Part Nine: Ma vhenas, ma vhenan (My home, my heart)

II

Home. To the Dalish, home is rarely a place, given their nomadic nature. When others in the Inquisition would talk of their villages, their houses, their cities, their farms, Ellana would nod politely, but to be honest, she never quite understood how a place could be a home. It seemed a strange notion. Yes, her clan would sometimes make camp for longer periods of time, and she would grow used to the scenery, but it always felt like a place to stay, not a home.

Home was her clan. Home was the sound of aravels moving, the smell of the Halla, the path ahead and the path behind. Home was evenings listening to the Keeper's tales, the stars distant above them. Home was the chatter of the camp as she walked through it, and the smiles of fellow hunters as they took down their prey. Home. Somehow, she always imagined returning to them, even forming the Inquisition, even after the events at the Crossroads.

Now, here she is, glancing down into the valley where her clan has made camp, and she feels… Odd. The aravels brings back memories of travels. The sight of the Halla makes her remember the taste of milk and cheese. The sounds of her clan is the familiar background sound of what was once her life. It's all familiar, all as remembered, and yet she still feels a strange sort of distance from it all.

Solas is standing next to her, quiet and pensive. Every now and then, she can feel his attention shift to her, but he says nothing. He has dressed a touch more grandly than he would as Solas, apostate mage, but not extravagantly. Just how she's going to explain him to her clan, she has no idea. 'Aneth ara, turns out being taken by the Dread Wolf is rather wonderful' might not go down too well.

She exhales, pushing her complicated emotions to the back of her mind. She can unpack that later. They've spent several days getting here even using the eluvians, and staring wordlessly down at her clan will accomplish nothing.

"Behold clan Lavellan," she says, trying to keep her voice light.

"Your clan," Solas says softly. "I am glad you were able to protect them, vhenan."

She swallows at the unexpected sincerity in his voice. Sometimes she wonders how it would have felt if she had made a wrong call – any wrong call – and her clan would have perished as a result. All her decisions as Inquisitor always felt like walking on a knife's edge – one slip, and it would cut into her. She saved her clan, but other times, she did stumble, and it did cut. Or perhaps there were times where balance was simply impossible, and it was just a matter of where it would cut.

"Thank you," she says, taking his hand.

He kisses her fingers lightly. "I know I have spoken harshly of the Dalish in the past, but I have never wished them ill. Wished they had greater understanding, greater wisdom, yes. I would never wish a Dalish clan slaughtered in a political gambit by humans with more ambition than empathy even if they were not your clan. As they are their clan, I wish it even less."

There is a slightly odd tone to his voice that it takes her a moment to realize is grief.

"Does it hurt?" she asks softly. "To behold the Dalish?"

For a moment, he keeps the polite mask she knows so very well. Then he sighs, and his eyes almost seem to dim. He pulls her into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist, clinging to her.

"Yes," he whispers, his voice laced with grief. "It is as if… As if seeing again a fresco that you admired and treasured, only you are seeing again it centuries later – the original has faded, and the attempt at repainting it has it all wrong. Wrong perspective, wrong colors, wrong motive. It is hard for me to remember Elvhenan and see the Dalish and the alienages. It is… It is a reminder of what is lost."

"I am sorry," she says, pressing her forehead against his. "Solas, I am so sorry."

He draws a shuddering breath, and she kisses him, light and comforting. She can feel him breathe, his chest rising and falling against hers as he presses her even closer, kissing her back with barely restrained desperation. She has caught glimpses of his grief before, but only glimpses, and contained at that. This, this is him willingly letting her see part of his pain and grief, and she is glad of it, even as she hurts with him.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he pulls back, and she presses light kisses against his face.

"The loss is not the fault of the Dalish," he says, sounding distant. "The fault is mine."

"Solas," she says, and he opens his eyes to look at her. The pain in his eyes nearly staggers her. "You did not intend this."

"I still caused it," he says, and his smile is infinitely sad. "I wanted a better future for Elvhenan."

"We will find a way to make one," she insists. "Together."

His smile turns slightly wistful. He hopes, she knows, but he doesn't quite believe or trust in it. Not yet, at least. She will make him see the possibility of a better future without the end of this world. She will.

"Vhenan," he says, his voice a caress. He kisses her tenderly, and when he pulls back again, his face is composed and his pain is masked. "Your clan awaits."

"Yes," she says, glancing down at her clan and fighting back the nerves.

They descend into the valley together. She can feel stares as they draw closer – at him, at her, at her bare face with no trace of a vallaslin. There are whispers too, occasionally rising to exclamations. She tries to smile at familiar faces, but her smile feels slightly stiff.

There is a gathering crowd not too far in front, she realizes, Keeper Istimaethoriel at the head. The First is there too, and several prominent hunters. A welcoming committee of sorts, she supposes, though there is a slight tension in the air. Behind them, the rest of the clan seems to be gathering.

"Andaran atish'an," her Keeper says, inclining her head. "It is good to see you again, Ellana."

"Ma serannas, Keeper," she replies. She takes a deep breath. How to best delicately introduce a near-to Elvhen god? They both decided it was probably wise not to attempt to conceal his identity, as any attempt at subterfuge would sooner or later be discovered and would not help, but they never really decided just how to introduce him. "This is…"

"I am known as Fen'Harel," Solas says calmly. There are a few gasps, but most just exchange glances, Ellana notes. They knew, or at least suspected. How? Has word spread even here? "Though you may call me Solas. Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris."

Ellana can hear many whispers behind her at that, but Keeper Istimaethoriel seems strangely unfazed, or perhaps just pretending to be.

"Solas," the Keeper says, inclining her head. "I am Deshanna Istimaethoriel, Keeper of clan Lavellan. You are welcome here."

Ellana can hear herself exhale. The Elders and hunters nod at each other, she notes, accepting the decision. Deshanna and Solas exchange a glance that isn't hostile, but still seems to hold a challenge. This is not at all how she expected this all to play out, but at least it seems to be going relatively well. There is no open hostility, for one thing, which she was half expecting, half dreading.

"Ma serannas, Keeper" Solas says, inclining his head. "I suspect you have questions."

They all have, as it turns out.

II

It is far into the evening when Deshanna comes to sit next to Ellana. By the fire, Solas is still talking, still telling his tale of Elvhenan and the fall, interrupted by the occasional question, and the whole clan is listening with rapt attention. He is addressing several members of her clan by name as he speaks, names she taught him, and never wavers in his politeness. Ellana has never considered herself blind to his charm – if anything, she was perhaps too aware of it – but she has never quite considered it in terms of others – perhaps because he didn't always bother to try with some of the others. He is most certainly trying now. Now, she can truly see how he has amassed his followers, how he became a leader of the Elvhen so long ago.

"It is truly good to see you, Ellana," Deshanna says after a moment, dropping the formality of their roles, as they sometimes would. "It has been too long, though I understand why. When I sent you to spy on the Chantry, I never imagined it would take you away from us."

"Who could have imagined the path it would lead to?" Ellana says softly, glancing over at Solas. "I am still not certain where it will end for me, Deshanna."

Deshanna nods slowly. "Lath araval ena. Even as a child, you were not dissuaded by the impossible. You will find a way."

Ellana fights an urge to cry. Oh, how she wants that to be true. For everyone's sake. For her sake. For his.

"You knew who he was before he introduced himself," she says after a moment. "You all knew."

"Yes," Deshanna says. She sighs. "We heard whispers at first. Many refused to believe them. Others feared them to be true, feared the return of the Dread Wolf. The whispers became tales, and the tales… The tales were alluring. Fear became curiosity. Curiosity became draw. Many follow him now. Dalish and city elves alike. Some of the clans have sworn themselves to him fully, Ellana. There are many in our clan who wish to do the same."

Ellana nods. She can see that – she can see the excitement, the longing, on many of the faces turned to Solas. Her clan may trade with humans and be on friendly terms with chosen towns and villages, but all Dalish, almost all elves – long for something better. The desire to hold on to the past is not just a matter of pride, Ellana has come to realize. It is also about what feels missing in the present, what they want for their future.

What they have lost.

"How do you know him?" Deshanna asks, looking at her intently.

"I did not know him as Fen'Harel at first," she replies. "He was Solas, an apostate mage that joined the Inquisition. He helped us with defeating the Venatori. He was a mystery, but none of us expected him to be… What he is."

"What he is," Deshanna repeats. She looks over at him, and Ellana remembers being told many tales of Fen'Harel, Deshanna's voice barely concealing her disgust at his actions.

"We were wrong about him," she says. "We were wrong about so much."

Deshanna lowers her eyes. "I refused to believe that at first. I have taken great pride in keeping what I believed to be knowledge of our people. It is hard to accept that we have honored and preserved lies."

"Have you accepted it?" Ellana asks. It matters to her, she realizes, that her clan accepts the truth. Solas may have learned to accept contempt, but she is unwilling to. At least from her clan.

"I am learning to accept the possibility," Deshanna says simply. "Da'len, who is he to you?"

Ellana swallows. She knew this question would come, sooner or later. "My Solas. My wolf. My heart. I love him, Deshanna."

"Oh, Ellana," Deshanna says. Her voice is grieved, but tender too. "Who are you to him?"

"Vhenan," Ellana says. She feels tears prick at her eyes, and gently, Deshanna hugs her, kissing the top of her head. It is such a motherly gesture that it makes Ellana's heart ache.

"My impossible child," Deshanna says, her voice a little choked. "Ellana, after your mother died, I tried to look after you as best I could. I am so proud of what you have become. As impossible as it seems, if anyone could catch the heart of the Dread Wolf, it would be you."

Ellana cannot help a laugh, a helpless, bleak laugh. "It would be me. I was afraid you would…"

"No," Deshanna says. "There are those who would scorn your choice, who would look at you with disdain. Perhaps you have faced some of that already. Perhaps you will have to face more. But they do not know you. I do. The past is not what we thought. The present is uncertain. The future is unknown. But you, Ellana of clan Lavellan, will always be dear to my heart, no matter who you love, no matter if you bear the vallaslin or not. Everything else may change. That will not."

Ellana just nods. She doesn't trust her voice not to break. She wasn't sure what reaction she would get from her clan, bringing with her Fen'Harel himself and with no vallaslin. She expected having to fight for accept, to fight for his accept, and was prepared for it. This… This she was not prepared for, and it makes composure all the harder.

Deshanna pulls back, smiling at her before patting Ellana's hand softly. "I have arranged for you to stay in one of our aravels tonight. There is food and drink there for you both. We will talk more tomorrow."

Ellana watches her walk away. When she was growing up, her Keeper always seemed all-knowing, with all the answers, all the wisdom. Now, her Keeper seems like an aging woman, struggling with answers as much as everyone else. Everything feels different now, and she hugs her knees to her, a touch clumsily with only one hand, listening to Solas charm her clan well into the night.

II

The fire has faded, and only stars and the moon offer light by the time her clan runs out of questions about Elvhenan (or simply become too tired to think of any more) and Solas comes to find her. He smiles at her apologetically, but there is something bright in his eyes that tells her he enjoyed the questions. He always did with her, she remembers. He enjoys curiosity as much as he enjoys offering knowledge.

They eat before they settle into the aravel. There are enough furs and blankets within to make bedding for a small group, a Dalish attempt at luxury, though she isn't sure if that is to honor her, or him. Probably him, if she is perfectly honest. Her clan cares for her, but they have never been in awe of her.

After they have made themselves comfortable, Solas nestles behind her and holds her.

"You seem unsettled," he says softly.

"I am," she admits. "This is not the reaction I expected. I thought… I suppose I assumed they would still be as they were when I left them. But years have passed for them too, and much has happened in those years."

"They have changed," he says.

"Yes," she agrees. He kisses the back of her neck, and waits, as if he knows there is more. "It doesn't feel like coming home."

"Because they have changed?"

"No," she says, closing her eyes. "It is not them. It is me. I still love them. I still treasure the memories of my life with them. It's just… I have changed. This is no longer my home because I am no longer that Ellana. This is the home of my past."

"Ah," he says. "I am truly sorry, vhenan."

He understands the loss of home all too well, she knows, and she finds a strange sort of comfort in that shared understanding. There is comfort in his presence too, feeling him so near, and she longs to be even closer.

"Solas," she murmurs, and he immediately understands, pressing himself closer. He makes love to her life that; kissing her neck, her shoulders, her back while thrusting into her in slick strokes that leaves her gasping for breath. She lets herself just feel, not think; feels his fingers press into her skin, feels his chest press against the arch of her back, feels his mouth hotly at her neck, feels every inch of him inside her, hard and straining.

"Ma vhenas, ma vhenan," he whispers lovingly; she whimpers his name as she comes. He is not content with just once, pushing her to the height of pleasure and the fall after once more before he finally lets go himself; they fall asleep still sweaty and slightly breathless, finding comfort in each other.

II

She wakes abruptly, her head pounding. For a moment, she has a faint memory of a dream, a dream of being hunted by a great hunter, the great hunter, but it evaporates as mist in the morning, leaving only a sensation of being unsettled.

It is still dark outside, but Solas is not sleeping next to her. She can still feel his warmth in the blankets, so he has not been long gone, but she still feels a moment of fear. He is Fen'Harel, surrounded by the Dalish, and even if her clan seems to have received him well, it would only take one lashing out in anger.

Hurriedly, she puts on enough to be decent, and walks outside. It is just before dawn, she realizes, the promise of coming light at the edge of the horizon. At the center of the camp, the fire is still out, but by it, she sees two huddled figures.

Solas and Deshanna, she realizes. They are clearly talking, but there is no sound carrying. A ward? Must be a ward. What are they talking about?

She does not think. Somehow, she knows without thinking what to do, knows a spell that is like an arrow, piercing the ward and allowing her to hear what is being said.

Solas is talking, his voice low and persuasive.

"Only I know how to unlock it," he says, "and now you. Clan Lavellan will be safe there. There is latent magic there, magic that will defend and protect you. There is knowledge there, tomes and artifacts from the days of Elvhenan. You will truly become keepers of Elvhen history there, should you wish to. Keepers of the lost lore."

"Why would you give us such a gift?" Deshanna asks. She sounds a little awed, but manages to keep an admirable composure for talking to someone she once told ancient tales of.

"For her," Solas says quietly, sincerely. "Most of all for her, but also because I would like there to be true keepers of Elvhenan should I fail my duty to the People. Your clan raised Ellana. If you could raise someone of her spirit, then it is possible your clan may carry a spark of what once was. A spark is a beginning."

Deshanna is silent for a moment. "I gather you do not think much of the Dalish, Fen'Harel."

"The Dalish did not think much of me," he counters smoothly. "It is true that when I woke, I saw the Dalish like a mockery of what was once Elvhen. I saw in you only what was lost and misremembered, and it grieved me. I could not see beyond my grief until Ellana made me see that even if your ways are misjudged, your intentions are honorable."

They are silent for a while, and Ellana mulls their conversation over, trying to make sense of it. What is Solas offering her clan? An ancient Elvhen place of some sort, it seems, but what and where?

"Fen'Harel ma ghilana," Deshanna says finally. "A few years ago, I would have thought myself a fool to even listen to the Dread Wolf, let alone make an agreement with him. So be it. I accept your gift to clan Lavellan, Hahren."

"Ma serannas," Solas says. Elanna thinks she can hear a note of relief in his voice. "There is one more matter I wish to discuss with you, Keeper. A personal matter."

"Ellana," Deshanna says. Ellana feels the heat in her cheeks. She really, really should not be listening to this. "She told me what you were to each other."

"Ah," Solas says. His voice is slightly hesitant. "You disapprove?"

"It is not for me to disapprove. She may bond whom she chooses," Deshanna says. "You are not what I would have wanted for her, but you are what she has chosen. I honor her choice."

"I am not what I would have wanted for her," he says sadly, "but yes, I am who she has chosen. I wish to honor her choice. I wish to bond her, if she wishes it too. Here, among her clan. Would you allow it, Keeper?"

Ellana feels her breath catch, and hears herself gasp. In the dark, she can see Solas turn slightly, as if he heard, and she hurriedly ends the spell and slips back into the aravel. He wishes to bond her. Here, among her clan, he wishes to take part in a Dalish custom to honor her.

Ma vhenas, ma vhenan, he whispered to her earlier, she remembers. My home, my heart. Oh, Solas.

"Vhenan," she hears his voice say sternly, and she looks up to see him entering. "You were listening in."

"Yes," she admits. He kneels down next to her. "I woke, and you weren't here. I was worried. When I saw you talking to Keeper Istimaethoriel, I chose to listen in. Ir abelas, Solas."

He sighs, but he doesn't look mad. "Your mastery of my spells continues to astonish me, though in this case, you should be aware this particular spell carries sound both ways. It was designed to pierce silencing wards and allow communication, not specifically to eavesdrop on others."

"You heard me," she surmises, and he nods.

"How much did you hear?" he asks, taking her hand in his.

"I heard you offer my clan a gift," she says. "I assume that is how you will ensure my clan will be in a position to protect me."

"Yes," he says. "It is an ancient place, but it managed to retain enough magic to remain shielded and it has not fallen into ruin, unlike so many other marvels of Elvhenan. Not even my followers know of it. Now it belongs to your clan. Your Keeper and her First will visit it in a few days. We can go along, should you wish to see it."

She nods slightly, struggling to keep her voice light. "I would like that."

"Ellana," he says softly. "I know you heard the last part."

"Yes," she says. "Solas, bonding is a Dalish custom. You don't have to…"

"I want to," he says fiercely. "In this world, in your world, bonding is the symbol of commitment and love. The Elvhen bonded too. The desire to commit, to love, was the same, even if the ceremonies and customs related to it were different. Perhaps I will be able to offer you an Elvhen ceremony as well one day. Here and now, I want this. Ar lath ma, vhenan. Will you bond me?"

This is what else he was planning, she realizes. A show of commitment to her. Perhaps he even desires the thought of her making a commitment to him, even if it is through a Dalish custom. It is still a commitment. It is still a show of love. It is still a promise. It is still the hope that home can be found in the heart of another.

His eyes are very, very bright as he looks at her, still kneeling and holding her hand, and she realizes she is right. He does desire this. Genuinely, truly, sincerely, he wants this.

Does she?

"Yes," she says simply, and means it with all her heart.