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Chapter Text

When Ellana Lavellan woke, she was haunted by the whisper of her former lover’s voice echoing through time just to haunt her.

Ir abelas, vhenan.

She sat up gasping and panicked. She laid naked in a mouldy bed overgrown with ivy and weeds. Thorns dug into her flesh, and she tugged at them absently as her breathing became fast and airy. It was dark except for the beam of light that spilled through a small window near the ceiling on the south side of the room, but she could smell the decaying earth that occupied the space; the dust that lined what little furniture remained in the ruin of her residence.

Ellana could not recall her last memory before waking, which only escalated her fear.

She threw her legs off the side of the bed and stood on trembling, unsteady legs. Pain lanced through her calves and thighs like bolts of lightning, but her shock numbed her to most of it.

She pressed herself against the nearest wall and slowly, with her only good hand, trailed her fingers along it in search of a door. 

Memories tugged at her subconscious, but every time she tried to grasp one it fluttered away. A thousand questions were pushed aside to allow her to center on survival. Her heart pounded, even though the only thing she could possibly fear was the lack of knowledge she had of the situation.

Eventually, her hand closed around a rusty doorknob, and she eased it open with a gentle tug. Light greeted her on the other side, bright enough to momentarily blind her. When she caught her bearings, she opened her eyes to find an unimpressive old stone hallway.

Ellana’s arms folded over her chest as she stepped out of the stuffy room. She found a set of ancient, musty curtains and pulled the fabric down to cover herself with; coughing as a plume of dust assailed her. Once she had her nakedness poorly concealed, she stood on her toes to peek out the narrow window.

The sight made her gasp and stumble away. 

She was in Skyhold—she would know those mountains anywhere. Only, the landscape has changed significantly from her last memory (if that could even be trusted.) The land looked barren and destroyed, fissured by something unnaturally powerful.

Ellana wasted no more time ambling about in confusion. Now that she knew where she was, she stormed down the hallway and made her way to the main hall directly.

Though she stumbled a few times over the curtain that was spilling onto the floor, she found the main hall in quick time. Gasping for breath and surprised by her sudden lack of athleticism, she pushed herself through the door that served as her final barrier to getting answers—and was greeted by a large, luxurious room filled with spirits and elves alike.

Everyone froze at her entrance. She pulled the fabric around her chest tighter and tried to find a familiar face in the sea of strangers. This proved to be impossible; after all, if Skyhold was unrecognizable to her now, how could she expect its inhabitants to be?

A young Dalish man hastily set down a tray and ran through the crowd, towards where she knew the throne should be. He disappeared behind the left side door. 

Ellana blinked rapidly and found herself at a loss for words. For once in her life, she had no idea what to say or what questions to ask. When the Breach tore through the sky with the key to closing it in her hand, she knew exactly what to say to persuade her captors that she was not to blame. When she was Inquisitor, she managed to gain the trust of so many differently thinking people.

She was articulate, calculated—kind but unyielding. Now, she felt like a scared young woman who could very possibly burst into tears at any moment.

The Dalish man returned, holding the door open for whoever Ellana assumed was commanding the castle now. The man that followed was a tall and formidable elf, with slicked black hair and sharp gold eyes. He was barrel-chested beneath his extravagant armor, and the way he carried himself suggested he was high-born…which couldn’t be right. He was an elven man—elves could not be nobility.

It didn’t take Ellana long to connect the dots. This was one of the Evanuris. She could see traces of familiarity in this god’s expression and his gait. He knew he was a deity to be worshiped and thus walked like one, shoulders squared and head held high.

Ellana pushed her back against the door as the god approached her. He stopped a foot away, towering over her as he not-so-subtly scanned her entire body before landing on her face.

“Miss Lavellan, it seems you have woken earlier than I anticipated,” he announced in a deep, elegant voice.

“Elgar’nan,” she whispered, at once terrified and confused. Her voice cracked with unuse, which shot a bolt of anxiety through her body. How long has it been since she last spoke?

“Well, aren’t you clever,” he muttered, turning to summon a female spirit to his side. “Find the fen’s beilhm some clothes and make her decent. I’ll speak to her when she will actually hear my words.”

Elgar’nan spun away from her in disgust and made his way toward the massive throne to mount it.

The spirit herded Ellana away, and she allowed it. Her mind was beginning to haze, yet she managed to hold firm on one odd detail.

Elgar’nan had called her the wolf’s bitch.

——

The spirit woman was gentle as she combed through Ellana’s unruly hair. The red-gold mass had grown so long that the tips brushed her lower back, though the woman made no moves to chop it; only tame it.

“What’s your name?” Ellana asked hesitantly, glancing at the spirit in the vanity mirror. She had short, choppy hair and an angular face. Like most spirits, her form was wispy and translucent.

“Patience,” the spirit replied.

Huh. Ellana could not recall ever hearing about nor meeting a spirit of patience. She studied the woman as she continued to smooth her hair into what she assumed would be the most managed it could get without being washed.

Patience dressed her in an Elvhenan inspired gown both historical and modern at once. It was flowy and comfortable, but far too long and it hung from her shoulders loosely. She raised her eyebrows at the spirit, hoping Patience would explain why she was making Ellana dress in a gown meant for a Qunari, but the spirit only went about adjusting the fabric in silence.

Eventually, the dress was altered enough to walk in, and Ellana followed Patience out of the room to undoubtedly meet with the god who seems to be holding her captive.

What happened? How did she end up here? Traces of memory danced just beyond her reach, leaving behind trails of breadcrumbs: the Inquisition formally disbanded, she lost her arm, she worked with what team remained to stop Solas—ah yes, Solas. Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf who she once called her  lover.

Fear lanced through her chest, making her halt in place halfway down the stairs. Patience stopped a few feet below her and regarded her with large eyes.

Spirits and elves. Elgar’nan. A ruined and rebuilt Skyhold. An unrecognizable landscape.

“Come, Miss Lavellan,” Patience murmured, stretching out a hand. “His Grace will explain everything.”

Ellana could do nothing but take the spirit’s cold hand and allow herself to be tugged the rest of the way to what once was the war room.

The All-Father was seated at the head of a luxurious ebony table, glaring expectantly at her. He was intimidating as he was uncanny. Ellana had to suppress the fear that was rising beneath her skin as she sat down across from him, stilling her trembling hand in her lap.

“He succeeded,” she whispered in a shaking voice, heartbroken and angry. “He tore down the Veil and set you free.”

“Not by choice,” Elgar’nan admitted. “Fen’harel carefully crafted a new prison for us remaining Evanuris to rot in, only to successfully incarcerate Ghilan’nain. The ritual was briefly disrupted and I managed to escape.”

Ellana scowled. “If the ritual was disrupted, then does that mean he did not—”

“He killed the disruption and continued as planned,” he said, rubbing his temple. “I said a brief disruption, Ellana.”

She shivered at his use of her first name but soldiered on in her questioning—if anything, to keep herself sane. “Where is he, then? Why am I here with you?” Why am I still alive?

“Halfway across the continent trying to fix his mistakes.” Elgar’nan waved an uncaring hand at her. “Leave it to him to destroy a world then decide it’s worth saving. He’s spent the last two centuries trying to help the dying races, but it's a lost cause.”

“Two centuries?” she repeated in a shrill voice. The panic she so carefully contained was beginning to quickly spill from its confines. “How—I don’t understand. I’m not…how long have I been…”

“Three hundred years,” he answered her unfinished question casually. “I found you after the Unification half-alive and weak, so I thought you’d be a great pawn to use against Fen’harel when the time came.” He sighed wearily and dragged a hand down his face. “I hoped you would sleep until he settled with his savior complex, but I suppose my magic has been somewhat erratic as of late—still potent, of course, do not mistake me.”

Ellana’s breath was coming in short gasps when she felt a cold hand smooth back the hair on the crown of her head. She turned to find Patience was still there, offering her a calm smile.

“I should be dead,” Ellana said stupidly. “I was sleeping?” She paused, semi-lulled by the spirit’s caresses. “Was it that sleep Solas told me about? He spoke of a deep slumber that he fell into after he imprisoned the Evanuris…but I’m not a god.”

“No, but I am, and you are a descendant of my kind; weak, frail thing that you are.” Elgar’nan studied her blatantly, not bothering to hide his disgust and contempt. “But yes, you are correct. I put you into uthenera. It took me months to figure out, but eventually I managed to make you comatose. I nearly thought I killed you at first.”

Ellana covered her mouth with her hand. Everyone she knew was dead. All of her friends, what remained of her family, gone like puffs of smoke in an instant. She was alone.

“Why?” she cried out, shoving herself quickly to her feet. She stumbled backwards until her back hit the cold stone wall. “You put me to sleep for three hundred years to use as a pawn against Solas ? Are you simple? I am worth nothing to him!”

A manic laugh burst from her chest and she shook her head in disbelief. “Three centuries. I am not even a flickering candle in his memory. We were lovers for what—a year? He easily abandoned me because of his false sense of duty, he’ll assuredly do it again.”

Elgar’nan’s cheeks were a vibrant red, his unsettling eyes glossed over with anger. “I am not simple, though it seems I overestimated your intelligence.”

“Why three hundred years?” she sobbed. “Why not heal me and use me against him immediately?”

“Because you had powerful friends that would have been annoyances if they knew you lived.” Elgar’nan stood and rounded the table until he towered over her, caging her in. “And I know Fen’harel better than you ever have. I knew a few centuries of this world he made would break his resolve down. If I offered you to him—a small sliver of hope to end his torment—he would give up all his misery for your worthless mortal happiness.”

Ellana stared at him incredulously. “You truly believe his affection for me was that strong? You are mad.”

Elgar’nan grabbed her neck between one large hand and drew her near, making her groan in pain and squirm. “You will see, Ellana. I will prove you wrong.”

He tossed her aside and she collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. She massaged her bruising neck and glanced up at him, not shielding him from the hate that rushed through her in a hot wave.

“What does he have that you want?” she asked in a small voice. Her eyes flickered around the luxurious room in confusion. “It seems to me that you have some kind of title in this new world. You have command over Skyhold, after all.”

“I want everything,” he said dismissively. “I want what he took from me and more. We’ve come to an impasse, yes, but you will be the object that causes the resurgence of a war.”

“I will kill myself,” she said coldly. “If this world has finally found some semblance of peace, then I won’t be the cause of disturbing it.”

Elgar’nan laughed at that, loud and abrupt. “Good luck with that.”

She growled in frustration and glanced at Patience, who was standing still and watching the scene unfold passively.

“What’s next, then?” she asked, directing her gaze back to Elgar’nan. She remained sprawled on the floor, too afraid to try and stand in the god’s presence lest she fail in her weakness.

“I lure the Dread Wolf with promises of discussion about land and treaties, then I will present you,” he said simply.

Patience knelt down beside her and offered her a hand. Ellana took it and allowed the spirit to help her stand. Once they were upright, the spirit did not let go. Ellana leaned on her gratefully.

“And if he won’t take the bait?” she asked Elgar’nan.

“Then I will find some other use for you,” he muttered dismissively.

Chapter Text

Solas nearly sent away the servant and the damned letter from Elgar’nan, but he knew better than to ignore him. So, he agreed and listened when the summons was read aloud.

He was lounging in the palace’s large bath, eyes closed as the hot water soothed his muscles. Once the servant finished reciting the letter’s contents, his eyes peeled open with suspicion.

The fool was going to play a trick on him, he could sense it beneath his proper wording. This was not the first time Elgar’nan tried to pull something over him. Fifty years ago, Solas was presented with an ultimatum—that he hand over what once was Orlais or all the eluvians in the south would be destroyed. Obviously, Solas had refused and chose to ignore the threat in his wording: Give me more land or your ease of travel into my territory will be destroyed. An obvious threat of war.

Elgar’nan did not follow through, of course. The loss of easy travel would impact him more than it ever would Solas, but the pathetic man was running out of leverage. 

It was inevitable, he supposed. Elgar’nan hated Solas for his imprisonment and would hold it against him for eternity. Neither of them were strong enough to kill the other. This forced coexistence had to end eventually, and he would be an idiot to believe it wouldn’t be bloody.

His servant scurried away at his command. Though he never meant to intimidate anyone under his employ, he’d grown used to the terrified expressions and tense body language of his servants. He treated all of them well throughout the centuries, but he couldn’t expect them to relax in the presence of a proclaimed deity—even if he’s spent those centuries fighting desperately against that lie.

Solas stood and exited the bath, giving up any pretense of relaxing. A robe was draped over him almost immediately, and he suppressed the familiar sting of guilt. I tore apart this world and now I am benefiting off its remains.

He made his way slowly through the halls of the palace, ignoring the fear and respect in its inhabitants eyes. No matter how hard he tried, nor how many murals he decorated it with, Solas could not see this palace as his. He conquered it a while back from some corrupt elven nobility that had enslaved over a hundred Qunari. Solas killed the corrupt nobility and freed their slaves, of course—had he not, the Qunari would be but a myth in the north-east.

This palace did not exist before the Unification, though only Solas could know that. The island of Seheron would never have such a luxurious and so-very-elven structure in its capital. 

Seheron was beautiful once; rich in culture and its nature. He seemed to destroy that alongside the Veil.

Once he was inside the grand study, he lowered himself into the giant chair at his desk. After pinching the bridge of his nose and steadying his breath, he began penning his reply to Elgar’nan. It was just as patronizing as its recipient’s.

——

Ellana tightened her towel around her body as she looked at the dress she was expected to wear. It was too formal, too confining. And far too elven, even for her.

“Is this all that remains now? Elven culture?” Ellana asked Patience as she dragged her wet fingers down the silken skirts, earning a cold reprimanding smack from the spirit. “The castle has been stripped of all that once made it cozy. Skyhold is between Orlais and Ferelden. Are those countries and customs just history now?”

“They have not disappeared completely, but they have been dominated,” Patience murmured, urging her to the vanity chair. “I suppose that you have lots to catch up on, Miss Lavellan.”

She laughed ruefully as the spirit began to comb and trim her hair now that it was clean. “That’s an understatement.”

“I would be willing to fill you in.” Patience’s voice was followed by the snipping of shears. “I have been told I am the ideal teacher.”

Ellana grinned at the spirit through the mirror. “I must admit to you, I never knew there were spirits of patience before.”

“There are many kinds of spirits, now free because of the Dread Wolf,” she replied, setting aside the shears to style Ellana’s hair. She left it long, though now it only fell to her mid-back.

“If you are free, then why do you serve Elgar’nan?” Ellana asked softly, noticing the sad expression tugging on the spirit’s features.

“One cannot really be free unless everyone else is, too,” Patience explained. “And some people don’t use their freedom as they should.”

“No,” agreed Ellana. “No, they don’t.”

“After the Unification—that is the event of the Veil’s destruction—elves were restored to their former glory, though it took a few generations to settle; and spirits were free to roam again.” Patience began tying Ellana’s hair half-way up. “With spirits came the demons, of course. Those demons killed many and left such horrible carnage behind. Most of the victims were elves and humans.”

Ellana scowled. “Elgar’nan mentioned dying races. Is that elves and humans then? There seems to be an ample amount of strong, tall elven people in this castle.”

Patience drew back and twisted her mouth in thought before she spoke. “Humans, yes. Elves, no. It is the Qunari that have become scarce.”

She turned to look at the spirit in dismay. “How? You said they were mostly spared from the Unification.”

“Demons are not the only entities that lust for blood,” the spirit said sorrowfully.

Ellana took a deep breath and turned back to face the mirror. “What of the dwarves?”

“Thriving beneath the earth,” Patience said, cheerful at finally delivering good news. “Two hundred years ago, Fen’harel found a way to return the Titan’s dreams that he stole, and now the durgen’len have rebuilt all that was lost to them. In fact, the dwarves are the reason why so many Qunari have died. Surfacer dwarves in Rivain conquered Par Vollen, which resulted in many casualties.”

She took a deep breath and shook her head incredulously. “Wait. Fen’harel stole their dreams?”

Patience froze in place like a deer sighting a fox. “Oh. You do not know. He did not tell you then.”

Ellana knew she’d regret it, but she made herself ask, “Tell me what?”

Patience pulled over a chair and sat beside Ellana, taking her trembling hand between both of hers. “What has your god already told you?”

“He isn’t my god ,” she muttered petulantly. “He told me the Evanuris were tyrannical and that he banished them, which resulted in the creation of the Veil.”

“That is all?”

Ellana blushed and floundered for more details. “He said something about how they murdered Mythal and how they enslaved their own. That’s all I know.”

Patience took a deep breath and launched into a more thorough explanation of the Evanuris and their downfall. She told Ellana of the spirits that stole lyrium from the Titans to create physical bodies, of the dagger that severed the Titans’ dreams to silence them. She told her of cruel wars waged and the casualties, about the death of a kind goddess who did not deserve her fate. Lastly, she explained how the blight actually took root in the earth, and the trapped gods that sent their dragon thralls to terrorize Thedas for centuries.

Ellana listened to it all as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. When the terrible tale was finished, she threw herself toward the chamberpot and promptly vomited.

——

“She is terrified but fights not to show it. Her eyes are glassy with fear, but her shoulders are still held high,” Cole murmured. “She does not know whose hands she would rather end up in at the end of this evening.”

Solas shuddered and placed a hand on the spirit’s shoulder. “I do not want to know whose thoughts you are reading. Please, say no more.”

Cole glanced up at him. After seeing the spirit’s true form for so long, being in this castle again resurfaced the memory of the human body he was once acquainted with. Once, he had been a man with blonde hair and a homely face; now in his spirit form, he was a skinny young man with curly hair and wide set eyes. The innocence in his features suited him better, Solas thought.

He stepped into the garden and breathed in the fresh air that greeted him.  Skyhold was a place Solas had been more than willing to give to Elgar’nan. Though his days in the Inquisition were ancient history, the thought of it still stirred foreign emotions in his gut—both positive and negative. If he revisited those memories for too long, he’d become a coward and flee far from this castle.

One of Elgar’nan’s many slaves, a young elven woman with stringy black hair and wide brown eyes, bowed low to him and said, “His Grace awaits his esteemed guest in the main hall.”

Solas held back his sneer of contempt. “Of course. Thank you.”

He was unsurprised to find that, despite all the time that has passed, he still knew every nook and every room of Skyhold. Cole remained close as they entered the dimly-lit main hall. The high ceilinged room was empty of any traffic for his visit, barring a few servants and the host himself. Elgar’nan sat at a long table near one of the hearths, a nearly empty wine glass in hand.

“You are late,” he accused Solas with narrow eyes.

“You set an unrealistic time,” Solas countered as he took a seat at the table.

Elgar’nan snorted gracelessly and sat back in his chair. “Did you have to bring the halfwit?”

“He feels hope for the first time in a century. He wonders if this will be it, if this will finally be what sates his endless hunger,” Cole murmured in reply.

“Well?” Solas said, raising his eyebrows. “The halfwit has spoken. You obviously want something, so ask me now and spare my time.”

Elgar’nan scowled and set down his glass. “What, you won’t accept food first to soften you up? Have you always been so easy, dog?”

Solas smirked. “According to you, I was once easy enough to be tamed.”

“At least allow your glass to be filled.”

“Fine,” he said dismissively. Once a servant poured him a glass of red wine, he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I want Thedas,” Elgar’nan drawled.

“Wonderful, this again. What are you offering me now?” Solas could barely contain his disgust.

“Something priceless and undoubtedly worth the cost.” He paused and curled his lip. “Well, worth the cost for you. One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure, after all.”

Solas was growing more annoyed by the minute. “There is nothing you could give me that would be worth the cost. I told you and shall continue to tell you that I will never give you more land willingly, not without a war that you will assuredly lose.”

“I expected that. So, I prepared a different request instead.” Elgar’nan leaned forward with a scheming glint in his eyes. “Release Ghilan’nain.”

“Never,” Solas hissed.

“You might rethink that,” he said as a victorious look took over his features. “Patience, bring the woman out!”

Solas’ eyes snapped on the side door that peeled open at the booming sound of Elgar’nan’s yell. A female spirit spilled out, pulling with her the pale arm of a small elven woman. Her long red hair briefly shielded her face until she came to a stop and directed her gray eyes on him.

Solas froze and his breathing halted. The world felt like the eerie stillness after a terrible storm, like the uncanny silence that succeeds death.

Elgar’nan presented her with a satisfied grin. “Fen’harel, I’m sure you remember Ellana Lavellan.”

Chapter Text

Three hundred years ago, Solas stood beneath the starry night sky with his arms folded behind him and the wintry air stinging his cheek. The cold bit at his skin sharply, but the radiating warmth of a body blocked the boldest gusts of wind. That warmth brought with it the smell of floral soap and earth, of sweet sweat and traces of blood.

The woman that stood beside him should have been nothing more than a terrible reminder of his faults and his mistakes. She was small and skinny, without a trace of magic to call upon. Her cheekbones were adorned with a slaver’s mark—honoring his long dead friend, nonetheless. This woman would live for sixty more years, maybe a decade more if she was lucky. She was a remnant of something that was once ethereal, now domesticated and docile beneath the hands of mortality.

Yet, Ellana Lavellan stirred more than just the guilt he shouldered. Her short auburn hair, like silk beneath his hands, made his pulse quicken. Her clever words and sense of humor made him laugh. Her brave, kind heart was a shocking juxtaposition to the cruelty he was used to in figures of authority.

And her eyes—blue-gray like the sky before a storm—made him want to fall to his knees and weep, because when she looked at him, he saw compassion. Understanding. Respect. Knowledge. Love.

Ellana was shivering as she bent her head back to watch the stars, taking the brunt of the bursts of icy wind. Solas didn’t hesitate to move to the other side of her slowly, holding her gaze as he moved.

“You seem more thoughtful than usual this evening,” she commented, smirking as he stopped beside her. 

His back now protected her from the wind, but it would never be enough. “Have I ever told you how much you have surprised me, vhenan?”

Ellana’s mouth extended into a brilliant smile. “I tend to have that effect.”

He took her in his arms, for he never had self control when she looked at him like that. His resolve always weakened when she was near. It was dangerous, but he didn’t have the strength to distance himself from her. To meet someone that made him feel so much was rare.

Solas knew he would lose her eventually, but he never suspected he’d have so little time. A handful of months was all he had to be her lover, a few more filled with yearning and regret. Then, he’d left her to do his duty to the world; to fix the mistake he made.

But he grieved for Ellana just as much as he loved her.

——

Ellana stood in place and flexed the fingers of her strange new mechanical hand as Patience squeezed her arm reassuringly.

Solas had changed so much yet not at all. He was taller, broader, more confident—but those were details she recalled from meeting him in the Crossroads. He surprised her then, enough to make the thought of him being an elven god entirely plausible.

But, he wasn’t a god, was he? Neither of them were. They were spirits in stolen, sculpted bodies that used their power against those without it

He wore extravagant armor similar to what she saw him in once, ornate silver with a beautiful wolf’s pelt draped across the shoulders. Violet accented facets of the armor throughout, surfacing the purple of his irises.

“Impossible,” Solas whispered, clutching tightly to the edge of the table.

Elgar’nan stood and waved her closer. Patience urged her forward, and she tightened her grip on the spirit’s hand to steady herself. For some reason, she could not bring herself to look the Dread Wolf in the eye. Maybe, it was for fear of what she’d see in his gaze—if it would reveal how he really felt about this reunion.

Three centuries. She was just a speck of sand in a vast sea of his memories.

“I brought your mortal back from the dead, lapdog,” Elgar’nan announced as he stood to place a possessive hand on her shoulder. “I think it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

Ellana shrugged off his touch and stepped aside, sending him a look of loathing.

“This is not…there is no way she’s….” Solas was, for the first time she could recall, at a loss for words. 

“She’s real,” Elgar’nan assured him. “Touch her and your hand won’t pass through. She’s not some imposter either—most of her memories remain, so ask her anything.”

She couldn’t face Solas, no matter how hard she tried to make herself. She felt like a coward, suddenly made weak and craven in the presence of the man that broke her heart a very long time ago. 

“She is,” confirmed the spirit that stood behind Solas in an airy voice. “She is real, solid, more present than anyone in this hall. She is scared and confused, still in disbelief as she—”

“Cole,” Ellana cried out, surprising herself with her reaction. The spirit of compassion disappeared into the Fade not long after Solas’ revelation and never returned. Now she understood where he went, and it felt like a knife was twisting into her gut.

“Sorry Inquisitor,” Cole said, sounding not very sorry at all.

Her eyes finally flickered to Solas and remained. She was terrified she’d find disinterest in his features, or something that would prove he no longer cared. Instead, he looked at her with a calm expression, unreadable and distant.

“What did I say to you that night beside the waterfall?” he asked her.

Ellana wanted to laugh. He’d said so many things that night and none of them were words she wanted to keep very close to her heart. “You told me I was free.”

Something shuttered in his expression and he blinked, but her reply was not enough to break down his wall, it seemed. “And what did I say when I left you in the Crossroads?”

She froze and scanned his expression thoroughly despite knowing she’d find nothing at all. “You said that you would never forget me.”

“And you told me: var lath vir suledin,” he reminded her, perhaps to assure her that he remembered, too.

“I don’t mean to cut into your bittersweet reunion, but I wanted to show off my handiwork, for lack of other words,” Elgar’nan said, taking Ellana’s prosthetic hand and raising it, along with her arm. “Lyrium has been difficult to acquire, considering your deal with the Titans has barred me from obtaining it legally. This was a necessary pursuit, don’t you think?”

Ellana clenched her teeth as Solas stood to take a closer look. Solas appeared calm and composed, but she saw a brief glimpse of his trembling hands before he hid them behind his back. And if he noticed the way she flinched when he drew near, he didn’t show it at all.

“Gaudy and distasteful,” he commented as he examined it.

“And it cannot be removed unless my magic unlocks it,” Elgar’nan chirped, dropping her hand abruptly. “If you try something stupid, like stealing her away from Skyhold as I sleep, the inner needles will inject her with poison and she’ll die even slower than she was originally supposed to.” He slapped her back companionably, and she stumbled forward with an angry huff. “I’ll remove it once you free Ghilan’nain, of course. You can save whatever few years this flimsy thing has left.”

“Even I am not that stupid,” Ellana said, cradling her lethal prosthetic arm to her chest. “If he brought you Ghilan’nain, Solas would be dead within minutes. You are assuring him my safety, but you have said nothing of his own.”

Elgar’nan laughed. “True. Having Ghilan’nain as an ally would mean having double the strength, but do you really think so little of your Dread Wolf’s power?”

“It’s been three hundred years and you’re still alive,” she told him blatantly. “He is still alive, too. So, that tells me you two are equals and cannot overpower one another.”

“How easily you insult two gods to their faces astounds me, Ellana.”

You are not gods, she wanted to shout. Her nostrils flared as she barely contained her rage. “What keeps me from cutting the rest of my arm off in the night and escaping on my own, Elgar’nan?”

“Bone and sinew, I’d assume,” he drawled. “Not even I could maim myself without the proper tools. And your inevitable screaming would alert my guards.”

Ellana braved a glance at Solas and wished she hadn’t. His face was still absent of any external emotion, an empty slate except for a slight hint of curiosity.

“I will not release Ghilan’nain,” Solas told Elgar’nan calmly. “But I won’t allow you to hold Ellana Lavellan hostage or kill her, either.”

Elgar’nan sat down again and took a long drink from his wineglass before replying, “I won’t release her unless you release the last goddess, Fen’harel.”

“I would rather watch you murder Ellana now than ever agree to that,” he replied, his voice remaining controlled and unbothered. “But I have gained more allies since our last dispute, Elgar’nan. If you harm her, then I will wage a war that you will never win.”

“If she was dead, what would you have left to fight for?” Elgar’nan asked casually, tipping his glass back and forth.

“What I have been fighting for already: my honor. My shame.”

Your pride, Ellana thought with disappointment.

“I won’t kill her yet,” Elgar’nan said dismissively. “She is the last living elf of the darker days. She may have some use.”

Ellana noticed the smallest slip on Solas’ face, allowing her to see the panic he was keeping at bay. “You can have Orlais.”

She stared at him, stricken with shock. Not minutes ago, she heard from the other side of the wall Solas claiming he would never willingly cede any more land to Elgar’nan. Orlais was a significant chunk of land, and he’d toss it all aside for her safety.

Ellana didn’t believe that. She narrowed her eyes at him, failing to see whatever invisible thread he was pulling. It had to be somewhere—she knew how well Solas played the great Game of politics, even before she knew he was the trickster god.

“No,” Elgar’nan said, just as suspicious as she was apparently. “But I’ll keep in mind that she’s still worth bargaining for.”

Ah. That was what he intended, and Elgar’nan saw it before she did. Not only did he see it, but he ceded to it. He would not hurt her—not beyond repair, at least. She was still a pawn to capture, a prize in their game.

She was going to have to learn how to play that game too if she wanted to live.

But, Elgar’nan posed an interesting question earlier—what did she have to fight for now? Everyone she knew and loved has been dead for three centuries; she grieved them every moment she was left alone, and shed more tears than she thought her body could contain. She wished she was resting beneath the ground with them, but that was only imagined in the context of having grown old and experienced life.

After years of being tethered to duty, she wanted time to be free of it.

Solas was watching her from the corner of his eye. If he knew her as well as he did before, then Ellana didn’t doubt that he could see her internal battle. Would it be worth it to submit to this exhausting scheme? Did she have the energy to sustain herself until she could be freed?

Just like when she was thrust into the role as the Inquisitor, the answer was never hers to choose.

“Will you allow me a short private conversation with Fen’harel?” she asked formally, narrowing her eyes on Elgar’nan. “Since you claimed my arm will kill me if I leave your land, then that means you don’t have to keep me on such a tight leash.”

“And what if you two use that time to conspire?” he replied, though she could tell he wasn’t convinced of the accusation himself.

“Let Patience stay and overhear,” Ellana said, glancing over at the quiet spirit. “She’s loyal to you, right? If we say anything conspicuous, she’ll report it to you.”

Elgar’nan was silent as he considered the request, then nodded his assent.

Patience led them to a familiar, round connecting room that stole Ellana’s breath the moment they entered it. Once, these walls were covered in murals of her organization’s adventures; now, they were gutted and torn, like someone used a warhammer on them repeatedly.

Ellana squeezed her eyes shut, steadied herself, then said aloud the last thing she thought she would, “It seems I have another hand that’s trying to kill me.”

Solas let out a low breath. She opened her eyes to find he was staring at her with that guarded expression still, though now it was slipping just a bit. She could see the disbelief, the amazement and the fear. Perhaps she was delusional, but she thought she saw something of longing and relief in his face.

“Ellana, I am so sorry.”

His words hit her painfully. It was so helpless, so distant and final.

“Sorry for what?” she asked in a small voice. “You tend to take the blame for situations beyond your control, and there are many things to assign blame to right now. I want to make sure you feel guilty for the correct thing.”

Solas flinched and turned away slightly. “Many things. I am sorry I assumed you died. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you—”

“I wasn’t yours to protect,” she said softly. “You made sure of that when you ended things with me. I don’t blame you for that, or for Elgar’nan’s mistaken belief that I’m something of value to you.” She paused, then felt her face heat with anger. “What is your fault is that you actually tore down the fucking Veil and destroyed my world. I have heard what your actions did to humanity and the Qunari, not to mention you freed a tyrannical elven god!”

His eyes widened comically during her rant, and he remained silent for a moment after it ended. “I do deeply regret the effect this has had—”

Ellana cut him off with a groan and sank into a seated position on the ground. She waved away Patience, who paused halfway toward her to help.

“You’re just as irritating as you were before,” Ellana growled, massaging her temples. 

Solas surprised her by lowering himself to the ground beside her, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough not to make her skin crawl. “Do you know how he kept you alive for so long?”

Something deep inside Ellana twitched, revitalized at the idea of knowing something that he didn’t. So, she explained to him what Elgar’nan said: how he found her half-alive, how he tried and failed many times to put her in uthenera until it actually stuck.

His brows were furrowed by the time she finished. She could tell he was barely containing his fury. 

And, they were running out of time. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this private conversation, but this wasn’t it. She felt even more unsure of Solas’ true feelings, and even more insecure of her fate.

Then, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She felt her skin burn like fire at his closeness. However, his lips never touched her skin; instead, they hovered by her ear and he whispered, “I will kill him for this, vhenan.”

When he pulled away and held out a hand to help her stand, she stared at him intentionally. Hopefully, he still knew her well enough to read what she was expressing:

A challenge. She would sooner kill Elgar’nan herself.

Chapter Text

Ellana stared at her reflection in her vanity mirror, taking in the tired shadows beneath her haunted eyes.

Only an hour before, Solas had no choice but to leave when Elgar’nan’s hospitality came to an end. She still could not tell whether or not her existence was a happy surprise for him or if it presented a terrible stint in his plans.

“I don’t dream anymore,” she murmured to Patience as the spirit braided her hair for bed. “I can’t even escape in my sleep.”

“Dreams are what reality is now,” Patience replied.

“How should I know that?” Ellana asked, softening her voice to suppress the bite in her words. “I am a glorified hostage.”

“Elgar’nan would let you explore Tarasyl’an Te’las if you asked,” the spirit said. She took a step back to survey her work, then nodded in satisfaction. “You are bound here, so you cannot go far. There is no harm in giving you some freedom.”

Ellana squeezed her eyes shut and sighed in exhaustion. “No. I’d rather spend whatever free time I have sleeping. I may not be able to dream, but at least that ensures I have no nightmares.”

“Some fresh air might do you some good, lethallan,” Patience replied before shooing Ellana to bed.

So, the next morning after dressing in layers of rich furs, Ellana approached the false-god in his war room with Patience by her side. She felt like a doll, dressed elegantly to serve no other purpose than to be ogled.

She is the last living elf of the darker days, Ellana recalled Elgar’nan saying. Was that his current plan for her? To use her as entertainment to parade around his castle, a trophy to be displayed?

“I would like to walk around the castle freely,” she told him firmly. “That includes the land around it. You have your spell on this arm to contain me, so I don’t see how my request should be disagreeable.”

Elgar’nan smiled and shrugged his shoulder. If she considered her clothing over the top, his were absolutely ridiculous. “Sure, if that will placate you, Ellana. You must take Patience with you, of course.”

Heat burned beneath her skin, but she settled herself enough to calmly say, “I’d rather not. She is already by my side so often throughout the day. She needs freedom just as much as me.”

“Freedom?” he repeated, amused. “Neither of you have freedom. You are my hostage and Patience is my slave.”

Well, that confirmed her suspicion of Elgar’nan’s servants. They weren’t servants at all, but slaves. It reminded her of a night shared with Solas long ago, of the sharp nausea she felt when he told her the truth about vallaslins. But, none of Elgar’nan’s slaves wore vallaslins that she could see.

“What are you planning on doing with me?” Ellana finally asked bluntly. “As much as I appreciate the uncomfortable dresses and the musty bed, I can’t say that I’m very happy overall with this arrangement.”

“I would hope not,” he said, grinning. “You would lose what respect you have already won from me.”

She stared at him, at a loss for words.

“Ellana, I find it incredible that you are so persistently pursuing what you think is right,” he continued, standing from his seat at the head of the grand table and rounding it to face her. “Even if your outlook is narrow-minded and small, willpower and consistency is admirable to me.”

She knew where this was going, but she remained still as he lowered his face to hers. They were inches away now, and she could smell faint traces of blood in his breath.

“You are very ugly to me,” he admitted, furrowing his brow. “Short, weak, cut off from the lifeforce of magic. You are an unfortunate representation of all that I despise, a physical reminder of the mistake that Fen’harel made. But, you are the last elf born to the Veil. So, I will keep you.”

“Like a pet.” She tried to take a step back, but he grabbed her arm roughly and halted in place.

“Less than a pet,” he spat. “Less than a slave, less than a whore. You hold as much value to me as a cloak spun with gold—I can show you off, but I wish to forget about you when you are not being worn.”

“Fine,” Ellana said, raising her chin. “I’m not fond of you either, All-father. Even when I was Dalish, I believed you were a conceited, self-possessed man. If it means I stay alive and you forget my existence, I’ll gladly strut around your court like a fluffed peacock.”

He released her roughly and plastered another disarming smile on his face. “I’m glad we can come to an agreement.”

Patience stepped forward, looped her airy arm through Ellana’s, and drew her away. “I know just the spot for you to visit first.”

“Is it beyond the castle walls?” she asked breathlessly, allowing Patience to take some of her weight as they walked beneath the high ceilings of the main hall.

“Yes, though not very far. There’s a chill wind, but you are bundled up enough that I don’t worry about you catching a cold.”

Ellana smiled in relief. “That sounds perfect.”

——

Solas paced back and forth in his study, squinting whenever the ray of sunlight spilling from the eastern window blinded his vision, but he made no attempt at redirecting his course.

“She was afraid,” Cole was saying, sitting perched on his desk like a child. “And very uncertain. She was disgusted by the both of you, by your lies and the violent acts that you have committed.”

Solas asked the spirit to stop talking half an hour ago, but Cole seemed just as bothered by the situation as he was.

Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan was alive. Of all the faces he thought he would see again, he’d given up hope of ever glimpsing hers. Barring the murals he painted, or the hazy images he summoned to remind himself of what he destroyed, she was a distant memory of the burning life that he had blown out. 

Elgar’nan sought to use her against him, as if she was the helpless maiden portrayed in ancient Ferelden stories. The idea made him want to laugh as much as it made him want to weep. Ellana was the strongest, bravest, most intelligent leader he’s ever encountered in his long lifetime, but he had no way of knowing how she would hold up on her own without the Inquisition or any allies at her side.

“I am at a loss about what to do,” he admitted. He stopped pacing to stare helplessly at Cole. “I cannot give Elgar’nan what he wants.”

“Then don’t,” Cole replied. His expression was wide-eyed and innocent. “The Inquisitor does not care if she dies.”

Solas squeezed his eyes shut. “That does not reassure me.”

“Sorry,” he murmured. “But you like me because I tell the truth, and that is the truth. She does not want to be saved at the expense of others’ lives.”

It was a truth he’d rather not face just now, if ever. He knew that Ellana was completely alone now—everyone that knew her and loved her, apart from himself, was long dead. She was the only mortal elf in the world as far as he knew, for they had died out long ago.

He thought about her face that evening in Crestwood. He recalled every moment of his time in the Inquisition strongly, but the memory of her sad eyes was clearest of all. After he almost broke down and told her every one of his secrets, he broke her heart and left her alone in that cave; but not before he saw the rejection in her expression.

Solas was perhaps the last being in the world that Ellana would want her fate to be tied to. Not only did he destroy the world she’d known, but lured Elgar’nan to use her as his bait.

She deserves better than that, he thought. He could not leave her in his enemy’s hands. He already left her alone once, he wouldn’t allow himself to do it again.

“He won’t kill her,” Solas said, folding his arms behind his back as he thought. “He knows she’s still useful. That’s what I fear the most.”

He needed to speak with her for longer than a few minutes. He did not doubt that she was already forming a plan of her own—this was the Inquisitor, after all, cunning in ways he never imagined. If he could understand what she was thinking…

“She cannot dream now that the Veil is destroyed, so I have no way of reaching her in her sleep.” He froze and massaged his temple. “Elgar’nan monitors his eluvian closely, so I am unable to slip through and pull her aside to speak. However, I can control eluvians in ways that Elgar’nan cannot. I could use an eluvian in the Frostback Mountains and sneak into Skyhold in the evening.”

He tried to recall what he knew about Elgar’nan’s schedule. He had stationed a few spies at Skyhold, of course. They could tell him when Elgar’nan next left the castle, which could allow him some time to truly talk to Ellana.

But, there was also the problem of the spirit of patience that Elgar’nan stationed at her side. Solas had to give him some credit for that—giving Ellana a spirit attendant meant having eyes on her at all times.

“Cole, could you gauge anything from the spirit attending Ellana?”

Cole furrowed his brow as he thought. “She was calm. Unhurried. Patient.”

Solas restrained himself from sighing in irritation.

“She felt affectionate toward the Inquisitor,” Cole continued. His eyes fluttered closed. “She is gentle-hearted and oblivious to this new world. I know my master will use the mortal woman ill, and I want to alleviate as much of her suffering as I can.” 

“Ellana will win the spirit over to her side,” Solas said assuredly. “Though, I may still take you with me to read her intentions from afar.”

“She is loyal to her master,” Cole murmured. “She loves him very much. One hundred years of devotion cannot break in an instant.”

Solas glanced uneasily at the spirit of compassion, then toward the mural at the farthest end of the room. He painted it well over a hundred years ago—the Lighthouse when it still existed in the Fade, overlooked by great big gray-blue eyes.

She is in everything I’ve made, he thought sadly. Now that she is alive, he knew he couldn’t live unless she was in every action he took.

——

Ellana sat in the snow, feeling it melt into the fabric of her skirt. She traced elvish letters in the snow with a branch she found, practicing now that it seemed to be the main language being used.

“Is he good to you, Patience?” she asked idly as wind whipped at her hair. “Elgar’nan, I mean. I can’t imagine being a slave to anyone, but it seems especially awful to be a slave to him.”

“He promised me great things if I serve him graciously,” Patience replied.

Of course, she thought bitterly. The branch snapped in half when she accidentally applied too much pressure. He is using her nature against herself.

Calmly, she replied, “What great things has he promised you?”

“A body for myself.” Patience lowered herself to the ground beside Ellana.

“Did he promise this to all his slaves?” she asked carefully. 

Patience tucked a wayward strand of Ellana’s red hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. We don’t talk much with each other—there is not much to say. Besides, the elven slaves think themselves above the spirits, so they avoid us.”

Ellana’s heart twisted. “I’m sorry for that. You must be lonely.”

“I’m not,” she resonded with a smile. “I don’t feel loneliness like you do, lethallan.”

“How can you understand how I feel?” Ellana asked, the curiosity in her voice soothing whatever harshness her words could have portrayed.

“I have observed the nature of physical beings for many centuries,” the spirit admitted.

Ellana took the spirit’s hand and squeezed it. “How did you end up in Elgar’nan’s…uh, castle?”

“My family and friends were slaughtered in a battle for southern Orlais one hundred years ago,” Patience said. “Elgar’nan took the remaining survivors of my village and gave them the option of death or servitude.”

She frowned. “How many chose servitude?”

“Just me.” Patience smiled wanly. “It doesn’t make me sad like you think it would, Miss Lavellan.”

“Ellana,” she corrected. “You can call me by my first name.” She paused and sighed. “I consider you a friend now, perhaps my only one.”

“I’m not,” the spirit said kindly. “Your friend, that is. I don’t have friends or need them. Everything you tell me, I will share with Elgar’nan.”

Ellana raised her eyebrows. At least she’s honest. “Well, that was…an astonishingly open conversation.”

Patience nodded and stood again to wander nearby through the snow.

Ellana bit her lip and used what little remained of her branch to continue writing in the snow. The spirit’s blunt honesty reminded her of Solas, ironically. He never did lie to me, she had to admit to herself. Only by omission. She hated him for four years until he completed that ritual. He lived for three hundred years believing she died abhorring him.

Don’t I still hate him? All she really felt right now was a dull disdain. That hate was fueled by the love she had for him, and she knew it was still somewhere inside her; dormant beneath the surface. She felt it stir when she saw his expression, but hid again when he kept himself at a distance.

He tore down the Veil, killed thousands of people, released an immortal tyrant, divided the world, and made it politically uninhabitable for humans and Qunari.

Three hundred years passed for him, but not for her. She felt the serrated edge of heartbreak cutting into her still from the day he revealed his plans and left her for a second time. How could she still love him? If that love really did still remain somewhere within her, shouldn’t she squash it before it can blossom again? 

But…three hundred years can change a man. What if he regretted his actions? What if he was trying to do better? She knew the entire truth now. What if…

No. She had many more pressing things to focus on, like getting the fuck away from Elgar’nan. If Solas was willing, she’d accept his help, but nothing more—not now, at least.

Chapter Text

Ellana stared at the platform and didn’t wince when the planks gave way. Nooses dropped—one neck snapped instantly and one struggled for breath until it was stolen from him forever.

“ Dareth shiral, ” Patience whispered beside her. They were standing on Skyhold’s walls watching the execution from above, alongside the castle’s other inhabitants.

Ellana had her arms clasped in front of her. She squeezed her hands into fists, reveling in the strange sensation that Elgar’nan’s arm shot up into her skin. It was not a natural feeling and not entirely comfortable. It was a cruel reminder of her situation, of the machinery and magic that was tethered to her now; of the tubes he laced inside her, of the poison that threatened her life if she made the wrong move.

“Are you not curious to know what those men did?” Patience asked in her annoyingly calm, even voice.

“Not really,” Ellana replied in a detached tone. “It doesn’t matter now that they’re dead, does it?”

She noted that both men were humans, though.

“I suppose not,” Patience conceded.

Ellana recalled an old tale about the Dread Wolf to distract herself as the corpses loosened their bowels below. She did not remember the entire story, only the basic information: that Fen’harel gathered a group of innocent men and somehow made them all convince each other they were guilty as they attempted to exonerate themselves. 

Her heart dropped as Patience led her back to the main hall. Whatever the whole story actually entailed, it wasn’t real. None of the stories she knew were real. Solas was real, and so was Fen’harel, but neither of them were who she thought they were. A spirit of wisdom turned into pride .

What would Patience become if Elgar’nan truly meant to give her a body for herself? It would make sense for him to desire a new pantheon of gods to replace the Evanuris, since Ellana knew Solas would never release Ghilan’nain. 

Is the enemy of patience anger? Intolerance? Or would it be resignation? Indulgence?

Ellana glanced at the spirit as they sat down at an unassuming table in the corner of the room. Patience was the embodiment of her virtue; steady and quiet. But, there was more hidden beneath the surface, something darker being fueled by Elgar’nan. 

The castle’s conqueror himself was suddenly approaching her from across the room. Ellana straightened her posture and held eye contact with Elgar’nan until he was standing directly beside her chair, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

“Your godliness,” she demurred. “Or do you prefer another name?”

“You look decent enough,” Elgar’nan said. That was the closest thing she’d get to a compliment from him, she guessed. “Come with me. I wish to present you to a few lords of the south.”

Ellana stood and followed him, keenly noting Patience’s absence. 

Standing near Skyhold’s throne were two elven men and one elven woman, wearing layers of rich fabric and furs. All three of them stared dumbly as she approached them, eyes wide and mouths agape.

They are all so tall, like Elgar’nan and Solas , she thought uncomfortably. The elven woman easily towered a few inches above the natural height of a human male.

“What a wonder,” one of the men said, ogling her like a starving man would a feast. “She truly does not have any connection to magic, does she?”

Ellana bristled, but remained silent. It was probably for the best to make her presence seem as small as possible.

“She was not known as a mage by the Old World’s standards,” Elgar’nan explained. “Perhaps later generations of her blood would have shown a connection.”

Ellana wasn’t entirely following the conversation. Even though she had no trust for Patience, she trusted her well of information. She would have to ask the spirit more about how this new race of elves worked. Were all of them mages now? If so, that was another loss for her.

The woman touched Ellana’s face. She fought the urge to flinch and remained still. “Her skin feels cold and chaffed. Is she undead, Elgar’nan?”

“No,” he said dismissively. “Ellana Lavellan, these are three of the southern lords I have allied with—Lord Tellas, Lord Seluvian, and Lady Vaeya.”

Lady Vaeya dropped her hand with a small gasp. “The Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan? The one that the Dread Wolf seduced, who helped defeat the false god Corypheus?”

Ellana couldn’t prevent the scoff that left her body involuntarily. “I did not help defeat Corypheus, I was the one to actually defeat him. And I was not seduced by Fen’harel.”

“She was his lover,” Elgar’nan confirmed with a disappointed sigh, completely ignoring her outburst. “Unsurprisingly, he has no desire for her anymore. Now she’s my problem.”

Ellana clenched her jaw and plastered on a painful smile.

“But what an interesting problem to have,” Lord Tellas said.

Is there no monarchy in the south now? She wondered as they continued to praise her existence to Elgar’nan. Lords never ruled in the south before. It seemed…very elven. Are terynirs and arlings and bannorns just titles that have died with the past? And what of the Therin bloodline? Probably dead for generations, she supposed. She was surprised by how deeply that saddened her.

“Ellana,” Elgar’nan snapped. She started when she realized that it was just the two of them now.

“Yes, my liege?" she replied dryly.

“You can sit back down now,” he growled. “And stay for the rest of the evening. I have a lovely surprise after dinner that I would like for you to see.”

Ellana blinked away the jolt of unease that his words sent down her spine and stumbled back to her corner with Patience.

——

Solas drummed his fingers along the surface of his desk as he read, then reread, the letter he wrote for Ellana.

“I’m sure she’ll understand the hidden meaning,” Sorscha said impatiently. “Unless she is stupid, which I doubt. The Inquisitor Lavellan is historically known to be smart—but not smarter than you, of course.”

Sorscha was a young elven woman at thirty-two years old. She was also small by the newer standards of her race, with orange-red hair and dark brown eyes.

She was one of his best spies, but also one of his peskiest. She has made no attempt at trying to hide her attraction for him, which was something he wasn’t used to noticing. She was pretty enough, but lovers were not something he considered—or wanted—for a long time.

Solas finally folded the note and handed it to Sorscha. “If you manage to slip this inside her pillow without suspicion, I will give you a raise.”

She grinned. “You absolutely know I expect you to follow through on that.”

He waved her out of the room, too worn out to banter with her. She was so full of life and vivacity, something that made him think of Ellana. Sorscha was always a painful reminder of his lost love.

He thought about the day he first saw Ellana in the cellars beneath Haven. He had been much like how he was now—accustomed to feeling stirred by physical beauty, but not feeling interest in pursuing it further. Ellana was a peaceful sight to behold in her sleep, and a steady storm when she was awake.

Then she spoke, and she asked questions. She countered his arguments as easily as breathing. She listened and she cut him off. She told him he was wrong and was not afraid to admit when he was right.

And she was so intelligent, so open-minded and wise. Ellana Lavellan was a better leader than he ever was. All of it together, alongside her rare smiles that never failed to twist his gut, he had absolutely no chance at holding himself back.

Her mind was a light that burned brighter than any fire he’d seen for thousands of years. And then that flame he adored was stifled so quickly. He should have known…

Solas stood abruptly and strode out of his study, refusing to sit and stew in his misery any longer. If he thought about Ellana any further, his mind would spiral into the many other feelings he was trying to control. 

He was worried, intensely worried, for more reasons than one. But worrying would not fix anything. If he's learned one thing in his long life, it was that actions were more useful than feelings ever were.

——

Ellana sighed and drained the rest of her wine from her glass. 

She was fairly certain that Elgar’nan lied to her earlier. The dinner passed with little fanfare, and the strong wine had gone straight to her head. It did nothing to cure her boredom or her discomfort.

So, Ellana turned to Patience and asked in a slightly slurred voice, “What did they do?”

Patience raised her eyebrows. “Who?”

“Those men that were executed,” she clarified.

“Oh, yes.” Patience nodded and smiled. “They captured a hostage for his Grace and knew a location he wanted to keep confidential.”

It was like being doused in icy water. “So he killed them…because they did what he asked?”

Patience nodded again, unbothered.

Ellana’s eyes snapped on Elgar’nan, who was drinking his third glass of wine and listening to Lord Tellas speak. Tellas noticed her staring and mistook it for himself, which earned her a disgusting leer from him that made her shudder and glance away.

“What did Elgar’nan announce as their crimes to the public?” she asked Patience, interested to know how others felt about the execution.

“He lied,” she replied casually. “The two human men died being perceived as traitors.”

“ Shit ,” Ellana uttered breathlessly. “Is Elgar’nan alright with you telling me this, Patience?”

“Yes. He asked me to, actually.”

What is he playing at? She snuck another glance at Elgar’nan just to find Lord Tellas was still gawking at her. She clenched her good hand into a fist on her lap beneath the table.

She hated feeling so helpless and lost. Even when she was thrust into being the Herald of Andraste, she still had some semblance of control over herself and her fate.

Elgar’nan broke away from his conversation to whisper something in the ear of his spirit attendant. Ellana felt her arms and legs stiffen in fear.

Not for the first time since she’s woken up, she had no clue what to anticipate.

She felt Patience reach out and laid hand on her arm. Ellana looked back at the spirit and found she looked just as nervous as she felt.

“Do you know what this is about?” Ellana whispered. “Is there anything I can do to prevent it?”

Patience didn’t offer a smile this time, nor did her touch give Ellana any comfort.

Ellana’s eyes followed Elgar’nan’s attendant as he filed out of the hall, past the mass of the castle’s guests. The dread pooling in her stomach was not without cause—she could always trust her instincts, and they were telling her to prepare herself for the worst. Though she remained levelheaded enough to appear composed, her thoughts spiralled into horrible scenarios.

Did he kill Solas? Was he going to present his corpse like a trophy and parade it in front of her? No. If Solas still lived after coexisting with Elgar’nan for three centuries, he surely wouldn’t slip now. 

Patience’s hand slid down Ellana’s arm and held tightly onto her hand. Touching a spirit was one of the strangest sensations, and it made her think about Solas. He was once a spirit; was he like Patience, formed like a living being but incorporeal? Was he quirky like the spirits she’s met—quirkier than his body of flesh, if such a thing could be possible?

That was why he was so fiercely protective of Cole remaining true to his nature, she realized in her attempt to distract herself. Did he regret taking a body? If that was so, maybe he regretted every feeling that came with it.

Two days had passed since she saw Solas, and she was beginning to wonder if he’d left her to fend for herself entirely. She wouldn’t blame him if that were the case. He had greater things than a past tryst to worry about.

And I have greater things to worry about too, her thoughts ruthlessly reminded her. 

She turned her head and froze as a small procession of soldiers marched through the big doors, dragging behind them a large man by the ropes that were tied around his wrists.

Ellana exhaled and shut her eyes after she spotted the man’s face. He was in terrible shape, with bruises and deep cuts marring his pale skin.

First two human men and now a Qunari? She felt sickened by the twist of rage and fear that speared her stomach. She would have to empty her stomach when she finally made it back to her chambers.

Ellana stood and followed the throng of people congregating around Skyhold’s throne. One of the soldiers shoved the Qunari prisoner to his knees before Elgar’nan, who was lounging lazily in the throne; a splitting image of a careless and cruel ruler.

She remembered the long days she spent sitting in that spot, albeit it was a different throne then. The judgments she made took a terrible toll on her, and eventually she had Josephine split them up into smaller increments, but Solas was always waiting for her with some spell to relieve her of her headache—even after he broke things off.

“You carry the weight of their crimes, vhenan ,” he told her one especially rough evening. A day of exhausting work, the decision she made to send Ser Ruth to the Deep Roads, and the dull ache of the Anchor made her miserable to the point of complete silence. 

Solas did not need explanations, though. He never did. It was like his own conscience ran the same stream as hers; the same direction, same speed. All it took was one look and he knew not only how to keep up with her, but how to calm her down.

“Is that not the point of my job?” she asked, speaking for the first time in an hour. Then, she sighed as his fingers massaged a satisfying spot behind her neck. His spells worked wonders, but his hands were the truest magic.

“No.” His response was so abrupt that she flinched, causing his clever artist's fingers to halt their ministrations.

“No?” she repeated and turned to face him. His eyes were blue then, the color of lakes in the Kocari Wilds. Now that they were gone, replaced by unnatural violet, she wondered if they took the last of his humanity with them.

“Your job is to decide their punishment,” he stated with a small, smug smile. “Not to take it for yourself.”

Ellana smoothed her hands across his shoulders and eyed his wolf’s-tooth necklace. She took it between two fingers, tilted it back and forth. “You didn’t agree with my choice for Ser Ruth.”

“I did not,” he confirmed. The way his hands skimmed down her waist to settle on her hips sent sparks of heat into her skin and summoned bursts of light she’d never felt before. “But you are making me realize that I am not always right.”

The memory of those words snapped Ellana back to reality. She was back in Skyhold, standing before the throne she once sat in, feeling betrayed by Solas all over again.

The Qunari was looking at her now. Somehow, in the crowd of people, his eyes found hers and held on. She stared back, furrowing her brows in curiosity.

“Hakkon, last of the Antaam,” Elgar’nan announced. “You are the only remaining Qunari in the south. Now, you are at my mercy.”

Antaam …but Hakkon was the name of an Avvar god. Ellana’s eyes widened, but she refused to show any further reaction. That was what Elgar’nan would want from her, after all—a surprise, a show. The last Qunari in the south. That had to mean that Elgar'nan was a main cause for their growing extinction, though that did not surprise her much.

“Your Antaam promised you’d conquer Lydes for me fifty years ago in exchange for land and wealth, and you did—but you could not keep it for me. Not only have I lost Lydes, but the Emperor has stolen Halamshiral too.”

Orlais must still be an empire, then. But if Thedas has been ruled in sovereign halves by both false-gods, then the Emperor must be vassal to Solas.

But that made no sense. When Solas was at Skyhold, he seemed intent on keeping peace. Ellana scowled at Patience, who was fidgeting with her wispy servant’s dress. The spirit was doing everything to avoid her gaze.

“Let the Antaam be an example of what happens when you cannot fulfil an oath to me,” Elgar’nan said. “Hakkon, swear me your fealty or be hanged above the shit of my last traitors.”

Hakkon did not hesitate to bend his head and submit. Ellana didn’t blame him. She was essentially doing the same thing to survive.

As the Qunari was led away again, Ellana was startled by the sudden polite clapping of onlookers. Not only did Elgar’nan intimidate everyone in this hall, but he also showed them that he is capable of mercy .

Patience took Ellana by the arm and led her back to her room. Now that the spectacle was over, it seemed her presence was no longer obligatory. She was trembling with every step. By the time they were closed away in the safety of her chambers, she was shaking so badly that Patience had to help her into her nightgown.

Ellana settled herself in bed, and Patience came to caress her hair maternally. She knew Elgar’nan chose her to wear down her defenses, to make her fond of the spirit and trust her enough to spill important secrets. 

It was useless. She didn’t know any secrets about Solas— he made sure of that. There was nothing she knew that could possibly be used against him. 

Ellana pretended to fall asleep, and Patience eventually left. Once she was certain she was alone, she relit the lantern beside her bed and tucked her hand inside the linen pillowcase. After digging through lumpy feathers, her fingers eventually curled around the source of her added discomfort—a thick piece of paper.

She drew it out and unfolded the note. Her relief felt like holding her hands near a fire after trudging through a blizzard all day. 

He made his next move, it appeared. The letter was written in Solas’ handwriting.

Chapter Text

Three Hundred Years Ago

Solas watched Ellana as her eyes consumed the starry sky greedily, dancing across the glittering lights as gracefully as a halla.

Beautiful, he thought, not for the first time; she was beautiful for an elf of this time—beautiful in a way he never really appreciated until the moment she kissed him in the Fade. Unconscious in Haven’s cold cellars, she was nothing more than a trophy of his past failures; a fragile creature humans sought to conquer like animals. Even her vallaslin was a cruel reminder of what he was fighting for.

But, she didn’t feel soulless or lifeless, despite being disconnected from the Fade. No, she was more vibrant than any creature from his days in Elvhenan. She was something entirely different from the people he fought so hard for, something new and brilliant.

He didn’t want to acknowledge that, though. She was still just an echo of what her ancestors were. 

But, when she first flirted with him, he was drawn to the mouth voicing those clever words. Then her smart observations made him want to search her eyes until they consumed him.

He shouldn’t have kissed her back. He shouldn’t have admitted to how much she surprised him. He shouldn’t have kissed her again. He shouldn’t have told her that he loved her.

But, it felt so wonderful to say something true again.

“I have never seen the stars so clearly,” she said as her fingers threaded between his. Her skin was warm, soft, but lightly calloused as a rogue’s should be. “Not in all my travels.”

They stood on the mountains that supported Skyhold, propped up against rock formations as they craned their necks to the sky. The air was cooler here, the wind more forgiving. He told her he spotted this area on a restless night, but he used to come here to reflect millenia ago.

This castle was once mine, he longed to confide in her. He never wanted to see it again after he banished the Evanuris. He imagined Tarasyl’an Te’las as something destroyed and desolate. But, you have brought it back from the dead. You have breathed life into it, and I’m afraid you’ll do the same to me.

When he turned to look at her again, he found her eyes were already on him, studying him thoughtfully.

He felt a rush of cold fear douse him like a bucket of water. She was smarter than she let on sometimes. Her presence was as exhilarating as it was stressful. She already knew he had secrets, but she didn’t know just how significant they truly were.

And, as if she could sense his panic, she disarmed him completely with a smile. “Tell me about the stars, vhenan. I’m sure you know more about them than I do.”

Solas only shook his head before he leaned over to kiss her. She responded immediately, widening her smile against his mouth before deepening the kiss into one that was passionate and daring.

A thousand years of mouths could not compare to the stirring in his chest and the sweetness of her breath.

——

The Present Day

Do you remember the place where I showed you the stars? It’s lovely during the day, when the sun is not quite low in the western sky.

Ellana knew exactly where he wanted her to go, which hurt her all the more. She couldn’t meet him, not with Patience always at her heel. The spirit was not her friend.

She stood from her bed and tore a piece of boning from her gown. She returned to her bedside table and knelt before it, then flipped the note upside down. Without thinking too much about it, she bit into her thumb hard enough to draw blood, then used the injury as her inkwell and the boning as her pen.

I do remember. Maybe we will see it again one day. You may have all the wisdom between the two of us, but I have always had the patience to wait.

Ellana sucked the blood from her thumb as she considered the repercussions of placing this note back in her pillow. Solas’ handwriting was easily identifiable, yet his words were vague enough to suggest his attempt at anonymity.

Unless…that wasn’t his handwriting at all. He lived for millenia, after all; he probably knew how to write in many styles of lettering. This was just the one he used when he was in the Inquisition. Elgar’nan would never recognize it. Clever bastard.

But her note was written with her own blood. A blood mage could easily track it back to her. And who else would she possibly be writing to?

It was a chance she had to take. She folded the note back up and stuffed it back in her pillow, hid the evidence of her activity, then allowed the darkness to swallow her once more.

——

The next day, Ellana watched the sun hover in the west forlornly. She stood behind the castle’s battlements, letting the wind tear through her hair and chill her skin. She felt especially drained of courage at that moment.

“Look, it’s the Qunari,” Patience said, tugging Ellana’s sleeve.

She didn’t care. Qunari were not spectacles to be ogled at—at least not to her. She knew what it was like to be kept around as a glorified pet and be pestered by stares.

“Miss Lavellan, he’s coming toward you,” she continued in a curious tone. “I would suggest turning to greet him.”

Let him push me off the walls, she thought sullenly. She ignored the spirit and continued to stare at the sky.

“Miss Lavellan, he is coming closer,” Patience said, true to her name. “Maybe you should turn and acknowledge him.”

Ellana clenched her teeth and briefly considered throwing the spirit off the walls.

Play their game of politics and maybe you’ll live through this, she told herself instead. Why she would want to survive this, she wasn’t sure. But she turned and craned her neck up to look at Elgar’nan’s newest pet anyway.

“Hakkon, right?” she asked brightly. “Odd name for a Qunari.”

“Ellana Lavellan is an odd name for an elf,” Hakkon replied gruffly. “You were a Dalish, weren’t you?”
Ellana raised her eyebrows and lifted her chin. “I was.”

“So, you were a stupid fucking idiot.”

She burst into a short, loud laugh of indignation. “You say this as if you aren’t a 'stupid fucking idiot' for submitting to Elgar’nan.”

His nostrils flared with anger. “You have absolutely no survival instincts. I could kill you with one hand.”

“And you have no manners—that will get you killed,” she warned him. In a lowered voice, she added, “I hate him just as much as you most likely do. I suggest you warm up to me, Hakkon. I might be your only ally here.”

He blinked in astonishment, then flashed his eyes between Ellana and Patience. “You aren’t his followers?”

“Patience is loyal to him,” she said casually. “She will repeat everything we say to one another to Elgar’nan. But, I don’t mind. He already knows I’m not too fond of him.”

Patience nodded along disinterestedly.

“I heard you warmed the Wolf’s bed before he played his tricks on you,” he murmured curiously, narrowing his eyes on her.

“If you think I joined Elgar’nan willingly to spite an old tryst, you’re wrong,” she hissed, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She really was universally regarded as Fen’harel’s idiot mortal lover after all. “He overestimated my worth to the Dread Wolf and now he is struggling to find a use for me.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll kill you,” Hakkon said.

“I don’t think so,” she admitted, holding up her lyrium arm. “He wouldn’t waste resources on this if he meant to dispose of me.”

“He wants to parade me around as a show of power,” Hakkon said, the disgust evident in his voice. “The last Qunari of the south.”

“And I am the last elf of the darker days,” she quoted as she studied him closer. It was like Elgar’nan was collecting a sickening menagerie of living beings. Why? To what purpose could that possibly achieve?

She needed to talk to Solas—he had a better chance of understanding this than she did. She clenched and unclenched her fist rhythmically as she tried to find some solution to this problem, to evade Patience long enough to have a private discussion away from the castle walls.

“So, you’re his pet, too,” he said dryly. There was no amusement in his eyes, however. He looked withdrawn and tired. “Any idea why he isn’t just killing us or enslaving us?”

Ellana shook her head. “I thought I was an idiot? Surely I don’t have any reasonable suspicions.” 

With that, she walked away, hoping her words planted a seed of curiosity in Hakkon as she intended.

——

Once she was folded into bed and Patience left her alone, Ellana dug into her pillow again and withdrew a new note that was hidden deeper within the feather stuffing. 

When will your patience finally end? was all that was written. She knew better than to fear Solas misinterpreting her words. He met Patience, he knew she was always close by. He was simply too clever not to see the hidden message.

So, she dug out the dress boning she hid under the side table and tore open the wound in her finger to write back a message: I am not always so stoic, truthfully. At night, when all is dark and I am in my bed, I finally give into that restlessness you think I never feel. I think about that place you showed me, then. It’s the only time I can bear it.

Ellana sat down on the end of her bed and stanched the bleeding of her finger, which was angry and swollen after being reopened.

She would have to trust in his intelligence, hope he picked up the hints, otherwise she would rot inside this castle.

——

Hakkon ignored her the next day, and so did Elgar’nan. Patience was glued to her side, but she told Ellana stories of her childhood that passed the time quicker.

Her heart felt fluttery in anticipation, like a young girl impatiently awaiting a secret dalliance with her lover. She supposed the analogy wasn’t too far off. Solas was not her lover anymore, but he still stirred the memories of the love-stricken Inquisitor, hypnotized beneath the layers of his deception. 

Night could not come fast enough. Patience loosened her hair and dressed her in a nightgown, then made her way towards the door. 

However, she paused and turned to look at Ellana curiously. “You have been impatient this evening. Is it for me to leave?”

Ellana smoothed the bed’s heavy blanket over her legs and grabbed the first excuse she could find, “Yes, admittedly. I am not used to being followed around all day, and I anticipate some time to myself.”

Patience nodded serenely. “Enjoy it, then. Just don’t do anything rash, please.”

She left, dragging a piece of Ellana’s excitement with her. 

Still. She had to do this.

There was no note in her pillow, which she expected. An hour passed restlessly as Ellana paced back and forth. Once she decided enough time had passed since Patience’s departure, she slid out the piece of dress boning and knelt before her door to pick the lock.

Her fingers were still as skilled as they were three hundred years ago. The lock gave way to her ministrations with a small click, and she gently pushed open the door. There were no guards outside her door, which made her spirits lift—Solas must have had a hand in that.

Her room had no shoes or clothes for her to don. Patience always brought her a change of clothes every morning and night. So, barefoot and more exposed than she’d prefer, she padded down the stone flooring silently as she snuck through unused corridors to exit the castle.

Once she finally made it onto the castle walls, she kept to the shadows to avoid the few patrolling guards until she found the familiar rampart that held footholds she knew well.

Three hundred years and this has not been fixed, she thought as she spun her legs over the edge of the wall. Once her foot found the first jagged rock, she tested it with her weight. It was still firm enough to scale.

As she descended Skyhold’s high walls, wind whipped at her nightgown and tore through her hair. She clung tightly to each foothold and, despite the urgency of the situation, she forced herself to climb down slowly.

Ellana nearly cried with relief when her bare feet touched the cold snow. She didn’t cry, of course, but she allowed herself a grand sigh instead.

With her arms crossed over her chest, she climbed over the rocky formations of the mountain Skyhold was built into. In the darkness, she had to trust her instincts over her sight, which led to a few terrifying stumbles.

Eventually, she spotted a flickering blue light exactly where she expected to find it, and this time the relief she felt was enough to make her cry—it was a few fleeting tears that were lost to the wind, but it felt like washing away years of grime from her skin.

Her plan worked. He was here. But they only had so long now.

Ellana pushed forward, shivering against the wind. When she was a few feet away from the veilfire, she noticed a figure shift in the shadows and move closer to meet her.

“So you are as clever as I believed,” she said with a sigh.

Solas scanned her state of dress and shook his head disapprovingly. Still, there was no hesitation as he undid the laces of his cloak to swing the heavy material around her shoulders instead, enveloping her in his body heat. “Has he not given you shoes?”

Ellana snorted in amusement despite her exhaustion. “Not for sleeping.”

“You will catch frostbite,” he scolded. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades as he guided her to sit on a large protrusion of rock near the veilfire. “If you haven’t already.”

She waved him away. “We have no time for this, Solas.”

He knelt in front of her, then pulled the veilfire closer to inspect her feet. Then, warmth spread in her toes and up her calves, restoring feeling she hadn’t realized was lost.

“Thanks,” she said grudgingly. “Now listen. You are tracking my blood now, correct?”

Solas remained before her, his hands curled around her ankles. “I should say that you are just as clever as I believed.”

She blushed and looked away. “Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. Anyways, I am not sure to what extent the blood magic can reach, but hopefully it's enough to ensure my stability for now.”

“More than enough,” he told her, drawing his hands away now that the spell was completed. “I’ll know if you are in peril or if you die.”

She shivered and nodded. “Good. Now, are you able to remove Elgar’nan’s contraption from me?”

Solas took her mechanical arm and studied it closely. “I am meeting with an expert in the Deeproads to discuss what can be done. Lyrium is not being traded legally anymore, so I’m trying to pin-point who he purchased it from. Besides, he could never have made this machinery himself.”

“You couldn’t sever my arm off above the prosthetic?” she asked clinically. Ideally, she’d like to avoid losing more of her arm, but she knew it was the most likely conclusion.

“I fear it might poison you if I try,” he admitted, turning her arm to inspect the other side. His fingers brushed the skin above the prosthetic, and she hated that her body still reacted so significantly to his touch.

Heart racing, she scrambled for the next important subject to share. “Solas, he has another prisoner—a Qunari. He claims he is the last in the south.”

His eyes flickered to meet hers, steady and unreadable as ever. “Odd.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Very odd. Do you know why he would decide to collect a Qunari after obtaining the last mortal elf alive?”

“I have theories,” he murmured, letting go of her arm.

Ellana felt her heart plummet in her chest as another gust of wind chilled her. “You won’t tell me, will you?”

“As you said, we have little time to waste.” He stood and dragged a hand down his face. Now that the veilfire was directly lighting his features, she could see he did not look well.

She swallowed and looked down at her feet, which still felt the warmth of whatever spell he’d cast. “You aren’t planning on leaving me here, are you?”

Solas turned his head toward her. His expression finally revealed a sliver of what he was thinking; only a flash, but it was enough.

He was definitely not going to abandon her.

“Why?” she asked, realizing she was wasting time with such a useless question. She needed to hear it. “I’ve been dead to you for three centuries. Is this because of your pride? You refuse to lose me to your rival?”

“No,” he said softly. His eyebrows drew together with disbelief. “Do you truly not know the answer?”

Ellana stared at him until her eyes burned. Feelings of hope and dread stirred together until she was no longer able to discern which was which. “I think I know the answer, but I’m not sure if it’s the one I want to hear right now.”

Solas flinched, but he seemed to accept her cruel truth instantly.

To soften the tension, she stood and came to his side. He was so tall now that she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. “You asked me if I remember the first time you took me here, but I’m more curious to know if you remember it. It is longer ago for you than it is for me.”

He smiled, startling her. She wasn’t sure she’d seen him genuinely smile since before he left the Inquisition. “I remember it well, Ellana. Very well.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “I do, too.”

They were silent beside each other, basking in the few moments they had left together. Then, Ellana suddenly threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into an intimate embrace.

His body stiffened momentarily before melting completely. His arms came around her, one tightening around her waist and one across her shoulders. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in the smell of him; so foreign to the herbal, earthy scent she’d known before, but it was still innately him.

For the first time since she’d woken up, she felt safe.

“I have a plan, though it's not fully formed yet,” he said, brushing his fingers across her back idly as he held her even closer. “I cannot ask you to meet me here again—”

“You can and you will,” she said firmly, drawing away enough to look up at him.

“Ellana, I have spies in Elgar’nan’s employ,” he said firmly. “Find an abandoned room inside Skyhold and we’ll meet there next time. Leave a message in your pillow for one of my spies to bring me and I’ll be there.”

“How whimsical,” she murmured, squeezing him one last time before stepping out of his arms. She had so many other less-pressing questions, such as how he got here without using Elgar’nan’s eluvian, but knew she had no time left. “Take care of yourself, Solas.”

“Be careful,” he warned softly.

She pulled his cloak off her shoulders and handed it back to him. She could tell he wanted to protest, but it would be difficult to hide a cloak from Patience.

She climbed away over the rocks, refusing to look back at Solas as she did. Tears fell uselessly down her cheeks, but they’d be gone by the time she returned to Skyhold; replaced instead by resolve.

Chapter Text

Solas tapped the end of his ink pen erratically against the hard surface of his desk. It forced him to recall a moment from centuries ago, when he sat before a fireplace in Skyhold when the sky was a gray contrast against the white piling snow. Varric, the friend he betrayed just as cruelly as the rest, was writing to a friend of his in the Deeproads.

“You will create air bubbles in the ink if you keep moving your pen like that,” Solas had reprimanded him.

“I am counting on it,” Varric replied with a smug smile. “My friend will know just how much I agonized over this letter.”

Solas smiled. “Or, they will think you careless with your pens.”

“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,” was all he could retort with.

It made Solas still his pen and set it down gently. A wave of searing hot remorse ran down his chest, and a headache severe enough to blur his vision made him stand up and walk out onto his balcony.

Though it was dark out, his senses were instantly alive. Fresh air surrounded him, and the wind caressed his skin gently. It was a small distraction but enough to make his guilt fade into background noise.

He thought it odd how much his time in the Inquisition has remained with him. Hints of it were woven into each of his murals; memories of it were stronger than some he’s carried in the last three centuries. Conversations, brief and inherently meaningless, were made meaningful because of how they had stirred his emotions.

Solas knew he had to return to finish his letter to Berric. He just received the dwarf’s reply about an hour ago, stating his intent to research the lyrium arm and its source further. 

A month. Berric needed a month, which was completely reasonable, but that meant he must suffer a month of keeping Elgar’nan’s quick temper in check.

As his thoughts often seemed to do lately, he thought of Ellana and how they parted. How she held her shoulders back as she walked away in nothing but a nightdress. His spell should have held long enough to preserve some heat on her skin, but still he worried.

It was always far too easy for him to worry about Ellana Lavellan. The first time he laid eyes on her in Haven’s prison, he didn’t care whether she lived or died beyond the basic honor of preserving an unnecessary casualty of his orb’s magic—how quickly that had changed.

A knock on his door startled him, which was rare as of late. With his eyes still focused on the dark sky looming above him, he waved his hand backward to open the door remotely with his magic.

A huff of amusement greeted him from behind. “I have something to report.”

Solas turned to face Sorscha, who looked even more exhausted than he felt. Dark shadows were cast beneath her eyes, which were half-open in the dim candlelit room.

“Erryn was found sneaking a note into Miss Lavellan’s room, but she destroyed it before Elgar’nan could read it.” Sorscha paused as her shoulders sagged. “She was…interrogated. I trained my subordinates well, so she did not break. But she was killed.”

Solas sighed and brushed past her as he went back to his desk. “This is unfortunate, but this gives us an opportunity. Have your spies leave traces of evidence to implicate the Venatori to distract Elgar’nan for the time being. Also, please find Cole and send him to me immediately.”

He could sense Sorscha’s irritation toward his callousness, but she should not expect him to console her. It was unfortunate. But he’s seen, mourned, and caused worse deaths in his lifetime.

Sorscha left, giving him the opportunity to finally write back to Berric. His response was short and to the point—that yes, a month of research would be sufficient and to write when he could meet.

He thought of Ellana again, neck bent over her own desk at Skyhold as he watched her from the chaise as he read. How her red hair glowed gold from the candlelight, how beautiful she was in her casual clothing.

Cole entered, allowing him a reprieve from his memories again. “Your emotions are very unstable. Like a bird’s wings fluttering to escape a predator, but eager to chase its prey.”

“One of my spies was caught giving Ellana a note, but I have not been implicated. Yet.”  Solas massaged his temple. “Can you help Erryn’s family? A spirit of compassion could offer them much right now.”

Cole nodded eagerly.

Before the spirit could launch into another vague-yet-endearing monologue, Solas quickly said, “Thank you. That’s all.”

“But what about you?” Cole asked, scowling. “You are suffering too.”

Solas smiled grimly and shook his head once. “I will be suffering much more in the next few days. Elgar’nan is throwing a grand party at his palace in the Coastlands.”

Cole, who was still not accustomed to sarcasm, only deepened his scowl. Solas waved him out, dismissing him.

Without delay, he began writing a new letter, this time to one of Elgar’nan’s nobility, Lady Vaeya Tellanai.

——

Ellana stood next to Hakkon, shivering despite the drastic rise in temperature.

The Coastlands were beautiful, and Elgar’nan’s palace even more so. Layers of walls towered in the sky, ivory and golden just like the lost architecture of Arlathan. It glittered in the sunlight, drawing her attention to the mosaic windows depicting the long-dead Evanuris. 

Her eyes found Mythal on a second-story window and lingered. The supposed wife of Elgar’nan and the everlasting friend to the Dread Wolf. The All-Mother.

She wanted to ask Elgar’nan if he loved her, though she supposed she already knew the answer. He loved owning her, just as he reveled in owning Ellana and Hakkon.

The Qunari had not spoken to her since their spat on the walls of Skyhold. He was a creature of high honor and pride, which of course he was. Now Ellana was tasked with pacifying yet another prideful man. 

Hakkon could be a powerful ally. Though she knew there were probably Qunari still thriving in the other regions of Thedas, there was an advantage to being called the last of a race. 

The south was large, and so were Qunari.

She studied Hakkon’s large form as they waited for Elgar’nan’s next move. Hakkon’s face was stern, so very unlike the Iron Bull’s intimidating but open expressions.

Bull. Her heart stuttered at the thought of her friend who was very long dead.

Hakkon turned and frowned down at her. His eyes were as gray as his hair, and only one sharp horn remained jutting from his head. “Quit staring.”

“But you’re so handsome,” she said coldly, then looked away.

“Looking at you has taught me why the old elves died out so quickly,” he sneered beside her. “What about you? What do you think when you look at me?”

“I wonder,” she admitted, surprised he’d ask her such a direct question. “Why did the Antaam make an agreement with Elgar’nan? He’s made his goals obvious—he wants elves to regain their power as the most dominant species.”

“My people had no other choice,” he said casually, unaffected by emotion. “I forget you have missed centuries of history. The Antaam grew and eventually split off during the war between Solas and Elgar’nan, causing many to migrate here. When peace was settled and Elgar’nan was given the south, many had to submit to him or die.”

Ellana shook her head slowly as she processed that information. “Solas—Fen’harel—would have done the same. He has done the same. Hasn’t he?”

“Your wolf is significantly easier for Qunari to deal with than Elgar’nan,” Hakkon said, bristling. “Not like that says much. His ego is still so inflated that his bare head shines with its power.”

Ellana snorted amusedly, then set her face back into a grim expression when Hakkon shot her a surprised glance.

“So, Elgar’nan and Fen’harel have no competition?” she asked after clearing her throat.

He rolled his eyes. “Who can compete against gods?”

Other gods, she thought as her eyes strayed toward Elgar’nan. The Evanuris made themselves gods, so who was to say no one else could rise to the rank?

When arrangements were made, Patience came to retrieve her and lead her toward her room for the month. Ellana got a glimpse of Hakkon’s spirit attendant—a wisp of a man—but could not discern what he embodied. Maybe his spirit was of patience, too. Goodness knows he’d need it to deal with that surly oak.

Ellana tried to memorize hallways as Patience pulled her along, but she couldn’t commit it all to memory. This had to be a purposeful relocation. A spy, no doubt Solas’,  was found in her room and was killed four days ago. Elgar’nan was anything but stupid. He had to have known it was Solas behind it all.

“Patience,” Ellana said once they were safe within the walls of her new room. It was small, not much better than the standards for a servant’s room. “What happened directly after the Veil was destroyed?”

Patience paused and stared at her for a moment before replying, “I cannot tell you.”

“You don’t know?”

“I do,” she admitted softly. “But Elgar’nan has asked me not to share that information with you. However, I can tell you about any other period of time you’ve missed if you like.”

“Why?” she blurted, knowing full well that Patience wouldn’t answer. Still, she continued, “Wouldn’t he want me to know the atrocities that Solas committed?”

“No.” Patience sat down on the end of Ellana’s bed, showing a weariness that surprised her. “He does not want you to remember that time.”

Sometimes she forgot there were missing pieces in her story. Ellana crossed her arms over her chest and scowled out the window. It gave her a view half covered by roofing. “Wouldn’t it scare me into submission if I knew how he captured me, what he did to me after?”

“He is afraid you might break down and lose any use he has for you,” Patience replied serenely.

Ellana nodded absently, though a burst of eager energy fluttered in her stomach.

Elgar’nan did not care if her mind was lost so long as her body was whole. No, he didn’t want her to remember her days as his captive three hundred years ago because he must have slipped. She saw something she wasn’t supposed to see, heard something he wanted to keep a secret.

That gave her purpose, something to strive for. A goal to achieve.

“One more question,” she asked, thinking back to her conversation with Hakkon. Who can compete with gods? “Does anyone still worship Andraste?”

Patience nodded solemnly. “Many, yes. Perhaps even more than those in your time. While the reveal of the Evanuris’ real origination made devout many devout elven followers, it also dissuaded many away from worshipping them. Fen’harel himself has contributed to that, since he often refutes that he is a god."

Ellana nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, Patience.”

——

Ellana had no opportunities to dig into the past, considering Elgar’nan confined her to a small portion of his palace.

It wasn’t until Patience dressed her up in silken fabric for the big gathering that warranted the visit that Ellana realized why. The ballroom was magnificently decorated and packed with so many nobles that her head spun the moment she entered the space.

She had no idea that this would be such a grand affair, and that was what he wanted—to catch her off guard and sweep in while she was reeling.

Sure enough, Elgar’nan leapt to her side the moment Patience released her arm. His skin felt too hot, even when buried beneath his elegant robes.

“Is this now where I find out my use to you?” she asked in a shaking voice.

“Partially,” he ceded. “You look lovely.”

Ellana blanched and flinched away from him. His hold on her arm was steady, and she made no space between their bodies. “I thought I was ugly to you.”

“I have lived for thousands of years, many locked within a prison that tormented me with regrets,” he said airily. “I have more patience than your attendant does.”

Ellana felt a cold, icy feeling begin to blossom in her gut. “You have the patience to…compliment me?”

“And bear your presence long enough to fulfil a duty,” he added. They had reached the main dining table by then, and he pulled out the chair beside the largest one in the middle—a seat of honor. “Sit.”

Ellana gaped, too shocked to argue with his dehumanizing command to do anything but submit.

He placed her in the seat directly beside him on the right. She took in one unsteady breath of air before rolling her shoulders back to assume an appearance of confidence.

Elgar’nan left her sitting alone, most likely to retrieve the guest of honor who would sit on his left. Her eyes scanned the growing crowd as they found their seats, wondering if maybe Hakkon would be placed somewhere odd too.

She doubted Solas would be here. His visit to Skyhold to meet with its liege never came to fruition—she supposed that was due to Elgar’nan’s discovery of his spy. 

However, that doubt was almost immediately dispelled when her eyes found his tall form at the back of the room, listening raptly to an elven woman speak to him.

He was a stunning sight to see. She hated it almost as much as she yearned for it. His arms were folded behind his back, showing off his form perfectly, along with his intricate clothing. His pants were gray and his tunic a vibrant violet, two colors she was beginning to see a pattern with. She couldn’t tell the designs that were stitched into the fabric from her distance, but she could tell they were laced in silver.

Ellana caught his eye after he disengaged from the elven woman. His face didn’t betray his thoughts, but neither did hers.

She knew he understood her thoughts through that glance alone, but it carved out a hollow space in her heart to realize that she had no idea what he was thinking. 

Once, she thought she knew Solas better than he did himself. Then he left her twice, leaving knowledge and carnage for her to deal with alone.

I stopped Corypheus, she reminded herself as her heart began to race. I closed rifts when no one else could. I almost changed Solas’ mind.

Almost. She didn’t actually succeed. He destroyed the Veil, knowing it would kill her. She didn’t have the strength to physically stop him, so there was no way she could think the same about Elgar’nan. So how was she supposed to out-wit a man who has seen every season of this world?

The answer was simple: to survive and defeat men powerful enough to call themselves gods, she would have to become one, too.

 Ellana forced herself to look away from Solas and remain on Elgar’nan. He was coming back to the table, speaking to a human man that was walking beside him.

The man was clearly Orlesian. Even though centuries have passed, their odd sense of fashion—though evolved—has remained distinctive. The sound of his lilting accent as he approached confirmed her suspicions.

“Emperor Martin of Orlais,” Elgar’nan introduced her. “This is Ellana Lavellan.”

Ellana stood to curtsey, then offered the Emperor a smile. “How wonderful to meet you. I’ve met your ancestor, Empress Celene. I can see the relation.”

“Oh, yes, you were the famed Inquisitor!” Emperor Martin recalled. 

“I was also known as the Herald of Andraste,” she reminded him. “I believe the proof has shown itself, considering I am still alive.”

Elgar’nan narrowed his eyes. If she had more to live for than just her will to live, she would not have added fuel to his fire. His anger felt more stifling than any she’s encountered before.

“I have read historical accounts about you, Miss Lavellan,” Martin said after a moment of awed silence. “You refuted many times that you were Andraste’s Herald.”

“That was before I was resurrected,” she told him smoothly.

Elgar’nan grabbed her arm roughly and covered his discomfort with a tight smile. “The food should be ready shortly. Please, sit. We should continue our discussion from before.”

Ellana sat down and stilled her trembling hand in her lap. Her lyrium arm was completely at ease, so she used it to hold her drink.

He would hurt her for this, but it was clear that he would not kill her. If she could build a reputation that could seem equal to a god’s, then maybe she had a chance…

Solas caught her attention again. He was looking directly at her. This time, he allowed the briefest hint of his confusion to show on his face, tugging his brow down.

Ellana quickly glanced between him and the Emperor. He could do whatever he wanted with that.

Food was brought out not long after that. She couldn’t keep down more than a few meager bites, which seemed to be the fashion. Elegant elven folk chattered with one another, leaving food untouched and ultimately wasted.

As she scanned the crowd, she couldn’t help but feel hatred. Was this really the world you killed so many for, Solas? she wondered. Was this what Elvhenan was? Greed and extravagance? Power to the strong and antipathy for the weak?

“These events last for days, you know,” Lord Tellas said to her right, as though reading her thoughts. “It begins very mundane and sophisticated, but then it ends in revelry.”

Ellana tried not to curl her lip in disgust.

“You will save me a few dances, won’t you, Miss Lavellan?” he asked, offering a sly smile.

“Of course,” she said, then took a long drink of wine.

The moment she set her glass down, Elgar’nan’s fingers were wound around her wrist tightly. She had no time to speak or object as he hauled her to her feet and dragged her down the dais and into the sea of bodies.

Ellana allowed herself only a brief moment to panic before he spun her into a close dance position and led her with ease.

“What are you doing?” Elgar’nan asked her in a soft, faint voice that barely restrained his annoyance.

“Dancing, apparently,” she responded, then flinched when his fingers dug into her waist. 

“Why did you claim to be the Herald of Andraste?” he hissed. He spun them across the floor, causing her dress to swing perilously around her legs. She caught herself before she could trip.

He was trying to sabotage her in front of everyone. The realization sent a hot flame of indignant anger down her spine.

To her horror, his hand slid down low, following the sensation. Her eyes widened as his hand rested on the base of her spine, only inches away from her ass. His smile was satisfactory as he noted her discomfort.

Her eyes met his defiantly. “Because there was a very good reason why so many people believed I was sent by a goddess to save them.”

Then, without looking away, she gracefully reached behind to move his hand down the rest of the way.

Elgar’nan’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. Just to make things worse, she tilted her head and murmured, “Are you embarrassed, Sun-Tamer? I did not realize you were such a prude.”

Once the music began its transition, Elgar’nan roughly shoved her away. She caught her footing and curtseyed while he was still facing her, saving her from any embarrassment of being spurned by him.

She started to walk back to the table half in a daze, but was halted halfway when Emperor Martin asked her to dance. He pulled her onto the floor with less practiced ease than Elgar’nan did, but that was the last thing Ellana would complain about at that moment.

“Are you truly the last mortal elf in Thedas?” he asked her, sparing any propriety. “I can see a difference physically, but I cannot truly believe it is so.”

“I am not an impostor,” she assured him. “I have no connection to magic in this world.”

“Then that disproves your notion of being the goddess’ Herald. Also, the Anchor,” he commented, nodding his head toward the prosthetic hand that rested on his shoulder. “That disproves your claim, too. The Anchor was Fen’harel’s magic.”

She shook her head. “The Anchor is not what makes me the Herald, your Majesty—it is the fact that I survived and endured such magic. Ask either Fen’harel or Elgar’nan and they will both admit to their astonishment that wielding their power did not kill me.”

Emperor Martin looked intrigued again. He was buying it.

Ellana shrugged her shoulders and grinned as he spun them around. “Why would Elgar’nan seat me next to him if I was not his equal? Why would he host me in his castle while I regained my strength?”

He stepped away as the music began to transition again. She curtseyed and smiled serenely as Lord Tellas stepped forward to claim the next dance.

Thus began a long night of spreading gossip that she was another deity’s pawn.

Chapter Text

Three Hundred Years Ago

Solas watched Ellana as she idly massaged the palm of her Anchored hand with the thumb of her other. Her brows were drawn tight in discomfort, yet she continued to listen to Cullen and nod along as he spoke near the tents at Skyhold.

Fool, he thought bitterly. Whether he meant to direct the insult toward the Inquisitor or toward himself, he wasn’t certain.

A week ago, she nearly died from Corypheus’ attack on Haven. Now, after traveling all the way into the Frostback Mountains and hiking through difficult terrain, Ellana Lavellan has not stopped for a moment to rest.

“If you die, then we all die too,” Varric had kindly reminded her the night before. It was a reminder for Solas, too. If she died, all his hope for fixing his mistakes would die with her.

He watched her like a hawk on the crumbling stone stairs. A millenia ago, this castle was magnificent—until he banished the Evanuris and destroyed every fragment of life from Tarasyl’an Te’las. 

Ellana caught his gaze in the corner of her eye. He saw her shoulders visibly sag under his scrutiny. She said something dismissive to Cullen, then turned on her heel to approach Solas with a determined expression.

“Why are you staring at me like I’m a golden nug?” she asked, stopping a step below him.

Solas smiled warmly. “Because you are like a golden nug, Inquisitor. Who else can you say carries a piece of the Fade’s magic etched into their palm?”

She huffed out a sigh and nodded once. “Yes, I am a very entertaining display. Maybe I should double as the Inquisition’s fool.” Her amused expression faltered. “Let me guess, you might have a spell to help the pain?”

“Does the Anchor trouble you still?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Ellana snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. She had to squint up at him as the clouds revealed a sliver of sunlight that passed over her face. “I know you are too perceptive not to have noticed, Solas. Cut the shit.”

Solas hated that his chest warmed at the compliment, even when he knew it wasn’t intended to be one. “Nothing is certain, but I have some spells I could try.”

A look of vulnerability flashed across her features before settling into a look of barely-there confidence. “I would appreciate that.”

He was too surprised to reply, only guided her back to his chambers silently. One of the things that irritated him the most about the Inquisitor in the beginning was her reluctance to show emotional weakness. It was one of his own faults when he led his rebellion, and ultimately became his downfall.

Yet, Ellana Lavellan was everything he was not and never could be. She was kind to a fault, and compassionate. Most of the Inquisition liked who she was, not just her power. She wore her affection toward others like a badge of honor on her breast, not a vulnerability to be hidden behind defensive walls.

Like Mythal, said something he thought was deeply buried within him. But not like her at all.

She sat down on the edge of his desk as he shrugged off his coat to drape on the back of the chair. Her eyes charted his movements with an obvious curiosity as she leaned back on her hands and crossed one leg over the other. 

That was another thing that unnerved him: her blatant attraction for him. 

Solas cleared his throat and held out his hand. Ellana set her Anchored hand in his, stunning him momentarily with her warmth. He turned her hand until her palm was upward, ignoring how easily her body relaxed near him and how soft her skin felt against his callused fingers.

He gently dragged his thumb across the green slash on her palm. It felt like the rest of her skin did. When she flinched, he immediately stopped. “What kind of pain do you feel?”

Ellana swallowed and turned her head to look at one of his murals. “It aches mostly. When you touched it, it felt…wrong.”

Solas frowned as he processed her words, puzzling together what it could mean. Was it because the Anchor was his magic that it repelled her at his touch?

He pushed those thoughts aside for later. With his free hand, he called to his mana and soothed the magic that was slowly eating away at Ellana.

She sighed and smiled as relief softened the hard lines that had appeared on her face.  “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied, taking the opportunity to study her now that her eyes were closed.

She was just as beautiful as she was devastatingly fragile. How did elves devolve into this? And how did she still stir him despite embodying every failure he’s suffered?

Ellana’s eyes fluttered open and she blushed as her hand slipped from his. “It’s been bothering me since the avalanche.”
“The Anchor?” he asked, though he was no simpleton. The way she was peering up at him, the way she leaned toward him, it was all the answer he needed. You have been bothering me since the avalanche.

She nodded, recognizing his shift and easily falling into step with it. Part of him regretted not pursuing her feelings further, but he knew it would be foolish to lead her down a road with a dead-end.

“Do you think it will stop hurting when we defeat Corypheus?” she asked in a small voice, no longer looking him in the eye.

What a question. His frown deepened as she surprised him for the second time that day. 

She was scared of it—terrified of her new ability, of the new pain that accompanied it. She was finally realizing this would eventually kill her, and she was afraid. Yet, once she left this room, she’d act as though this magic wasn’t eating her alive; that the fate of her world was not literally in her hands.

She was everything he was not when he led his rebellion. He felt himself soften toward her. That gentle pull he was so skilled at ignoring absently tugged at him again, and this time he allowed it to move him. 

“I do not know.” He took her hands and helped her off the desk. “But if it hurts you again, please come to me. It’s not a bother, especially if I can ease your pain.”

Ellana nodded and offered him an unsteady smile. “Thanks again.”

He tightened his grip on her hands, halting her before she could leave. “You are stronger than you think, Inquisitor. I’ve seen it in battle, but I’ve seen it the most in your words.”

Her smile grew into something more genuine. Then, surprising him for the third time, she stood on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss against his cheek before she left the room without another word.

It was so innocuous, so comforting, so…sweet.

Maybe he was weaker than he thought.

——

The Present Day

Solas watched over Ellana as the day progressed into the deep hours of the night, stealing glances at her from the corner of his eyes when he was certain it was clear to do so.

For the first time in a while, he could not predict what she was doing. First, she not only stoked Elgar’nan’s anger in front of a crowd, but allowed him to grope her—then, she spent an hour being passed between dance partners, thoroughly charming each of them with her practical speeches.

It wasn’t until a passing whisper revealed her plans that Solas understood. She no longer trusted that he would find a solution for her.

This was not good.

Solas narrowed his gaze on her current dance partner, an elven southern lord with long golden hair and a sheepish smile. Once the song ended, Solas moved forward and smoothly swung Ellana into the next dance. Nobody batted an eye, considering her already long collection of partners.

Her breath caught and she would have stumbled had he not swiftly steadied her. Her eyes were as gray as steel; just as sharp and unyielding.

“Fen’harel,” she greeted him coldly. What a juxtaposition to how she had greeted him before in the snow outside Skyhold. “I see your dance skills were another thing you lied about.”

“Not at all, Miss Lavellan,” he replied just as formally. “The dance we shared that night in Val Royeaux was much more intimate…and I admittedly had been out of practice.”

A blossom of pink spread across her cheeks. “Intimate? You left enough space between us to invite a third partner.”

Solas had to fight to keep his smile controlled. “You certainly did not heed such precautions with our host earlier.”

Ellana’s fingers dug into his shoulder through the fabric of his robes. “I can handle myself, Dread Wolf.”

“Does Elgar’nan know that? Considering where his hand was, he seems to believe he can handle you well enough.”

Her nostrils flared as her glare cut deep into him. He was perfectly aware he was being an ass, but he couldn’t find the resolve to stop himself. 

“The only reason I am not slapping you is because I would be killed in an instant for assaulting you,” she hissed. “Don’t you think that’s absurd? Everyone has made a show about how very fragile I am, yet one hit to an immortal man would make me a threat that needs to be terminated.”

Solas shook his head. “You are playing a dangerous game, Ellana. Elgar’nan and I have been players within it for millennia. He will know what you are attempting to do and the result will not be pleasant.”

“He needs me alive for something,” she whispered, glancing between his eyes intensely. Her fingers slid slightly against his shoulder blade, across his collarbone. “So unless I do something stupid like threaten your life or his publically, he will have to satisfy himself with vague annoyance because I spread a few rumors to elevate my importance.”

Solas stopped himself before he could sigh his irritation. “You will get yourself killed.”

She patted his chest amiably before settling her hand back on his shoulder. “Considering I should be dead already, that’s not the worst outcome.”

Ellana stepped away from him abruptly. He hadn’t realized the song ended. “Always a pleasure, Fen’harel.”

His smile was tense as he bowed elegantly to her. “The feeling is mutual, Herald.”

She flinched—the smallest, tiniest fissure in her mask, but one he caught nonetheless. She spun away in a twirl of silken green and silver, then sagged slightly when yet another guest asked for a dance. She was visibly worn out, yet she accepted the hand offered to her.

“Lovers quarrel?” Elgar’nan asked, suddenly at his side.

“She is not my lover,” Solas corrected calmly.

“Surely you have heard the rumors she’s spread of her championing Andraste?” Elgar’nan sneered. “I think she’s nearly convinced your Orlesian human pet of her false legitimacy.”

“Why is she still alive?” Solas asked, remaining visibly unbothered. “You know I won’t exchange her life for Ghilan’nain’s.”

“Because she is a weapon I am still learning how to use,” he admitted. His honesty was unexpected. “She is the only remnant of a dead race that many of these elves descended from. She is more fertile and energized, but smaller and easier to perish.”

Solas felt a wave of cold disgust wash over him. Elgar’nan’s clinical, interested tone only invited trouble. Had he been speaking to any other member of the Evanuris, he would have feared that Ellana would be subjected to experimentation—but that was not Elgar’nan’s specialty.

Then again, Solas did not expect him to have figured out a way to cast a mortal into uthenera.

“I’ve known for decades that you have spies in my employ, but I never thought you’d be so brazen as to trade love notes through them,” Elgar’nan noted.

Solas smiled wanly. “My spy was not in her room to leave her a note. I sent her to kill Ellana.”

Elgar’nan was far too practiced not to show his shock, but this revelation seemed to tug at his brow. “I know that’s a lie, but I cannot figure out how it serves you.”

“My spy was equipped with a dragonbone dagger, correct? I instructed her to wait in Ellana’s room until she fell asleep, then to cleanly slit her throat.”

Elgar’nan shook his head. “So if I were to have her slaughtered in this ballroom, would you celebrate?”

“Not for the reasons you are inferring. I would celebrate that she was no longer being used against me,” he admitted. This, at least, was the truth.

Elgar’nan’s golden eyes glittered as a smile pulled at his lips. “I will remember that.”

He walked away, and Solas exhaled. He could feel the napkin Ellana slipped inside his robes burn against his chest, pulsing with his heartbeat.

——

Ellana breathed into the chilly night air and stared at the starless sky, polluted by the excessive light in the city around Elgar’nan’s palace.

Sweat collected on her exposed back, but the brief gusts of wind soothed the heat that burned beneath her skin. Her dress was made to be frilly and impractical. It lived up to her expectations; the green, stiff fabric holding up the sides were already chafing beneath her arms.

She could feel Patience’s presence before she could see her. The spirit was dressed for the event too, as much as a slave could. Her uniform was flattering and surprisingly feminine, which made Ellana remember the horrible regalia the Inquisition wore to the Winter Palace.

“Am I expected to attend this event in its entirety?” Ellana asked, knowing the answer already. Even if she was allowed to retire to her room for sleeping, she couldn’t take the opportunity. If she wanted to be viewed as an equal by these immortal creatures, she couldn’t be the first one to leave.

“I know what you are doing,” Patience said, her voice still familiarly soft and detached despite the shock her words caused. “Ellana, you must stop now.”

Ellana turned toward the spirit, surprised that she used her first name. “I know what I am doing, too. But please, do tell me what you think I’m doing?”

Patience smoothed back a stray red hair from Ellana’s sweaty forehead. “We do not need a third tyrant in this world. Your actions will not end a war, but begin another.”

“I have no design to rule or lead anyone,” Ellana objected. “I just want to survive.”

“And what do you think Fen’harel wanted?” Patience murmured. “To survive the Evanuris, he gained power. But when you finally have power beyond yourself, you will become aware of the many ways you can abuse it.”

“I want to clean myself up before returning,” Ellana said abruptly. “I am not dignified, covered in sweat like this; Herald or not.”

Patience nodded and walked with her back inside, then through the halls until the guests that lined them thinned. Ellana’s heart beat steadily in her chest as she kept her posture erect and her expression neutral.

Ellana slid into an empty washroom alone, then  wasted no time hopping onto an unsteady table on the northern wall to push open the small window near the ceiling.

The irony of upholding her dignity was not lost on her as she slid through the window’s tiny opening and plopped into a bush on the other side. Wincing, she crawled onto her feet and scanned the area, deeming it safe to travel.

She bit into her well abused finger tip, summoning a droplet of blood, then walked through the lit garden, leaving tiny traces of red in hidden spots. She “accidentally” cut her finger earlier that evening, staunching it with a napkin that she then hid in the bust of her dress. If all went accordingly, Solas noticed it inside his robes and was following her now with a simple spell.

It was risky to seek a private conversation with him when Elgar’nan was still hosting his ball inside, but she saw no other opportunity.

She found a shaded area away from most of the stray guests outside and waited, pressing her fingers together to stop the bloodflow. The gentle breeze brushed her hair across her bare arms soothingly, carrying with it the rich scents from inside. It lulled her already numb limbs into a heavier state.

Ellana heard Solas before she saw him. She turned to watch him approach with a small, smug smile. He looked even more tired than she felt. Once he was close enough she said, “Are you going to tell me I’m clever now?”

“No,” he said calmly. He was looking down at her fondly, blocking her from the moving breeze as he radiated warmth. “You are not clever, Ellana. You are catastrophically delusional.”

Her smile stretched into a grin. “For a moment, you sounded like that cocky apostate I fell in love with.”

He winced. She felt a stab of guilt, even though she hadn’t intended on sounding cruel.

“Your spy is dead,” she said softly. “And Elgar’nan knows you’re onto something. Solas, I cannot let you sacrifice whatever progress of peace you’ve achieved just to help me escape.”

Solas shook his head. His eyes flickered away from her, a sign of his growing irritation.

She continued before he could respond, “There is no way that you can help me and maintain that peace.”

“So, you want to start your own war instead?” he asked. His cheeks and ears were becoming pink with anger.

Ellana pressed her lips together and moved closer to him. “Yes. I want to start a civil war in the south. If I can convince enough people that I am the Herald made immortal by Andraste, then that makes me Elgar’nan’s equal. If I can gather allies, especially spirits, we can tear the south apart from the inside. Your land will not have to be involved at all.”

Solas took a step back and shook his head again. “There are too many ifs, Ellana. Besides, have you forgotten that you are not immortal? Elgar’nan will cut you down the moment you become important enough to threaten him.”

She paused, wondering if she should trust Solas with her theory. It didn’t take her long to decide. “Why do you think he had me sit beside him tonight?”

“Because you are his trophy—”

“For once, it seems I know something that you don’t,” she said, smiling bitterly. She recalled Elgar’nan’s words earlier: and bear your presence long enough to fulfil a duty. “Or maybe you do know, but don’t want to face the truth. He wants to make me his wife; to unite the south under a marriage between an extinct elven race and an elven god.  Not only will that piss you off, but it will divert the rumors that he wants to erase the past, including the other races. If I am right, I can use my claims of being the Herald to my advantage with him. Not only am I a magicless elf, but I am the herald of a goddess that his enemies worship.”

“You are being too ambitious,” he hissed, surprising her with his vehemence. 

“I am not you,” she retorted. “I don’t believe the things I say.”

“Then how do you expect anyone else to believe you?”

Ellana moved closer to him again, sizing him up despite their difference in height. “I believed every lie you told me, didn’t I? That’s because you laced traces of the truth in your words. I will do the same. I may not be like you, Solas, but I’ve certainly learned from you. I will win you the south and free myself.”

Solas’ sharp features suddenly softened into a sad, distant expression. Ellana could physically feel his withdrawal.

“Let me do this,” she whispered, feeling all the anger she held drain from her body. “Whatever plan you have, it can’t work. You cannot make it, it has to be me.” She laid her hand against his cheek and was startled by the coldness of his skin. “Let me be useful and save lives instead of condemning them. You started a war for Mythal and regretted it—don’t do it again, not for me.”

Solas leaned against her palm and exhaled in resignation. “How can I help?”