’d actually become a couple. Was it the kiss in the Fade? Was it after Adamant? Was it when she’d started courting him? Was it none of those at all?

“I’m afraid I don’t actually know,” he said honestly.

Varric laughed disbelievingly.

“Only you could end up dating a woman like that and have no idea when it began,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well, it’s not a particularly simple question,” Solas argued mildly. “Do you mean when I first knew I had feelings for her? When I realised those feelings were returned? When we first kissed? Or…”

He trailed off, and Krem laughed.

“Or indeed,” he said, quirking an eyebrow, and despite himself, Solas felt the tips of his ears start to redden.

Or, indeed.

Except there had been no or. Not really. There had been Ellana, giving him more kindness and patience than any man deserved, and there had been him, pushing the boundaries and retreating again, leaving her hurt and confused and – his mind supplied unhelpfully – dying on a roadside, because he couldn’t find a way to give himself to her.

All at once, his mood soured, and when Varric invited him to the tavern with them, he declined.

Instead, he walked, lost in thoughts of her, while the rest of the castle moved around him. He thought of her defending the refugees in the Hinterlands. He thought of her holding him close inside the tent on the Storm Coast. He thought of her concern for him at Val Royeaux, and of her disappearing into Alexius’s rift.

He thought of her laughing in the tavern, listening to Varric’s stories, teasing Dorian, and facing down the Nightmare. He thought of her falling beneath a warden’s blade, standing against an arch demon and walking out of an avalanche. He thought of her rocking him against her chest when he cried, and clinging to him while she screamed in pain.

And he thought of the lies he was forced to tell her, and realised that there were still at least two things he knew to be true between them. That she loved him. And that he loved her.

The thought stopped him in his tracks. It was a simple enough epiphany, but perhaps…

He drew in a breath. Perhaps it did change things after all.

No matter what lies he was forced to tell her, the fact of his love was entirely true. When he was with her, he was simply Solas. And was it really so terrible for Solas to be in love with her? His vhenan.

He leant over the battlements, somehow surprised that the sky had begun to darken while he walked.

Was it crueller to leave the two of them in this strange limbo, or to give himself to her knowing that at some point, he would have to leave?

He sighed, teetering on the edge of a decision he’d avoided making for far too long.

As the last of the light dimmed over the mountains, he made his way back inside. When he knocked on the door to her quarters, he still wasn’t sure what he would do. All he knew, was that he had to be near her. He didn’t know any more if he could be apart.

Chapter Text

“Solas!”

She smiled in surprise when she opened the door and found him standing nervously on the threshold, and he felt his heart skip.

“Inquisitor…” He said. “I was… Do you have a moment?”

She smiled softly and beckoned him inside. He watched her as she lead him into her rooms, still tired and a little pale, but relaxed and whole and mercifully safe. He still didn’t know what he was going to say.

He took a breath and walked out onto the balcony, hearing her follow him cautiously and feeling as though he were standing on the edge of a precipice. He need only step, and he would fall.

“What were you like?” He asked at last. “Before the Anchor? Has it affected you? Changed you in anyway? Your mind, your morals, your… Spirit?”

She looked at him curiously.

“If it had, do you really think I’d have noticed?”

His lips quirked up and he shook his head.

“No. That’s an excellent point.”

“Why do you ask?”

He looked away. Why had he asked?

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since… Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected.”

She laughed quietly and shook her head.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not disappointing, it’s…” He sighed. “Most people are predictable. But you… You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours… Have I misjudged them?”

She looked away from him thoughtfully, her gaze coming to rest on the mountains, and he studied her, his heart beating hard in his chest.

“I love my clan,” she said at last. “They are my family. But most of the Dalish care more about impressing other hunters with a good shot or talking about how awful humans are. There are only a few who seem to care about the old ways. And I suppose I have always felt myself to be a little apart.”

“Perhaps that is it,” he replied quietly. “I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you.”

“What does that mean, Solas?” She asked him, and he looked away again, knowing that once more, he must appear to be speaking in riddles; especially now that they had become so completely a part of each other’s lives.

“It means I have not forgotten what you said to me after the Winter Palace,” he said, guilt colouring his words. “I know my behaviour has been confusing for you, and at times even cruel, although I swear that was not my intent.”

She took a step towards him, her expression understanding.

“I know it wasn’t,” she said. “And I’m glad.”

She moved forwards then, and he felt the ground begin to open up beneath him. Her gaze was hopeful, tentative, as she clasped her hands behind her back and looked up into his face, and his hands itched to pull her closer.

Anticipation and panic fought a battle in his chest. He wanted her. But could he allow himself to fall? He took a step backwards and turned, and she caught him by the arm, her grip gentle but insistent.

“Don’t go,” she said softly, and his mind flashed back to her begging him to stay as tears fell from her eyes, and he froze.

“It would be kinder, in the long run,” he said. For both of us. “But losing you would…”

He could hardly bear to finish the sentence. The thought made him choke, and before he could change his mind, he was pulling her into his arms, his mouth seeking hers and parting it forcefully. She responded with the same fervour, her tongue sliding over his and her hands gripping his waist.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing her into him and feeling the last waves of his resistance crumble into dust. With her, he was only Solas. He wanted to be only Solas, for both of them, for as long as he could.

When they broke apart, he kept his forehead pressed to hers and gripped her hips to hold her against him.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he said, in a voice tinged with hope and sadness in equal measure. He could not deny her any more.

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her eyes searching his.

“Ar lath ma,” she whispered. “Does this mean…?”

He tightened his grip on her, his voice pained.

“I cannot deny my feelings for you any longer,” he said. “It would have been kinder, for me to never have sought out your company. But I am selfish, and greedy, and…” He broke off, shaking his head. “And I love you so.”

She kissed him tenderly, and he melted against her.

“This still may be a terrible idea,” he said. “But I do not have the strength in me to stay away. If you would have me, vhenan’ara, I am yours, for as long as we can enjoy.”

“I would have you always, Solas,” she said. “But if our time is limited, then I will keep you for as long as I can.”

He felt the last traces of his resistance fly away in the wind, and sagged against her, revelling in the dizzy sense of freedom as her lips met his again. Her kiss grew hungry, and this time, he let himself fall, allowing her to push him back into the room, her tongue teasing along his bottom lip and drawing a groan from his throat as she suckled at him.

She pulled back, her eyes dark with desire, and he felt himself begin to harden in his leggings.

“I want you, Solas,” she breathed, and he swooped down and crushed her to him, pressing the evidence of his growing arousal against her core and rolling his hips until they both gasped.

When she pulled back again, there was a predatory look in her eyes that made his knees grow weak and heat pool in his groin, and he trembled with expectation as she fisted her hands in the front of his tunic and moved her lips to his ear.

“Take your clothes off,” she whispered. “And get on the bed.”

She nipped his ear as she pulled away, and the rush of pleasure went straight to his cock, already hard and needy beneath the tight fabric of his clothes. In all of his guilty daydreams of her, he had never imagined that this was how it would go.

He had thought that he would be the one to guide her to the bed, trapping her beneath him. He had imagined taking control, nipping and teasing at her until she came apart under his hands and his tongue. But as he hurriedly stripped out of his tunic and freed his aching cock from his leggings, he realised that this was how he wanted it.

He wanted to give himself to her. To have her break him down until she took what she wanted and he was powerless to resist. For her and her alone, he would submit.

The thought made him light with pleasure as he stretched, naked and trembling, across her silk sheets, his cock throbbing in the cool air still blowing from the open balcony.

She watched him with a focus that was dizzying, and he gripped the bedsheets tightly as her eyes roved over him shamelessly.

“You are so beautiful,” she sighed.

“Vhenan,” he whined, already desperate for her to touch him, and a wicked smile lit up her face.

“Is there something you want, Solas?” She purred.

“You,” he said at once. “I want you. Vhenan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

It wasn’t begging. Not quite. But as she licked her lips and stepped up to the side of the bed, her fingers slowly unbuttoning the front of her tunic, he knew that he would beg her before she was done with him. The thought made the ache between his legs pulse insistently and his toes curl into the sheets.

She stripped slowly, her eyes never leaving his, while his own gaze traced the path her hands took along her body, revealing her pale skin piece by piece, until she stood naked in front of him. She was perfect, her nipples already stiffened into peaks, her body a map of smooth skin and thick battle scars, and the dark auburn curls between her legs already glistening.

He groaned when he saw the slick between her legs, and reached forward to pull her to him, only to find himself in the next moment pinned down beneath her as she straddled his stomach and held his arms above his head.

He gasped, his hips rolling up, desperately seeking friction and finding none as she held him firmly in place.

“Vhenan,” he breathed, and she bent to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

He moaned into her mouth, his body straining beneath her as he bit and sucked at her hungrily, already certain he would drown in her if he could, and partly fearing that he might.

When she broke the kiss, he whined, lifting his head to follow her as his neglected cock pulsed and leaked between his legs.

“What do you want, Solas?” She asked again, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dark.

“You,’ he responded at once. “Vhenan. I want you. Please.”

She pressed a tender, chaste kiss to his mouth that left him panting with need.

“You have me,” she said softly. “So now what?”

He rolled his hips uselessly and let out a frustrated groan as he brushed against nothing but air, and she lightly scratched her fingernails along the soft skin of his arms.

“I want,” he gasped. “I want to touch you.”

She grinned and sat back, her arms falling from his and her body rolling above him.

“So touch me,” she breathed, and he responded in kind.

He sat up, forcing her back so his cock was trapped between her legs, the sensation making them both buck and groan as his arms wrapped around her and his nails danced across her back. She shivered deliciously in his arms and he pressed his face into her neck, nipping at the soft skin and then soothing the marks he left with his tongue.

She whimpered as he moved lower, running his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone and rocking against her until the teasing friction became unbearable.

“Solas,” she moaned, and he sucked a nipple into his mouth and shuddered as she cried out and raked her nails down his back.

The burn set a fire through his veins and he gasped against her, his hips bucking up as he chased the maddening friction of his cock trapped beneath her, so close to where he desperately needed it to be.

“Vhenan,” he groaned, his muscles trembling. “I need, I need-”

She pushed him backwards and the air rushed out of him, and before he knew what was happening, her weight was gone from his waist and then her hand was around his cock, and he cried out as she began a torturously slow rhythm that left him shuddering with want.

He threw his head back, his mind lost in a haze of pleasure as she swept moisture over the head with her thumb, and all he could think was that he’d been so sure that he would never be touched like this by anyone again.

“Vhenan,” he groaned. “Vhenan, please, I need-”

The rest of his sentence was cut off by a strangled groan as her tongue flicked out and began to tease his slit, and his hands scrabbled at the bedsheets as his hips bucked up, seeking more.

She pressed a hand into his hip, the bite of her fingernails warning him to stay still, as she took him into her mouth and began to suck leisurely, her tongue swirling around the head. The sound that left his mouth was obscene, and he trembled with the effort to stay still as her hand and her mouth worked him slowly towards the edge while he cursed and strained.

It was too good. Her mouth was wet and warm and the steady pressure tugged at him until all he could think about was the feel of her around him and the desperate ache in his balls.

His head fell back and he groaned loudly, the moan she made in return vibrating through him, and it was too good and he was so close, and if she didn’t stop soon he was going to come.

He gasped, his whole being focused on her mouth, her face, the growing heat. He was going to come, he was, he was-

Her mouth left his cock with an audible pop and an even louder cry from his throat, as her hand stilled to cup his sensitive balls.

“Not yet,” she smiled, and he groaned and thrashed against the bed, denied the orgasm he so desperately needed.

“Vhenan,” he gasped. “Please, I need to feel you.”

It was more than desire, it was comfort. He was coming undone in her hands, and he needed to feel her against him, to have her arms hold him steady and safe while he shattered. He reached for her, and she pressed herself against him, slipping her arms around his back and kissing him hungrily.

“Ir athra,” she murmured against his lips, and he wasn’t sure he had ever wanted anything so much in his life as he wanted her then.

“Please,” he panted. “Vhenan, let me please you too.”

She nipped at his bottom lip and rolled onto her back next to him, and he flew to her at once, trailing kisses over her breasts and down her stomach, the soft sounds that left her mouth like music to his ears.

He nipped and sucked along the sensitive skin of her thighs, and she rolled her hips towards him and moaned.

“Solas, please.”

It was all the encouragement he needed to flick out his tongue and taste her, circling her pearl and then licking a firm stripe through her folds.

The breathy cry she made as her worked his tongue inside her made him dig his fingers into her legs, spreading her further apart so he could devour her, the scent of her thick in his nose and her taste sharp in his mouth as she trembled and cursed above him.

As her cries rose he slipped first one finger, and then a second inside her, crooking his fingers just-so and sucking gently on her clit, until he felt her walls start to clench around him and she shuddered and fell apart, her hands twisting through the blankets and his name sweet on her lips.

His heart ached, and he rose up her body to kiss her, holding her close while she shuddered and he tangled his hands in her hair.

“Vhenan,” he murmured, like it was a prayer. “You are so beautiful. So perfect. You have no idea how perfect you are to me.”

He nuzzled into her neck and breathed her in, the ache in his veins forgotten for a moment as he pressed soft kisses to her skin.

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighed at last, the truth of it burning in his chest.

She laughed, her smile sated and happy and her cheeks flushed as she kissed him.

“Only you could give me the best orgasm of my life and then be grim and fatalistic afterwards,” she smiled, and he laughed and then keened against her neck as she flung a leg over his waist and rocked against him, teasingly.

All at once, he became painfully aware of the urgency of his own need, and he rolled his hips against her, the tip of his cock brushing through her slick and drawing a tortured moan from his mouth.

“Vhenan,” he gasped, all fatalism forgotten as he clutched her to him and tried in vain to get closer to the core of her while she held him at bay. “Oh, ma lath, please.”

She nipped his bottom lip again and then pulled back.

“Lie back,” she said. “And hold onto the headboard.”

He obeyed at once, wrapping his hands around the wood and clinging on for dear life, while she positioned herself above him and trailed her hands tenderly along his ribs.

“You are so wonderful like this,” she crooned, and he whimpered as she brushed her thumb over his nipple.

“Please, vhenan,” he whined, his cock throbbing beneath her as she held herself tantalisingly above him. “I need you. Please.”

She bent to capture his lips with hers, and he panted into her mouth as she took hold of his trembling cock, and guided him slowly inside her. His hips rose to meet her and he threw his head back and groaned at the feel of her clenching around him.

Slowly, she lowered herself until he was sheathed fully inside her, and then sat back to admire her work as he keened and cried out, his eyes closed as though in pain while he clung onto the headboard and rocked helplessly against her.

It was the most exquisite sensation he’d ever felt; no longer alone, he was as far inside her as he could go, and when she began to move slowly on top of him, his voice dissolved into wordless cries and garbled streams of Elvhen as he came apart.

He was home. He was home. He was home.

It had been so long since he’d felt anything like this, and as she increased her pace and he felt himself slipping in and out of her, and heard the slick sounds of their bodies moving together, he cursed and gasped and felt the pressure inside him building, until lights danced behind his eyes and his body coiled like a spring.

So close. He was so close, and it was so good, and he was going to come and all he could think about was the tight, hot ball of pleasure settling deep in his stomach, begging for release, and he was almost there and it was so real and so good, and then-

“Please!” He practically screamed as she stilled on top of him, his whole body shuddering, on the brink of an orgasm he needed so desperately that he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking, trying in vain to tip himself over the edge. “Vhenan, please, please. I’m so close. Please, don’t stop. Please, I need, I need to-”

His legs thrashed, and he cursed as he felt her fingers soothe gently across his jaw, and she rolled her hips once, bringing him to the brink and holding him there while he struggled and begged.

“Solas,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

His eyes snapped open, and she pinned him with her gaze, gentle and tender and hungry all at once, and just like that, he felt himself fall.

His breath stuttered, his heart clenching and the ball of pleasure screaming for release. And then she started moving again, one hand gripping his chin to hold his face towards hers as she rode him, and the pressure built and built and built until he was screaming every name he had for her: vhenan, ma lath, vhenan’ara, Ellana, please please please.

And then she raked her nails down his chest, and the dam broke. He cried out as he spilt himself inside her, his whole body spasming as the waves rolled over him and dragged him under, and the world fell away until all he could feel was her body clenching around him, and all he could see was her eyes pinning him to the bed beneath her as he shattered.

“Vhenan,” he whimpered, and there were tears mingling with the sweat on his face. “Vhenan, please.”

She lowered her body over his, pressing tender kisses to his face that made his chest ache while she murmured soft words into his ear.

“It’s ok, Solas,” she said. “You can let go.”

Only then did he realise that his hands were still tight on the headboard, and he let go with a ragged breath and clung to her desperately, and it was wonderful and terrifying and perfect. Her weight, settled so securely over him, pinning him to the soft sheets. Her hair sticking to his face. Her voice gentle in his ears as he softened inside her and they trembled together, so close they were almost one single being as the sweat dried over their skin.

“You are so good,” she soothed him. “So perfect.”

He screwed up his eyes and shook his head, his arms still held tightly around her. He wasn’t. He wasn’t good. But oh, how he wanted to be.

She kissed him softly.

“You are, ma lath,” she said. “You are so good for me.”

He whimpered, shaking his head again and trying to hide his face in her neck. She pulled back and he clutched her closer, and she cupped his face between her hands and ran her thumbs gently over his cheeks.

“Solas, look at me,” she said, and he opened his eyes and blinked away the tears that tumbled down his face as she wiped them away.

“You are good,” she said softly. “You are so good, ma lath. And I love you so.”

He choked and lifted his head towards her, desperate to lose himself in her and hide from the softness in her gaze. But she pulled back, holding him gently in place and looking at him with an expression of such tenderness, that he felt more tears fall from his eyes as he tried desperately to escape the whirlwind of emotions she’d woken in him that were now beating against the walls of his chest.

“I want to hear you say it, ma’sa’lath,” she said gently. “I want to hear you say that you are good.”

“I-” He swallowed, his throat burning.

“Go on,” she urged. “You are good.”

He whined, and then a sob broke from his throat and he started to shake.

“I am good,” he choked, and she smiled and pulled him closer. “I am good.”

He buried his face in her neck and pulled her down onto him until there was no space left between them, and still his shoulders shook.

“I am good.”

“You are perfect.”

He sobbed and keened against her, and she let her weight fall on top of him, anchoring him to the bed as he crumbled in her arms.

When it was over, she slipped to his side, and pulled him down so his head was nestled against her neck and their limbs were twined together, and he breathed her in and snuggled into her warmth as she draped the blankets over them and exhaustion settled over him.

He felt full, and empty, and impossibly, deliriously light.

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she whispered.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

She hummed happily against him.

“Find me in the Fade?”

He pressed a kiss to her neck and held her more tightly.

“Always.”

And as he slipped into sleep, warm, and safe, and sated, for the first time in so many lifetimes, he was not Fen’Harel. He was simply Solas. And he was wholly, and perfectly, hers.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t get enough of her. He’d spent millennia hardly being touched, cloaked in the carefully crafted loneliness of his own duty and shame, denying every impulse towards companionship of any kind, and now the dam had burst and he was both ravenous and helpless to curb his own appetite.

He needed, in a way he’d never needed anything before, and the more she offered him, the more he took.

When she passed through the rotunda, trailing light touches over his arm on her way to the library, he found himself pulling her to him and pressing his mouth hungrily to hers. In the field, he watched her ride and fight covetously, as though to miss a single moment of her might break the strange spell they were both under.

At night, he’d sneak into her rooms and find her awake and ready for him, and within moments he was on her, hands snaking beneath her clothes to scratch and knead the tender skin that had become the focus of his every thought.

After their first time, he became insatiable, sometimes taking her roughly against the wall until she muffled the scream of his name into his shoulder. On other nights, he’d draw out her moans for hours, feasting on her with his tongue until her pleasure broke so forcefully that she sobbed in relief and begged him to wait a moment before he took her again.

On missions, he’d sneak into her tent every night, pulling the Veil around him to avoid whoever was on watch and setting wards to silence their ecstatic screams. He pulled her into corridors, fucked her over Dorian’s desk while the rest of Skyhold was sleeping, and even managed to way-lay her one day in the war room after all of her advisors had left.

At every moment, he expected his need to frighten her; to find her pulling away and bidding him to slow down and give her a moment to herself. But if anything, she met his overtures with equal desire, drawing him from the rotunda to her rooms at every lull in her schedule, teasing him with heated touches beneath tables, and catching his eye coyly across crowded rooms.

It was maddening, and impossible, and he was sure now that he would never be able to feel enough of her. But that didn’t stop him from trying.

Because for all that he had been called a god, the closest he had ever felt to divinity was when he held her in their shared afterglow, their skin hot and damp and their breath shuddering as they twined so tightly around each other that they could almost have been a single soul.

In the precious moments she trembled against him, drawing patterns on his skin and murmuring sweet words into his ear, everything else fell away. His thoughts, normally so incessant with meticulous plotting and constant questions, and the ever present undercurrent of self-loathing, fell blissfully silent.

He would drift in the contented quiet, breathing in the warm scent of her, nuzzling his nose into her skin, and pressing gentle kisses to wherever he could reach.

She brought him safety, and home, and so much joy that it terrified him, but above all else, she brought him peace. It was a thing he couldn’t remember ever having, even in the earliest years of his life, and he sank into it as one would sink into a warm bath - gratefully, and with no small amount of contentment.

In her arms, he was Solas again, and the Dread Wolf a mere shadow in the back of his mind. He was remembering, while they shared gentle kisses and shuddering moans; as she lay in his lap while he read to her; when they curled up in front of the fire talking softly and exchanging private smiles, that he quite liked Solas after all.

As a young man he had been cocky, it was true, but with Fen’Harel’s duty stripped away, he discovered that he was able to laugh again. The change in him delighted Ellana, her eyes turning soft and adoring with every surprised chuckle and shocked giggle that escaped him. He had forgotten that he had a tendency to giggle when something truly amused him, and while it used to be a quirk he found mortifyingly embarrassing, the joy on his vhenan’s face the first time it happened was enough to chase all thoughts of discomfort away.

He would spend his entire life giggling like a besotted fool, if it meant that she’d keep on swooping down and peppering his face with gentle kisses while she twined herself around him and laughed into his neck.

Within a few short weeks, he could barely remember a time when he hadn’t existed in Ellana’s orbit – because that was what it felt like. Like his entire soul had shifted to encompass her, and he was helpless to break away.

So, when a new report of Red Templars in the Emprise du Lion arrived and she was needed overnight in the war room, it was with an especial pang of loneliness that he made his way to his own rooms for the first time in over a month.

The chamber was cold, and the bed smaller and far less lavish than Ellana’s, but that had never bothered him before. What did unnerve him, was quite how empty it felt without her lying beside him. Despite the fire he’d lit, the walls seemed dark and hollow, and he couldn’t remember how he’d used to sleep without his body curled around hers.

While he tossed and turned, the empty side of the bed mocked him, and he ended up lying diagonally across the mattress, if only to convince himself that there was nothing missing on the other side.

It’s only one night, he berated himself, as he curled his arms around his own waist and attempted to pretend that it was her. But after millennia of loneliness now suddenly broken by his unexpected love, one night seemed like a very long time indeed.

Without her head resting against him, Fen’Harel’s shadow stalked in the back of his mind, and he pushed his face into his pillows and grit his teeth against reality.

One night.

Only one night.

But when he woke up with the dawn, screaming Wisdom’s name, he had never felt more alone.

Chapter Text

She had grown used to Solas’s extremes of mood. For all that her apostate was stoic and unreadable to the rest of their companions, Ellana understood by now that behind his calm exterior, he felt things deeply. But even knowing this, his reaction to Wisdom’s capture surprised her.

He had practically begged her to help rescue the spirit, and she couldn’t help but be hurt by the note of relief in his voice when she’d agreed – as though he’d expected her to refuse him instead. While it was true that she was still getting used to the idea that sprits were at least as real as people, it bothered her that Solas might believe she would leave a friend of his to suffer needlessly.

Surely, he knew her better than that?

Now, as they made their way across the Exalted Plains with Dorian and Bull at their side, his agitation was pouring off him in waves. She tried to catch his eye to reassure him as they crossed the river and crested the hill, but before she could, a roar echoed through the air and the silhouette of a Pride demon appeared on the horizon.

“Well, shit,” Bull said, at exactly the same moment Solas rushed forward and exclaimed: “My friend!” as though his heart were breaking.

She froze.

“Solas,” she began gently. “You said your friend was a spirit of Wisdom.”

“That is not its natural form!” He growled. “It’s been corrupted.”

“Corrupted?”

“Forced to act against its original purpose.”

He turned away, cradling his head in his hands as though in pain.

“What did they do? What did they do? What did they do?”

She clenched her hands into fists, her chest aching in response to his distress. She had no idea a spirit could have meant this much to him.

“That’s not exactly the question I was thinking of,” Bull said behind her, and she shot him a warning look as a group of mages approached them, exhausted.

“Perhaps we should ask,” Solas said, scowling at the humans as though he would wipe them from the face of the earth.

“A mage!” The man exclaimed in relief. “You’re not with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon-”

Solas rounded on them at once.

“You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of Wisdom at the time. You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose.”

The man raised his hands in placation.

“I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can-”

“We are not here to help you.”

The rage in his voice was frightening, and so unlike the gentle man she knew that Ellana looked away. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to support him.

“Word of advice?” She said coolly. “I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here.”

“Listen to me. I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle-”

“Shut up,” Solas hissed. “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.”

“I…” The man swallowed. “Yes.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned!”

He turned towards her, his expression fierce.

“The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

“What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it’s a monster now!” The mage argued, and she felt Bull step forward behind her.

“I’ve gotta agree with the human, boss,” he said. “That’s a Pride demon, and they don’t go down easy. Better to kill it while it’s trapped than risk setting it loose out here.”

She bit her lip, torn. Her head told her that Bull was right; that no matter what the spirit had been before, it would attack them as soon as it was free. Her heart told her that Solas was hurting, and that she should at least attempt to save his friend.

But what if by helping him she got Dorian or Bull hurt – or worse? She had a responsibility to them as well.

Solas looked at her, pleading in every line of his face.

“Inquisitor,” he begged. “Please.”

She held his gaze, the turmoil in his eyes making her heart clench.

“I’ll do everything I can to save your friend, Solas,” she promised.

His shoulders sagged in relief.

“Thank you.”

“This is a bad idea, boss,” Bull warned, but she held up her hand and shook her head.

“If Solas is right and this is truly a spirit of Wisdom, then by releasing it we’ll avoid a fight, and have helped his friend,” she said calmly. “And if he’s wrong, then it won’t be the first Pride demon we’ve fought. We lose nothing by trying to do the right thing.”

The demon roared.

“We must hurry!” Solas urged, and she followed him towards the circle.

As they attacked the bindings, sparks of magic lit the air, and she span and twisted out of the demon’s reach as the first pillar exploded in a shower of light. Behind her, she could hear Bull swearing creatively as he dutifully destroyed the second.

The demon lunged, and she leapt to avoid a heavy claw as it swung towards her.

Shit.

The third binding collapsed under an onslaught of Solas’s magic, and the demon surged forward, catching her in a heavy blow across her shoulder that sent her sprawling to the ground.

“Boss!”

Bull leapt to her defence, knocking the demon back and hauling her out of the way. A deep burning pain lanced down her shoulder blade, and she could smell the blood bubbling from the gouges in her skin.

The Qunari roared, wielding his axe, but she caught his arm and held him back.

“Wait! Give them time.”

Bull hesitated, and on the other side of the circle, the final binding exploded. Ellana and Bull stood side-by-side, weapons raised and ready to defend, but as the circle collapsed, the demon transformed before their eyes.

Ellana’s mouth gaped open as the pride demon vanished, to be replaced by an ethereal shape that morphed into the likeness of a woman, kneeling on the ground.

Wisdom.

She watched in silence, ignoring the pain in her back as Solas walked to the spirit’s side and knelt, his face a mask of hurt.

“Lethallin,” he said softly. “Ir abelas.”

“Tel’abelas,” the spirit breathed. “Enasal. Ir tel’him. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an.”

Solas closed his eyes and turned his face away, his hands clenching into fists. After taking a shaky breath, he looked up again, his eyes shining with tears.

“Ma nuvenin,” he whispered.

Ellana watched with tears in her own eyes as he raised his hands, and the spirit broke apart and drifted away on the wind.

“Dareth shiral,” he choked, and lowered his face to the ground.

She took a step forward, one hand leaning heavily against Bull as the pain in her injury grew.

“I heard what it said,” she said gently. “It was right. You did help it.”

Solas nodded, still facing away from her.

“And now I must endure.”

His voice cracked, and Ellana resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him only because Dorian and Bull were standing nearby.

“Let me know if I can help,” she said instead.

He turned to face her, his eyes shining.

“You already have,” he said. “All that remains now is them.”

He looked towards the mages, his face like thunder.

“You tortured and killed my friend!”

He stormed towards them, and Ellana felt her stomach lurch as hatred dominated his face. In that moment, he was truly frightening, and she couldn’t blame the mages for shrinking back in fear.

“We didn’t know! It was just a spirit. The book said it could help us!”

To her horror, her heart raised his staff, and she felt the veil begin to bend around him as he summoned the energy to cast.

“Solas!” She moved towards him, and for a terrible moment felt the magic tremble hesitantly in the air, before his shoulders sagged and he lowered his arms, his gaze fierce.

“Never again,” he threatened, and the mages tripped over themselves in their eagerness to flee.

“Solas-”

“I need some time alone,” he said, without turning around. “I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

“Solas!”

But he was already striding away, his steps hurried and his back rigid as he rushed to put as much distance between them as he could.

“Ass,” Bull said with feeling, and Ellana felt her throat grow tight as blood dripped down her back.

“Here,” Dorian said, handing her a healing potion. “Drink this, since our healer and your self-involved lover seems to have made himself scarce.”

She took it from him numbly, watching as Solas crested the hill, his shoulders slumping in a way she’d seen only a handful of times before. Somehow, she swallowed the potion around the lump in her throat, and felt the cuts stitching themselves back together under Dorian’s gentle healing spell.

“I’m going after him,” she said, starting forward even as Dorian grabbed her arm to hold her back.

“Woah there,” he said. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No.”

Bull caught her other arm.

“Do you think he deserves it?”

“Also no.”

Dorian sighed.

“But you’re going to go after him anyway, aren’t you?”

She sighed as Solas disappeared over the hill.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

She catches up to him just as he’s leaving the edge of the river and heading into a copse of trees. The air is cold in her lungs and she doesn’t know whether she wants to hold him, slap him, or shout at him.

Everything about the situation is outside her realms of experience. Solas’s fear is nothing new to her, but his panic certainly is, and the look on his face when he’d turned towards the mages frightens her. In that moment, she is certain he meant to kill them, and would have done if she hadn’t stepped in.

That he would kill people to avenge a spirit is shocking to her, but not more shocking than the pain in his eyes; as though his dearest friend and a piece of his heart had just been lost to the wind. She understood, on an intellectual level, that Solas saw spirits as equal to or perhaps as even more worthy than other sentient creatures, but she has never truly appreciated it until now.

That he would storm away, leaving her injured and bleeding, aches far more than the demon’s claws did. Rationally, she knows he probably didn’t realise she was wounded, but after so many tender nights and whispered declarations of love, the fact that he would still flee to grieve alone both hurts and horrifies her.

She doesn’t know whether she’s been driven to follow him because she wants to soothe his hurt, or lash out at him for running away. She settles for shouting at him.

“By the Blight Solas, will you slow down?”

He stills at the edge of the trees while she struggles her way out of the river. Even from this distance she can see the rigidity in his back, the vice-like grip he has on his staff, and the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders.

The physical evidence of his distress cools some of her anger, and she approaches him slowly, as though calming a frightened animal.

“Solas.”

She stops a short distance away, gentling her voice, and at the sound of his name a tremor runs through his body, as though he doesn’t know whether to face her or run.

She waits, but he makes no move in either direction. Perhaps, she thinks, he can’t.

Slowly, she walks forward, her frustration vanishing as she takes in the trembling of his body, and concern replacing her anger as she comes to stand in front of him, and finds his eyes screwed shut and his teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard, that a trickle of blood runs into the dimple of his chin.

“Oh,” she whispers softly. “Oh, Solas. Ma lath. I’m so sorry.”

A tremor that seems to rise right through his stomach shakes his body, and he doubles over and clings to his staff for support.

“Solas-”

Another tremor wracks through him soundlessly, more blood spilling down his chin as he attempts to hold himself together, and Ellana imagines she can see the weight of his grief building in his chest like a tidal wave.

She has seen her love fierce and proud, fearful and weeping, tender and loving, graceful and brave, and she thought that she’d seen the depths of his emotion. But she has never seen him like this.

It hits her with the force of a spirit blast. He isn’t just upset. He’s distraught.

She isn’t sure who moves first.

She only knows that at some point Solas is on his knees, reaching blindly for her as his staff falls to the ground at his side, and a sound like a wounded animal is tearing from his throat, and she can’t get close enough to him quickly enough.

She surges forward, dropping to her knees and pulling him into her chest, and he clings onto her and screams.

With his face pressed into her armour, he bites down on the leather over her chest and howls out a cry of such hopeless grief, that tears fall from her own eyes and drip down the top of his head.

“Ma’sa’lath,” she whispers, cradling him as close as she can. “Ir abelas. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Vhenan, please don’t despair. Ir athra. Ar lath ma. I’m sorry.”

He sobs so violently that she can barely hold onto him, his shoulders lurching inside the circle of her arms, and his hands clawing at her so fiercely that she’s sure they’ll leave bruises.

She tightens her grip, pressing trembling kisses to every inch of his skin she can reach while he hides himself against her chest and cries convulsively.

The noises he’s making are almost inhuman, and all she can do is hold him and whisper her love again and again, and pray that it’s enough.

She’s so caught up in his distress that she doesn’t notice Bull and Dorian’s approach until they’re only a few metres away, and running towards them with their weapons raised. It takes her a moment to realise that they must have thought Solas’s screams were some kind of an attack, and she bends herself over his body to shelter him from their disbelieving stares as they freeze in place.

Bull’s face breaks open in surprise, and she thinks she sees a trace of guilt appear in his eye as he turns away, no doubt remembering that he had argued they should just kill the demon while they had the chance.

He, at least, has the presence of mind to avert his gaze, but Dorian seems rooted to the spot, his mouth gaping open as he takes in the sight of Solas falling to pieces in her arms.

She thanks all the gods that her heart is too caught up in his grief to realise they have an audience, and she shoots Dorian a glare worthy of Vivienne as she twists herself to protect his privacy as much as she can.

That seems to shake him from his shock. His face flushes with shame and Bull takes him by the arm and tugs him back the way they came. Ellana waits until they’re out of sight again before she draws back and cradles Solas’s face in her hands.

Her heart breaks.

Blood is streaked across his chin and his lips are raw and bleeding. His face is damp and his eyes are screwed up tightly against the tears that are still falling. As she draws him back, his hands come up to grip her arms, and desperate, painful sobs tumble from his mouth as he clings to her and tries to catch his breath.

She can see now that he’s inconsolable, in the fullest sense of the word, and she can’t help but feel a rush of glorious relief that she’d trusted her instincts, and ignored Bull’s suggestion to kill the demon before they broke the binding.

The thought of what she could have done makes her whole body feel cold, and she presses her forehead to Solas’s and murmurs soft words to him while he cries.

The truth is, she’d had no idea how important Wisdom was to him. She’d understood that it was unusual for him to ask for help, and that he must have cared in some way, but she hadn’t realised the depth of his feelings until this very moment.

Would he have been able to forgive her if she’d ordered the execution of his friend?

Holding him in her arms now, she knows that he wouldn’t, and the thought of how close she’d come to losing him without even realising it terrifies her.

He pushes himself into her now, still choking on his own painful breaths, and she lets him bury his face in her neck and wrap his arms tightly around her waist, while she nuzzles against his temple and rocks him gently.

It takes a long time for him to calm himself; so long that the afternoon is nearly spent and the shadows are lengthening across the ground by the time his shoulders stop shaking. She presses soft kisses to his head, his temple, and his cheek, gentling him as he comes back to himself slowly.

But still, his hurt is a raw and ragged thing, and the force of it scares her.

“Ma lath,” she says against his ear. “Ir abelas. You have lost someone you loved. I had no idea how much until now. Forgive me.”

Finally, he pulls away enough to look up at her, his eyes glazed and haunted and his face still streaked with blood and tears.

“Tel’abelas,” he says hoarsely. “You tried.”

He chokes and closes his eyes again, leaning his forehead against her cheek while he gathers himself.

“Most people would have killed them without thought-” His sentence is broken off by a whimper that takes him by surprise, and she cradles the back of his head and hushes him until he can speak again. “You were kind,” he says at last.

He holds her as though afraid she will let go, and then raises his head to press their foreheads together, his eyes still closed.

“Vhenan,” he whispers mournfully, and she captures his lips in a tender kiss that he responds to with all of the force of a hurricane.

She gasps into his mouth as he parts her lips and swallows the sound desperately. She tastes salt and blood and cups his face in her hands, softening his urgency until he lets her soothe him with slow rolls of her tongue and tender presses of her lips to his.

It’s her gentleness, in the end, that breaks him.

He sobs into her mouth, finally opening his eyes to look at her properly, and she wipes his tears away and kisses him softly one more time.

“Tell me about them,” she says quietly, and he sucks in a breath and lets her clean the blood from his face and lace her fingers with his.

“They were my oldest friend,” he says at last. “My whole life, they’ve been there to offer guidance and knowledge. I…”

He trails off, looking so lost that she brings his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles reassuringly.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without them,” he admits in a small voice. “Even when I was all alone, even after…” He swallows hard and shakes his head. “They were always there.”

Tears well in his eyes again and he blinks them back, his grip tightening on her hand almost painfully.

“They didn’t deserve that end,” he says fiercely. “Thousands of years they’ve walked the Fade, seeking wisdom and sharing it with whoever wanted to learn. That they could be destroyed by such selfish ignorance is a mockery of everything they stood for. Of everything they were.”

He draws in another shaky breath and leans into her touch as she cups his face with the hand not holding his.

“You don’t just mourn them for yourself,” she realises gently. “You mourn that the world has lost something so special.”

He nods and turns his face into her hand, another few tears slipping down his cheeks that she brushes away silently.

“And the worst part is, hardly anyone will know,” he chokes. “So few people seek the company of spirits. Thousands of years’ worth of knowledge and aid are gone, and no-one will even mourn them.”

He swallows down another sob and Ellana leans in to kiss him again.

“We will mourn them,” she says. “They won’t be forgotten. I promise.”

When she pulls back again, Solas is looking at her with so much love in his eyes that it steals her breath away.

“Vhenan,” he murmurs. “This world deserves you even less than it deserved Wisdom. I will never be able to make you understand how special you are.”

She blushes furiously and drops her gaze, but he catches her chin and kisses her fiercely, and she lets him sweep her up in his need until his tears have ended and twilight falls across the sky.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “For coming after me.”

“Always,” she promises, and then hesitates. “Do you still want to be alone?”

“No,” he admits with a grimace. “But I need to be. For a little while, at least.”

Her heart clenches, even as she nods in understanding.

“Don’t stay away too long.”

Somehow, his smile is even sadder than his tears.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

“Ar lath ma.”

When he sighs against her neck, she feels as though she can hear his heart breaking, but she doesn’t understand why.

Chapter Text

He stays away from Skyhold for nearly a month. He doesn’t mean to, but outside of the Fade the world suddenly feels colder and more unreal than ever. While his physical body shivers, sleeping in caves and waking only to eat sparingly or reset his wards, Solas scours the Fade for any sign of his friend.

But his emotions betray him.

The place beyond the veil is not restful when his grief is still so fresh, and all manner of demons linger at the edges of his perception, swarming with enough despair and regret to overwhelm even him.

Some twist into Wisdom’s likeness, screaming as it was torn from the Fade, begging him for help and accusing him of failure. He turns into a wolf and shakes the regret demon like a ragdoll.

Others re-enact the screams of dying Elvhen, tormenting him with his guilt until he trembles, cowering in the dark.

But the worst of them pluck his heart right out of his chest, staring at him through Ellana’s eyes and sneering:

You are the Dread Wolf. How could anyone ever love you?

“Please,” he whispers. “Please.”

Her face contorts in hate.

You will always be alone, she hisses, and he wakes in a cold sweat, alone in the darkness of his cave.

With his defences so thoroughly weakened, it takes him weeks to find the delicate tendrils of familiar energy shifting in the void where Wisdom once lingered. When he finally does, the discovery is bittersweet, and he sits for a long time in the place where his friend should be, murmuring his encouragement to the fledgling idea, and apologising even though he knows it doesn’t hear, and wouldn’t understand even if it could.

By the time he finally walks back over the bridge into Skyhold, he has said his goodbyes to Wisdom, but he feels fragile in ways he can’t articulate. His guilt is tender and painful, and the demons wearing Ellana’s face have opened raw wounds in his soul that seem to steal the strength from his very blood.

He is torn between a terrible, painful longing for her, and a desperate fear that she will turn him away. After all, he’s been gone far longer than either of them knew he would be, and she must feel as though he’s abandoned her.

The demon’s eyes – her eyes - dark with hatred, replay in his mind as he walks through the gates, and he feels a sinking sense of resignation take root in his chest. It would be better if she rejected him. Kinder of him to let her go. She deserves better. Is better than he could ever deserve.

It is Solas she loves, not the Dread Wolf, and though he hides from the truth of it, he is and has always been both. He should let her go.

This is what he tells himself as he enters his old castle, hunched under thousands of years worth of freshly-opened pain, but then he sees her walking down the stairs towards him, and all of his thoughts fall silent in favour of a single word, booming like a siren in his head.

Vhenan.

Everything else falls away, and he feels as though his heart is pulsing in his throat while his very soul tries to leap out of his skin towards her.

My heart. My home. My one love.

He struggles to keep his pace steady while she waits on the final step, smiling a hesitant smile as he approaches.

It is viscerally painful, how much he’s missed her, and the need to hold her is a burning fire in his fingertips. His eyes rove over her hungrily, assessing dark rings under her eyes, noticing how her hair has grown since he’d last seen her, and taking in the new darker leggings she’s wearing that hug against her hips.

Home, his soul insists. I am home.

He comes to a stop in front of her, uncertain of his welcome and needing desperately to be closer to her, even as he holds himself back.

“How are you, Solas?” She asks softly, and he answers her as truthfully as he can.

“It hurts. It always does. But I will survive.”

He can see in the hesitation of her smile that she didn’t expect him to return, and he adds another shade of guilt to his growing tapestry, that he has given her cause to doubt his love for her.

She asks him of his friend, of the deaths of spirits, and he answers her as calmly as he can, while the maelstrom of his deepest fears and hurts pulse insistently beneath his ribs.

Forgive me, his heart beats, even as his mind screams Curse me, and his soul claws at the prison of his past to be near to her again.

“The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone,” she says at last, and his throat closes up in response.

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone,” he says softly.

“I know.”

She smiles at him tenderly, with compassion he doesn’t deserve, and he almost reaches out for her. Instead, he says:

“I’ll work on it.”

She nods and studies his face carefully, searching for something he can’t place. He looks away over her shoulder, his emotions still far too close to the surface, and his body trembling to touch her. He’s just about to excuse himself, to slink away to his quarters like a coward, when she steps forward into his space and wraps her arms around him gently, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting Solas,” she says, her breath hot on his ear. “But I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.”

His body moulds to her as though she is truly the missing half of him, and he huffs out a ragged breath and holds her tightly, his chest aching as he buries his face in her hair and breathes her in.

Ar lath ma, he thinks fiercely, his fingers twining in her hair and drawing her against him until there’s scarcely a space between them.

“I’ve missed you more than I can say,” he breathes, and she pulls back to kiss him softly.

The press of her lips against his is a balm to his battered heart, and at the same time, threatens to crack his tenuous hold on composure. He cups her face and holds her close, brushing featherlight kisses over the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, and her forehead until she smiles warmly up at him and tugs his hands insistently.

He catches the restrained heat in her eyes and has to swallow down a sob of relief and want as she leads him up the stairs. He knows, as they wind through Skyhold, her hand solid and warm in his, that he doesn’t deserve to be welcomed back so easily, but it’s all he can do not to get down on his knees and worship her in the middle of the castle.

He would give her anything she asked of him, if only she would promise to keep on looking at him with the love in her eyes he can see there now. Since Wisdom’s death, he’s felt more alone than ever, but with a single touch she’s brought him back to the world again.

She is a promise that he is loved. That he is wanted.

That he isn’t alone.

He needs her so much it hurts.

As soon as the door to her quarters is closed behind them, he is on her, pushing her back towards the bed, his mouth hot and needy against hers and his hands roaming everywhere, as though trying to feel all of her at once.

She meets his fervour in kind, twisting to push him down on the bed and then climbing into his lap, her lips never leaving his.

He makes a guttural, wanting sound low in his throat and grips her hips as she rocks against him, feeling himself harden as he sucks at her neck.

“Solas,” she breathes, and he bites down on the tender skin and draws a moan from her that lights a fire in his blood.

Save me, his heart beats as she tugs his tunic over his head.

Love me, his soul begs as he runs his hands along her waist.

Make me forget.

There is no grace in their reunion; no patient waiting or tender exploration of each other’s bodies. He is desperate for her, his hurt a storm in his chest and his cock aching and insistent between his legs. Every touch of her skin against his sends him into a frenzy; every brush of her lips is both fire and ice, both pleasure and pain.

He makes deep, pleading noises as she runs her nails over his back. He gasps as she nips at his ear and groans with a helpless sort of need as she wraps her hand around his length and starts to stroke him.

“Vhenan,” he pants. “Vhenan, I need you.”

“Yes,” she agrees breathlessly, and pulls him down onto the bed to hook one leg over his hip and grind wantonly against him.

He chokes on pleasure and want, and wraps his arms around her waist to pull her closer as she uses one hand to position him against her entrance. She’s already wet and ready, and the physical evidence of her desire for him draws a pained sigh from his throat as he slides into her, her heat enveloping him wholly and completely.

She sighs with similar relief as he sheaths himself fully inside her, and lying next to each other on the bed, his arms around her waist and hers about his shoulders, they fall still for a long moment, simply holding each other close.

He pushes his face into her neck, feeling her breath tickle his ear, and stifling a groan as she clenches around him and the tension in his body grows.

“Solas.”

He breaks, rolling his hips suddenly and making them both gasp. She tries to readjust their position to gain better leverage, but he can’t bear the thought of parting from her for even a second. He grips her tightly, pulling them flush against each other’s chests, her legs tangled with his, her arms tightly around him, and his face still pressed into her neck.

“Solas-”

He bites down on her, hard enough to bruise, and snaps his hips again until she cries out and clings onto him.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He can’t let her go, even as his pleasure begins to coil tightly in his stomach and he feels her start to shudder around him. He sets a relentless pace, drawing keening moans from her even though their position limits the amount he can move.

He won’t let her go. He can’t. He wants to disappear inside her, mark her, hold onto to her until he forgets his own name.

He feels her stiffen against him far too soon, her voice rising and carrying him with it. His hips start to stutter, pleasure crashing over him in waves as he nears his end. He bites down on her again, muffling his own cries against her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat and digging his fingers into her back as she rakes her nails down his.

They crest together at the same time, her name on his lips and his on hers, both of them shaking and clinging to each other as they ride out their shared aftershocks and the tension in his body drains away into something soft and warm.

When he finally comes back to himself, he realises he’s trembling, and Ellana’s legs are still tangled with his while her fingers trail soothing patterns across his back.

“Ma lath,” she whispers against his ear. “You should not have stayed away so long.”

He draws in a ragged breath against her neck, his eyes screwed shut and his arms locked tightly around her. He feels himself start to soften inside her, but he holds fast to her still, needing the feel of her skin, and the steady rise and fall of her chest against his.

She lets him stay there in blissful silence, occasionally pressing soft kisses to his temple and nuzzling at the side of his face. Her kindness will break him, and he craves it as a Templar craves lyrium.

“Solas…”

She loosens her grip on him slightly and he tightens his in response, shaking his head and burrowing his face more deeply into her.

“What’s wrong?” She asks quietly, holding him closer again.

Everything.

He takes another shaky breath, knowing what he longs to hear and fearing that she will deny him.

“Tell me-” he starts in a cracked voice, and then breaks off again with another shake of his head.

She waits patiently for him to muster his courage, and eventually his vulnerability outstrips his strength.

“Say that I am good,” he whispers brokenly into her skin.

Her fingers still against his back, and he swallows hard and clutches her close.

“Sathan,” he tries again. “Please.”

“Oh, ma lath,” she breathes. “You are good.”

His eyes burn, and he lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and allows her to draw him back.

“Look at me.”

Her hands come up to cradle his face, and he obeys, his eyes opening and his heart clenching as she rests their foreheads together.

“You are so good, Solas,” she tells him. “What happened to Wisdom wasn’t your fault.”

He swallows the lump in his throat and his eyes dart away.

“I couldn’t save it,” he chokes.

“No,” she agrees. “But neither did you kill it.”

He nods, his vision blurring.

“I stayed away too long,” he confesses next. “I made you doubt I would return.”

He watches the flicker of hurt pass behind her eyes and tightens his hold around her waist.

“Ir abelas. Forgive me.”

She kisses him.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he insists thickly. “Not you. Never you.”

His bottom lip trembles when she kisses him again, and he swallows a sob as she suckles on it gently, soothing him in the way only she can.

“Consider yourself forgiven,” she smiles, and he melts against her, the tension in his body finally draining away.

“Now it’s your turn,” she says.

He looks at her, confused, and leans into her touch as she sweeps her thumb across his cheek.

“Say it.”

His breath catches in his throat as he realises what she wants, and he looks away, turning his face into the palm of her hand.

“Solas,” she encourages. “Say it.”

He swallows.

“I am good,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“You are,” she agrees tenderly. “And you’re exhausted.”

He finally lets her readjust their position, and she draws him up the bed to settle his head on her shoulder and hold him more comfortably.

“Sleep now, ma lath,” she says. “You are home now.”

He brings her hand to his lips and kisses the inside of her wrist.

“Ar isalan na, vhenan.”