Magic leaked from her, and though she attempted to recapture it all, it was like trying to bottle a waterfall. She could see the arm in front of him was glowing slightly, part of the lost magic fracturing to light, and she revelled in the power that suffused her. Even the few times she'd been drunk on lyrium were hardly more than pale reflections.
Ellana felt invincible. She tried to push herself to standing but her body betrayed her, as if unable to contain what she now was, and she tilted sideways to sprawl on the floor, the rock a shocking cold against her heated skin. No matter. This was the Fade, and she now had the tools to bend it to her will. With half a thought, she used magic to support herself instead and drew her body upright, until it hovered a few inches from the floor.
She had never expected this. While she'd known – hoped – that ripping away Andruil's essence and taking it for herself would make her more powerful, she had never even dreamt that this much power was possible. Was this how Solas felt? No wonder he'd thought them all Tranquil, if this was what he'd had at his fingertips.
Tentatively, she lowered her body until the balls of her feet touched the stone, but continued to support it until she was sure it would take the weight on its own. Strange, how alien it felt to her now, nothing more than a shell to hold her essence. It felt stretched, thin, and so, so fragile. The thick bands of lyrium that ran up the prosthetic arm were almost too bright to look at, neon blue against the soft golden glow she was otherwise emitting.
As she moved, the Fade reformed around her, sculpting itself to her memories as she tested out her new power. Flashes of Haven, Skyhold, Halamshiral, and she wandered the lost, forgotten monuments of her past.
Ellana jolted upwards as she woke, still cradling the bow to her chest. While it had been a powerful conduit before, now it felt like an extension of her body, and she slung it naturally across her chest, stringing it absently with ropes of glittering magic. As it touched skin, it began to glow, until it seemed to be formed from pure gold.
She forced himself to take a step, then another, until she reached the edge of the dais. She frowned, as she realised her companions were missing, and panic rose abruptly. Had something happened while she'd been interred with Andruil? It was possible, she supposed, that time had passed differently in the Fade. Maybe they had retreated to make camp. If anything, anyone, had hurt them, she now had the tools to make them regret it.
She placed his hand on the balustrade, unsure of her balance on the steps, and the pale stone exploded below her. Off balance, coated in dust, she snarled, irritated by the lack of control. It was hers now, and she would force it to obey her will. She giggled, and the sound echoed oddly in the hall, shadowed by the memory of another voice.
"I see you have acquired new Vallaslin."
For a moment, she raises her hands to grip a missing staff, but soon lowers them again, blue light pooling in her palms. His appearance here is a surprise, but it was difficult to bring herself to care. The urge to giggle again bubbles up in her throat, but she manages to push it down and inspects herself instead, curious about his comment.
The glow has diminished somewhat, and now the golden light clings to her skin in a clear replication of Andruil's markings, snaking its way across her entire body. Forgetting herself, she traced it across her breast with a finger, though the sound of footsteps makes her snap her gaze up sharply.
Solas stands in front of her, almost close enough to touch, expression as unreadable as ever. She loved him once, she knows, but it seems so far away now, and it is difficult to remember the feeling.
"It was the only option," she informed him, still suspicious of his closeness. "We had no choice."
He turned away at that, regret curling at the corners of her mouth, and she wishes she could slap the familiar expression from his face. Always sad, always sorry, but never enough to change anything.
"There is always a choice."
She does laugh at that. If he had been willing to abandon his crusade, she would never have had to choose this path. He thinks his world important enough to turn himself into a monster for, and yet seems surprised that she is willing to do the same for hers.
"Where are the others?" She does not want to get into a discussion about right and wrong with him, not now, not here.
"Outside. Asleep." He waved a hand, and magic crackled at the doorway. "I did not want us to be disturbed."
It's strange how easily she trusts him, Fen'Harel, the father of lies, but she does not believe he would have harmed her companions. In the years that have passed since their last meeting, he has always shown her too much compassion, protecting what was important to her while burning the world down around it.
"Ir abelas. I am sorry I could not stop this in time."
No, she thinks, and considers the sacrifices that had been made to make this possible. Her whole army thrown against his, supposedly a last stand against his relentless march, heroic but futile. In truth, their deaths had been the key she had needed to punch a hole into the Fade. She does not feel guilty; they were willing to give their lives to protect the world, and she has done what was necessary.
She can see him watching her, eyes lingering on the scars left from her earliest attempts at blood magic. Once she would have been embarrassed to be naked in front of him, but it no longer seems important. Her body still feels wrong, but at least she is in control of her thoughts.
She'd known there was a chance the fragments of Andruil could devour her soul.
"But why Andruil? Out of all of them, why her?" He looked angry now, and she smiles to realise she can still affect him so much. He reaches forwards, as if to shake her, but she draws magic up into a barrier instead. He flinches as his hands touch it and draws them back, lips set into a grim line. "Even Dalish legend speaks of her madness."
"Who better than the hunter to catch a wolf?" Her flippant reply would likely irritate him, but she was still too scared to linger on the possible implications of joining herself to the corrupted essence of an ancient power. The taint had made it easier for the Grey Wardens to locate Andruil, and to perform the intricate rituals needed to get to her.
She just hopes she can accomplish everything before the Blight took her.
He started to protest, but she ignored him. "Does it really matter, now? What's done is done."
"Indeed." There is something off about his tone, and she looks at him sharply, wondering just what she's missing. Closer inspection reveals that he is bleeding slowly from his ears, red streaking along his jawline, and seems as unsteady on his feet as she feels. "It is done now."
Was he hurt in the battle? Or was it her, forcing her way through the Fade. She is unsure just how much of him is invested in it. Part of her hates having to hurt him.
The other part wonders if she can take advantage of this weakness.
"Why are you here?" He has spent so much time keeping his distance from her, even in her dreams, and it is surreal to be so close to him. Maybe, with her army gone, he thinks her defeated. "Nothing's changed. I won't let you win."
He laughs, but it doesn't disguise the tears that trace their way down their cheeks. "You have already stopped me, vhenan."
She frowns at that; she has done nothing, yet.
"The Veil is down. I managed that much, at least." His lips twist into wry amusement, laughing at himself. "I failed to restore Arlathlan. Your interference meant there was not enough power to reclaim what was lost."
She'd been so blinded by her own gamble that she hadn't realised Solas might be making his final play as well. It staggers her to think that she has stymied him entirely by accident, rather than the power she had desperately sought.
"What happens now?"
He turned away from her and clasped his hands in front of him. "I did not plan for this situation," he admitted. "I thought I would either succeed or be killed. I did not consider what would happen if I was only partly successful. It is unlikely there will be no casualties, but I cannot say how much damage I will have done."
He has burnt her world for nothing. She wonders if anything will have managed to survive the fallout, or if there is anything to go back to. She, in her own stumbling ignorance, has killed any hope of his world returning.
They really do deserve each other. Both attempting to play god, and in the end, doing nothing more than ruining the sandbox for everyone. Despite it all, she is not sorry. Even knowing the repercussions, she knows she would never have been willing to give up, to roll over and let him win.
"I suppose we should find out what's left of the world." It seems pointless to be angry with him when they might well be the only two remaining, though she is suspicious of his earlier declaration that her companions are simply sleeping. She centres herself on the thought of them, pulling some sense of self from the burst of pain that flares up when she wonders if they are dead. It makes it easier to shake off the sense of detachment that has settled on her shoulders like an eager lover.
"Are you alright?" His fingers quest towards her face again, and this time she lets him touch her, unmoved as he strokes along the hardened edges of her face. The last few months have been hard, and it shows in the sunken hollows of her cheeks, the dark bags under her eyes, the scars that sweep across half her face from an attack that nearly took her eye, but she knows it isn't her physical health he is asking about.
"Better than I expected to be," she answered honestly, though she knows everything is not quite right. When it looks like he's about to draw her to him, she pulls away, shaking off his hands. "Not now. I need to see, first."
If there was nothing left, maybe it would be better for her to be gone as well.