He came. He actually came.
The thought fills her with awe.
From behind the one-way mirror that separates bar from Varric's 'office,' Ellana spots him moving through the restless crowd of regulars toward the bar. The colored light from the cans above the small stage cast his sharp features in a severe light, emphasizing the brooding brow and full lips. His bald head turns this way and that as he searches for a free table in this dirty dive.
Seeing him again, in context this time, very nearly confirms her suspicion, no matter how dowdy and old-fashioned he might dress. The mob of restive youths in their uniform-like black jeans, band tees and tattoos parts to let this strange bird of a different feather altogether pass.
Here he stands, this 'Solas,' a very adult tourist in a pit of angry teens and twenty-somethings. She wonders if he feels out of place, in his pressed slacks and loose creme button-up. A long-fingered hand rises to push spectacles back up his nose as he settles back in a wooden chair in the back corner of the bar, furthest from the stage.
"Whatcha starin' at, Rosy?" calls the dwarf behind her from his massive desk. She leans back from the mirror to look at Varric.
Biting her lip to keep from spilling that there may be a bonafide heavy metal god in his bar, she smiles and says, "Nothing. Pretty good crowd tonight."
The look he shoots back at her tells her she sucks at lying, but he's not going to push. He looks back down at the endless paperwork clearly hounding him and replies, "Of course. You're getting pretty popular."
"I wish. You know they're all probably here to see the Wardens."
The dwarf snorts. "When are you going to admit you got a pretty good thing going? Someday, you're going to call me from some big town, like Halamshiral or Denerim, and after the normal, boring, trite pleasantries, you're gonna say, 'Know what, Varric? The show's sold out. Eighty thousand seats. You were right. I guess we finally made it.'"
He looks a little sad at this.
The warmth pricking her heart makes her step over to him and give him a hug. "Aw, Varric. I couldn't and wouldn't go anywhere without you. You're coming with us if we go."
"And leave Kirkwall?" he asks, feigning horror.
"It's not like we can't come back whenever we want," she reasons, holding him a little tighter.
"Kid, you're choking me," he rasps, then laughs as she lets him go. "Maybe, just maybe. I could use a vacation after that whole Meredith/Orsino debacle."
"Still dealing with 'conflict of interest' bullshit?"
"It would have helped if they weren't both such divas. And if Anders hadn't been there to instigate." Varric affixes a sour eye on her and says, "Don't ever let success go to your head, Rosy."
"I'll start worrying about that if we ever get successful."
"Hey, boss," calls a voice at the door. She turns to see Bull there, in his low-slung jeans and leather vest covered in patches from every band he's ever crewed for. He grins, one eye glittering, and says, "Everything's set."
Ellana fairly leaps over to him and kisses him on the cheek. "Best roadie ever."
Bull grins even wider, pleased. "Best band ever."
"I bet you say that to all the bands," she teases.
Varric says, "Wardens here yet?"
The giant horned man's expression sours. "No."
The dwarf sighs. "Never here for soundcheck. Never here for load-in."
She waves at Varric and heads backstage to get ready. Her bandmates look up as she enters the green room.
Cassandra sets aside her guitar and stands. "Are we on?"
"Soon." Then the pre-show jitters hit and she bounces a little in place. Not to mention a certain … person was out there, she remembers suddenly. She bites her lip.
"What's the matter?" asks Blackwall from where he lounges on the stained, yellowish couch. His shirt loudly proclaims, 'Beard. Bass. Balls.'
Again, she has to fight the urge to just blab it all out, but the look on Solas's face the other day stops her. Spooked. Haunted. No, if he chose to remain incognito, then she wouldn't out him. Especially not when she still harbors so much uncertainty.
"Doubt. Disquiet. Distress. We have to shine. It's important." The fourth member of the band slowly looks away from the knot on the wood wall toward her, drumsticks never ceasing their meditative twirl between his fingers.
Blackwall and Cassandra stare at the wan boy, then back at Ellana. She colors and says, "Pre-show shakes, that's all."
Cassandra's brow rises. "That is clearly 'not all.'"
"Yeah, you're even more twitchy than usual." Blackwall hums and strokes his prodigious 'stache.
"I just … I want it to be good. Tonight I want it to be really, really good." She looks down at her spiky heels then back up when Cassandra's hand drops onto her shoulder.
"You say that every time and you know what? We make it good. Every time," the Nevarran states, leaving no room for doubt.
Her confidence skyrockets.
Ellana chuckles as she bounces a little in place, again. "Where's Sera?"
Blackwall laughs. "Where else? Front of the house, padding the band tab."
Ellana groans. "She knows that comes out of our cut, right?"
"I don't think she cares overmuch."
"Well, let's get out there before she's too sloshed to play."
As the band files out before her, Ellana reaches up to the chain around her neck. Warm from being lodged in her cleavage, she draws forth the triangular pendant with a reverent sigh. Her fingers trace the edges of the shining treasure within, drawing confidence from its presence. Plucking it free, she wraps it tight in one fist.
Following her bandmates out onto the stage, she slings her own instrument over one bare shoulder, checking the cable running from jack to amp. Blackwall and Cassandra give a nod once they're situated. She doesn't check on Cole. The spirit never fails to be ready, no matter how out of it he seems.
The mixing engineer, one of Bull's crew, gives her the thumb's up.
A belching blond elf saunters over and takes her own place with a saucy grin on her flushed face. The violin she then picks up rests easily under chin, bow already arcing over strings. "Finally come out to join the party, eh, Quizzy?"
"If there's more than fifty bucks on our tab already, it's coming out of your share, Sera."
That earns her a shrug of supreme indifference. "Fine. Wha'eva."
Ellana looks out over the sea of mohawks and leather and spots him, still sitting in the far back corner. Shielding her eyes, she smiles, giving a little wave.
He straightens and gives her a shy nod. Then a timid wave of his own.
She finds it terribly cute.
Far cuter than it has any right to be, considering. And makes her more nervous than if he'd been all imperious and aloof.
She shakes her head and laughs at herself, giving her own cue of readiness.
Then she leans toward the mic and takes a deep breath.