A/N: I ran a little late today...haven't heard from anyone lately! Let me know what you think. Did I screw it all up? Love it, hate it...?

Thirty-Five

Mien'Harel

Only a half hour after leaving Ellana sleeping, Solas sensed the foci as a sizzling shot of energy in the back of his mind. He'd already sent two Dalish women to help Ellana and sent off a messenger—Lanya—to Briala, and had spent the time since then preparing the others from their party for the coming rebellion. Yet, as soon as he felt the foci, Solas took Abelas with him in search of it.

The Orlesians allowed him to pass through the sumptuous halls of the palace with little more than suspicious glares as he left the servant quarters, but when he crossed into another wing a pair of masked guards blocked his passage. Through the eyeholes in their masks Solas could just make out the glitter of the moist sheen of their eyes as they tried to turn him away, their voices nasally and thick with their accents.

"Off with you," the one to the left of the door snarled, lips invisible behind the silvered mask. "This part of the palace is off limits currently."

His partner added, "Filthy flea-bitten elf savage."

Feeling the foci off in the distance beyond these men as a burning beacon in his peripheral senses, Solas scowled. "I have no time for this," he growled, drawing down a quick draught of mana from his core as he prepared to cast. "Step aside and allow me to pass or I will end you."

The guard who'd called him a savage immediately reached for his sword, drawing it with a metallic ringing. Solas' eyes flared white-purple as he petrified the man. The other guard yelped, scrambling for his weapon even as he seemed to flinch away, intimidated by the impossible swiftness of Solas' attack. With just a flick of his eyes, Solas petrified him too as soon as he'd drawn his sword.

He heard a gasp and a shriek behind him as a noblewoman reacted to the attack, trotting away on her ridiculously pointed heels, her dress fluttering around her legs. Abelas snorted beside him. "I will never understand these shemlen."

In this, at least, Solas could agree with the sentinel, though he refused to smile or admit it aloud. "Lead the way," he instructed the sentinel, knowing the other man could feel the foci as well. Every mage in the palace would have felt its presence—but of course only a handful recognized what it was.

Abelas pushed open the porcelain white double doors ahead of them without touching them, using a waft of magic like Veilstrike. Screaming echoed through the hallway in response to the clattering of the doors as they smacked against the walls behind them. A servant lingering in a nearby doorframe peeked out, her eyes round and owlish as she watched them. As they drew near the serving girl dipped her head and murmured, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Solas slowed slightly to speak to her. "Mien'harel is here, da'len. Lay down your duties for the humans and help us take Halamshiral."

She gawped at him. "What? What should I do?"

"Go to the servants quarters," Solas instructed. "Join with the rest of the People."

With a nod she scampered away in the direction he indicated, pausing near the entrance to gasp at the sight of the petrified Orlesians. Solas continued after Abelas, both of them following the prickling pressure at the edges of their minds, like hounds on a scent. As they neared the next corner in the corridor, passing darkened rooms that stood empty except for storage crates or dusty bookshelves, Solas heard a distant shout along with the nearer noise of metallic clanking from heavy Orlesian armor. The foci was on the move, drawing closer—as was the approaching guard.

Solas reached out and grasped Abelas' bicep. "Hold," he ordered, his voice quiet but firm. The sentinel obeyed, cold amber eyes flashing in a sidelong look that offered acknowledgement and showed no curiosity or hesitation. He had settled into a battle ready posture, stoic with obedience. It was a shame Solas couldn't trust the sentinel—he was, indeed, a valuable and experienced leader. Solas could have told Abelas nothing, but he chose to explain himself as he let go of the sentinel. "Let us see what has so spooked this guard."

They waited in tense silence as the huffing breath of the guard grew louder, as did the constant clank of his armor. Finally the guard rounded the corner ahead of them, sword already drawn, and immediately skidded to a stop with the hard slap of metal over the glinting marble floor. Chest heaving, the Orlesian motioned at them using his sword. "Step aside, fools."

"Running to warn the empress of an attack?" Solas asked, his voice cold and clipped.

The guard lunged forward, sword leading, clearly planning to skewer Abelas, who was slightly closer, through the chest. The sentinel shimmered as he Fade cloaked, not even bothering to dodge as the human warrior shoved the blade through his now incorporeal and invulnerable form. Simultaneously, with a grunt, Solas Fade stepped through the Orlesian, freezing him solid. Solas popped out of it with a flourish at the end of the corridor, where it doglegged sharply to the left.

Peering down the hall, Solas saw a dozen elves striding closer, gaits stiff and postures ready for a fight. They wore a variety of armors, from Dalish to more basic leathers. Some were barefaced while others still bore vallaslin. At their lead Solas recognized Zevanni, her proud swagger unmistakable.

Behind him Abelas let out a grunt of his own, casting an altered Veilstrike spell that shattered the frozen guard. Sparkling bits of frost scattered in the air and ice chunks clinked musically as they fell to the marble floor. Solas eyed the sentinel out of the corner of one eye as covertly as he could, trying to gage the other mage's stamina. He knew Abelas was powerful even with the Veil in place, but Abelas had always been restrained around him, making it difficult for Solas to pinpoint his strength and weaknesses.

"Fen'Harel," Zevanni called, a fierce grin spreading over her face. The power of the foci was like a shadow over her in Solas' senses, tumultuous and vibrant, a song of magic that he didn't hear so much as feel. His eyes fell to the coat she wore and the way it flopped heavily on one side. The orb would be there, tucked into a pocket. His fingers twitched at his side, clamoring to touch it even though he knew it carried the rather repulsive residual taste of Falon'Din, Sylaise, and Dirthamen's mana.

"Zevanni," he greeted her with a meaningful nod. "How good of you to join the negotiations." He grinned, hard and feral. "Perhaps now we shall accomplish something with the shemlen."

"Indeed," she crooned, smirking. Her right hand dropped to the swell of the foci in her coat. "I have a present for you—if you're ready for it."

"Keep it, for now," Solas replied.

From just behind Solas, Abelas made a small noise in his throat of derision and immediately Zevanni's gaze flew to him. "Ah, Abelas. How good it is to see that charming mug of yours again." Her brow furrowed as she no doubt registered that his vallaslin were missing and the quick glance she shot in Solas' direction held the silent question, though she didn't linger on it. "Where do we go first?" she asked instead. "I have a hundred elves at my back, eager to spill shemlen blood."

Scowling, Solas surveyed those assembled, seeing their tense expressions and the earnestness of their tight smiles. "This is not to be a bloodbath," he scolded Zevanni, raising his volume enough that the elves behind her would hear as well. "We will take the empress and the Divine alive and unharmed. And any humans who choose to flee or surrender are to be shown mercy. We cannot act like beasts hungering for blood. Do you understand?"

Zevanni heaved an irritable sigh but said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Far down the hall behind her, Solas saw still more elves emerging from an open doorway, likely the room that had housed the eluvian, one of several within the palace and Halamshiral. Apparently in one of the previous centuries the Orlesians had found the eluvians quite fetching and vogue, dredging up as many as they could and restoring them for use as actual mirrors. Their lack of understanding inadvertently worked to Solas' favor now.

He spotted Mahanon with the newly arrived elves, wearing fine Keeper robes. Mahanon had nearly the same auburn hair color and skin tone as his sister, as well as the familiar shape and placement of his other features. The reminder of Ellana sent his thoughts spinning in that direction, writhing with worry that seemed to tie his guts in a knot. Should he send Mahanon to Ellana? Would her brother comfort her or rile her up?

Then, from down the hallway Solas had already come through, came the sound of tramping footsteps as guards in full armor appeared at the far end of the corridor. They shouted wordless war cries and the leader raised his longsword over his head, encouraging the band of five guardsmen with him to charge.

Zevanni grunted. "Someone must've gotten out a warning to the empress."

As Abelas tensed, preparing to be the first to fight these new foes, Solas curled his hand into a fist and, drawing enough mana to leave him slightly dizzy, petrified all five guardsmen with a flash of his eyes. They fell over with hard thumps, arms and legs breaking with sharp cracking sounds. With another burst of mana, Solas punched his fist downward, slamming a powerful Veilstrike into the five statues, shattering them into pieces of rock little bigger than gravel.

Zevanni laughed. "This is going to be too easy if you do all the work, Fen'Harel."

Solas shot her a glare. "Do not underestimate them." He started down the corridor, calling over his shoulder. "Follow me."

With a puff of gray smoke and a gentle popping noise, the raven perched in Ellana's window transformed into Morrigan. The witch sat on the sill with her legs in the tub as Ellana gawked at her. Then, with a wave of one hand, she cast a bubble over them. The touch of magic tingled over Ellana's skin, making her shiver.

"That should give us some privacy," she said with a smirk. At Ellana's nervous glance at the door to the privy, beyond the shimmering gold of the bubble over them, Morrigan chuckled. "`Tis a sound barrier, Lady Lavellan. I know you are watched by Fen'Harel's loyalist lackeys. I cannot risk them overhearing."

"What do you want?" Ellana asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

Morrigan tilted her head, lips parting slightly with mock-surprise. "Is that any way to speak to the person who's come to rescue you from Fen'Harel's clutches? `Tis awfully rude."

Refusing to be cowed, Ellana crossed her arms over her chest and repeated, "What do you want?"

Morrigan's golden eyes narrowed slightly, losing some of her good humor. "I have come to fulfill my promise to you, Lady Lavellan." She motioned to Ellana's left hand. "I have come to remove your mark."

Heart pounding, Ellana stared at her, feeling the Anchor pulsate under the skin of her palm. She'd pleaded with Solas to take the Anchor from her, even if doing so meant losing her arm. Was Morrigan—or Mythal, really—making the same offer or a new, better one? And regardless of the details, could Ellana trust the ancient formless goddess with a power like the Anchor? Licking her lips to try and wet them, though she had precious little moisture to spare, Ellana asked, "What do you mean exactly?"

"I mean that Mythal can take the Anchor from you without harming you in any way." The witch wore a long-sleeved dress with a stiff crinoline skeleton that rustled like dry leaves whenever she moved, drawing Ellana's gaze and making her tense. The bubble glimmered over them, still intact. "That is what you wanted, was it not?"

Ellana clenched her jaw, sucking in a long breath. "It was, yes." She edged backward from the tub, leaning against the counter beside the crate with supplies. Thoughts of the knockout and invisibility powder flitted through her mind like panicked birds taking wing.

The expression on Morrigan's face was darker now, her lips twisting downward. "But you no longer trust me, do you?" She clucked her tongue and idly tugged at the cuffs on her sleeves. "`Tis such a shame you are so fickle, Lady Lavellan. Mythal can help you."

"How, exactly?" Ellana asked, her voice sharp. "How can Mythal take the Anchor and spare my arm while Solas cannot?"

"Have you ever heard Fen'Harel refer to the Evanuris as the first of his people?" Morrigan asked without looking at her. "No doubt you thought little of it at the time, but doesn't such a description seem odd for one who does not call them creator gods?"

The distant memory of the temple of Mythal passed through Ellana's mind, along with a chill of both awe and dread. Recalling the glittering gold and green of the pristine murals Ellana had seen on the walls around the petitioners' ritual chambers, she could almost hear again Solas' voice as he spoke of Falon'Din being bloodied in his own temple. Why not killed?

Shaking her head, she frowned. "While interesting, Morrigan, I hardly see how that is relevant."

Morrigan smiled, closed-lipped and somber. "I assure you, `tis entirely relevant. Did you ever wonder why the People are so connected to the Fade? Why they alone are immortal among the races of Thedas?" She laughed when Ellana's brow furrowed with further confusion. "The first of the People were powerful spirits—will manifesting as flesh. Elgar'nan and Mythal were truly the first and most powerful, but Falon'Din was also born of the Fade rather than flesh, as was June. They manifested later, of course, and under differing circumstances, but they still possessed incredible power."

Ellana blinked, baffled as she tried to process what Morrigan had told her. "You're saying…all of the ancient Elvhen were spirits manifesting as flesh?"

Morrigan cocked her head to one side. "The very first, yes, but most of the Elvhen who came later were born just as you were, including many of the Evanuris. Mythal and Elgar'nan were the most powerful, the very first elves to draw breath in this world." Her smile widened. "As such, there are things even Fen'Harel does not know and cannot do. Despite his affinity for spirits and the Fade, he has always been a being of flesh."

"How does this mean Mythal can help me?" Ellana pressed, a coil of tight anxiety pressing against her lungs, making each breath seem shallower than the one before.

"If you come with me, Lady Lavellan, I will take you into the city. There is an eluvian in a noble's seasonal retreat located there. I have used it to come and go from Halamshiral quietly, avoiding Fen'Harel's notice." Her golden eyes drilled into Ellana as she went on. "With Mythal's knowledge and power, I can redirect the eluvian to take us into the Fade. Once there Mythal will conduct a ritual that will draw your spirit from your body. Then removing the Anchor will be like unraveling a wayward string from a tapestry."

Ellana's heart had climbed into her throat, pounding away. "Draw my spirit from my body?" she repeated, voice thin with fear.

"It sounds frightening, but `tis not. Your spirit is drawn from your body each night while you sleep to dream in the Fade, after all. No harm will come to you." Morrigan grimaced, lip curling as if in pain for a moment. Heaving a sigh, she gestured at the bubble around them. "This spell taxes me, Lady Lavellan. I must ask that you make your decision quickly. Will you remain Fen'Harel's puppet and plaything, or will you cast off his mark and gain independence?"

"What will become of the Anchor?" Ellana asked, flexing her left hand to ease the ongoing tingling of it.

"I will carry it," Morrigan said, smirking. "I can see that displeases you, but it should not." Spreading her hands to indicate the palace around them, she said, "The palace is in turmoil. Soon the city will rise in rebellion as well. These are the hallmarks of Fen'Harel when he is uncaged and unrestrained. There is nothing to hold him back in this world—save you and the Anchor."

Shifting on the windowsill, making her dress rustle, Morrigan went on, "Do you know the longest streak of peace Elvhenan saw after Falon'Din's civil war ended? After Fen'Harel had taken his place as one of the Evanuris? It was many centuries long and only occurred because Fen'Harel was hampered as a ruler, bound by the responsibility of caring for his own lands and his own people. And he was beholden to other leaders, nobility, and his fellow Evanuris. It was only when they—" She broke off, grimacing again. "We reinstated Falon'Din and allowed Fen'Harel to slip away that chaos returned."

She raised both brows. "Do you understand, Lady Lavellan? Fen'Harel must be kept in check for there to be peace. As long as he maintains control over so much he will never be content." She shook her head, a look of sorrow darkening her features. "You know there is wisdom in my words. In Mythal's words."

Nodding, Ellana stared at the edge of the tub, at the embroidery in Morrigan's flamboyant dress. She didn't doubt the value in checks and balances on power, but trusting Mythal with it felt…dangerous. Abelas' bare face flashed through her mind again. What plans would the sentinel disagree with so vehemently that he would leave her service? She wished she knew Abelas better to gain insight on his decision and what it suggested about Mythal.

Through the window Ellana heard muffled screams and shouts. Orange light flickered with a dull roar, glinting on the window pane. Morrigan turned her head and gazed out with a scowl. "It seems the rebellion has begun in earnest. We are running out of time."

Body slicked with a sudden hot sweat, Ellana turned and began digging through the supply crate. "I'm not ready to relinquish the Anchor yet," she told Morrigan. "But I do see the wisdom in what you say." Clutching several small bundles of knockout and invisibility powder, Ellana faced Morrigan's unhappy frown once more. "I will stand with you to thwart Solas," she said, heat in the words as a touch of her fury returned, scalding her blood. "Can you get me out of here?"

Morrigan's golden eyes roved over her, assessing. "I can, but you would do well to arm yourself. There will be confusion and violence. I have summoned several sentinels to help us, but they are only a handful against the entire palace and a host of Fen'Harel's hostile elves. They will invariably recognize you," she said, ominous.

Ellana pointed toward the bedroom beyond the privy and the golden shimmer of the sound bubble they were within. "I have a bow in the other room."

"And invisibility powder in one hand," Morrigan observed with a grin. She raised both hands, her palms glowing gold. "I will drop the barrier now. Be swift and silent."

Holding her breath, Ellana threw the small bag of powder onto the floor, sending up a dark, sparkling cloud of particulate. The sound bubble disappeared with a last flicker and suddenly Ellana's ears filled with the much louder roar of the fire in the courtyard and shrieking voices. Footsteps pounded in the hallway outside and she heard the clang of metal on metal. A voice cried out from right outside her room: "Fen'Harel enansal!"

Biting back the curses rising to her tongue, Ellana moved into the bedroom as silently as she could. One glance at the door found both Matheral and Lyris still present, tight as bowstrings as they faced the door to the room, ready to attack anyone that burst through it. Their distraction made Ellana's task easier as she moved to the dresser where her coat, her bow, and her quiver waited. She grabbed them up, aware that they would remain visible unless she used another dose of powder, and used her body to try and shield the items as she crept back to the privy.

"Guards sent by the empress?" Matheral asked his wife. "To capture Ellana?"

Lyris nodded in return, the hilt of her spectral blade clutched so tightly in her right hand that the knuckles had flushed white. "The Marquise could have betrayed us."

Ellana returned to the privy, their words echoing in her ears as she hurriedly shrugged on her coat, hoping its extra bulk would help hide her swollen belly. "I'm ready," she mouthed at Morrigan, shouldering her arrow quiver and her bow.

The witch nodded and motioned her closer. Ellana stepped into the other woman's embrace and braced herself, closing her eyes, anticipating that she was about to endure what might be unpleasantly strong magic. A rush of cold enveloped her, along with a flash of light against her eyelids, and the overwhelming, nauseating sense of vertigo as the world spun. Then, for a heartbeat, weightlessness clenched her stomach.

With a hissing pop the light on her eyelids became the orange flicker of flames and she felt the solid stone of the courtyard beneath her feet. Hedges formed a wall to her right and the palace rose to her left. Ellana saw her open window several stories up, the trail of gold wispy smoke marking the path of the teleportation spell Morrigan had used. Tongues of flame licked up from a first floor window nearby, close enough that Ellana could feel the heat of it.

"What a mess." Morrigan grunted and waved a hand at it, casting ice magic. The air chilled until Ellana could see her breath and the fire shrank back into mere sparks before going out. "There. Much better."

Ahead of them, beside the row of hedges, Ellana saw the bloody body of the noble she'd seen elven servants kill a few minutes ago. She grimaced before she heard more shouts and pounding feet over the hard courtyard. Voices called out in broken elven. "Fen'Harel enansal! Mien'harel!"

Morrigan gritted her teeth and reached for Ellana's hand, gripping it hard in her sweaty palm. "We must be swift, Lady Lavellan. Follow me."

With a deep-throated roar, Zevanni hurled an enormous ball of flames at the last half dozen golden-armored bodyguards of the Divine. The men had burst out of the chamber that served as Divine Victoria's personal quarters, swords and shields at the ready, shouting to Andraste and the Maker, beseeching them for a holy victory, triumph over their savage elven opponents. The fire engulfed two of them, turning their prayer-like shouts to their god and his prophet into ear-piercing screams of agony.

From his spot slightly further back, Solas winced at the sound and drew mana for a petrification spell. With just a flick of his eyes he turned both men into stone, dousing the flames prematurely but ending their pitiful screams.

The last remaining guard shield bashed a Dalish mage, making her cry out with pain and crumple to the ground. There were three more elves within swinging distance and they all attacked at once, casting lightning, fire, and ice simultaneously as the warrior slashed at them. Mages further back cast barriers over those in the front, blocking his blade with a flare of bluish magic. The guard staggered back, howling with pain as magic assaulted him from every side. Another fire spell from Zevanni consumed him and he fell, already dead.

The mages surged forward through the double doors, shouting in triumph, led by Zevanni. Solas pressed forward with them, just behind, the pressure of tension and anxiety rising like bile in his throat. The Divine's chambers were luxurious and enormous, the walls porcelain and pristine with glittering gilded trim. On the floor was a massive Chantry sunburst emblazoned in red. The room opened into an office space with white couches along the walls and an enormous desk made of a fragrant red-stained wood.

Cassandra stood regal and proud behind that desk, resplendent in her golden armor, complete with the bizarre oval shaped headgear. She jutted out her chin, eyes flashing with defiance as she took in the swarm of elves filtering into the office and did not draw her shield or sword. As Solas stepped forward to take a spot beside Zevanni, Cassandra's brown eyes flew to him and narrowed with disdain—but also a hint of pain.

"Is this how it is to end then, my old friend?" she asked, the words clipped and hard with a note of bitterness. "Have you come to kill me, Solas?"

"Surrender peacefully and there will be no need for further bloodshed," Solas told her, mildly surprised at how gentle his voice sounded. The memory of the way she'd called him Solas instead of Fen'Harel made something in his chest sting a little.

"Am I to be a prisoner, then?" Cassandra asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"For a time," Solas hedged with a dip of his chin. He tucked his hands behind his back, feeling the mages around him tense. "I have no quarrel with you," he elaborated. "Save that your Chantry has censured the People and denied us our rightful claim to the Dales."

"I have always been open to negotiations," Cassandra said, lips curling in a snarl. "I am the one who called for these peace talks to begin with."

Solas nodded again. "I understand that, Seeker." Just as she had fallen back to using his informal name, Solas followed suit using her former title. "And I had every intention of resolving this matter peacefully. Unfortunately, Empress Celene did not share our aspirations and was intent on having Ellana and myself killed. I have taken action to prevent this."

"You go too far," Cassandra snarled with a sideways slash of her hand. Her eyes flicked around the other elves. "How many lives will you take doing this? What will you accomplish?" A pleading note entered her voice as she continued. "Do you know how many have urged me simply to declare an Exalted March on the Emerald Graves? I have tried every excuse I can think of to resist…but now…" She shook her head, gaze dropping to the desk.

"Kill her," Zevanni growled at his side, fire in her eyes. "It will throw the humans into chaos and make them vulnerable. And if you leave her alive she'll just decree an Exalted March." Zevanni motioned at the Divine with one hand, a look of derision curling her lips and narrowing her eyes. "She basically said as much."

Part of Solas could see Zevanni's point. Cassandra had been a good and fair Divine, but she was still just another Andrastian, preaching Chantry rhetoric and fear of the Fade and magic. And despite the fact that she'd been a friend in the past of both he and Ellana, she'd ordered his arrest at the Exalted Council and she hadn't been able to avoid caving under political pressure to call the council in the first place. Now she'd surely support a new Exalted March, which made her a threat. Throwing the Chantry into disarray by killing Divine Victoria was also a sound strategy for weakening human resistance as they expanded throughout the Dales in the same way executing the empress was. Losing both rulers would leave the Chantry and Orlais disorganized and weak.

But he knew Ellana would disapprove and hate him for it. Cassandra was, or had been, her friend. And he'd promised Briala he'd spare Celene. The things I do for ma vhenan…

Cassandra glared at him, her chin held high and shoulders squared. "Kill me if you wish, but there will simply be a new Divine once I am gone and then she will declare the Exalted March." She inhaled deeply, eyes closing for a moment and when she opened them again they were glassy, turning inward. "I will go to the Maker's side."

"Not today, Seeker," he told her firmly. "Not by my hand or my magic. Your death is unnecessary." Pivoting on one foot, he searched through the elves around him, searching for both mages and warriors to form an escort for Cassandra. He suspected Abelas would be a worthy opponent for the Divine and swept his gaze over the assembled group only to frown as he saw no sign of the sentinel.

His seemed to fall to the floor while his heart lurched into his throat. When had he last seen the sentinel? Where could he have gone? The answer reached with cold fingers, strangling him in its icy grip: Ellana.

Quashing his mounting horror, Solas quickly picked out several warriors and mages, designating a Dalish First to lead them and then return to help them continue the assault. They still needed to find Celene and apprehend the Inquisition leaders. Solas tried to ignore the cold, clammy sweat accumulating over his skin as he watched Cassandra submit to his escort, glowering at him as she went but saying nothing.

Once the Divine had gone, Zevanni grumbled under her breath, "Should have killed her."

"Do not question me," Solas snapped, snarling. His hands opened and closed into fists as he licked his lips and said, "Continue working your way through the palace. The empress must be taken alive to ensure we have Briala's loyalty. The Inquisition leaders are also to be apprehended alive."

Zevanni pouted, huffing. "Alive is hard. Not nearly as much fun."

"Do as I command," Solas growled, casting an angry look at her and then at the other warriors and mages nearby to make sure they understood how serious he was. "Until I say otherwise, they are more valuable alive."

Zevanni's lips pinched into a hard line with her displeasure, but she nodded. "Fen'Harel enansal." Then, with a sudden look of surprise, she said, "You're not leading us to take the empress?"

"There is another matter I must attend," he answered with a short nod. "Quickly. I may return before you have overcome the empress's guards." Motioning at the doorway, he ordered her and the others, "Go. I will find you."

He pretended to scan over documents left lying on the Divine's desk as the others filed out and retreated down the hall. Then, closing his eyes, he pinpointed his chambers in the guest wing within his mind, reaching out with his inner, intangible senses. Taking a sharp breath in and holding it, Solas reached for the Fade and for his mana simultaneously, channeling his spirit in an incorporeal lunge of magic. In a flash of purple-black smoke, he vanished from the Divine's chambers and when he opened his eyes and exhaled he was standing in the room he'd been sharing with Ellana.

Lyris gasped, whipping away from the closed door to stare at him while Mathrel did the same, spectral blade buzzing as it activated, flickering with white light. The sight of both warriors eased the cold pressure of fear inside him slightly, though he could hear fighting in the hall outside. Recognizing him, they relaxed. Lyris greeted him, "Fen'Harel."

Solas nodded his acknowledgement and then, seeing Ellana wasn't in bed or anywhere in the room, strode toward the privy. The door was partially closed and he hesitated before calling out, "Vhenan?"

"She's been quiet," Lyris told him softly. "Upset since she woke."

Long seconds ticked by with no answer. Fainlly, with his heart hammering inside his chest, Solas pushed the door open and immediately cursed in elven as he saw what he'd feared was true.

The privy was empty. Ellana was gone.

As much as Ellana wanted to run, it was as good as physically impossible. The best she could manage was a brisk walk with one arm cradling her abdomen to try and steady herself while the other clasped her bow. Her quiver thumped against her shoulders and her bare feet slapped against the cobblestone of the side yard, loud despite the shouting and screams that kept echoing through the palace grounds. Darkness had fallen but the moon was out and the skies were clear, affording more than enough light to see by. There were also various fires, crackling and roaring where servants had lashed out against their overseers.

As they emerged from the side yard, Ellana gawked and cringed from the blazing light and heat of the orange-yellow fire that'd consumed the tavern where Iron Bull, Sera, and Cole had lingered during the Exalted Council. Burning embers wafted into the sky, the smell of smoke made Ellana's throat sore and set her eyes stinging. The small building across the gap had begun to catch fire as well, grayish tendrils of smoke puffing from the roof.

"Come along," Morrigan called to her, tugging on Ellana's bicep.

They stepped into the archway of the gate leading to the courtyard proper. The musical song of the water from the fountain was dim but impossibly beautiful after the roaring fire. A richly dressed human lay slumped over, face down in the fountain. The water looked dark.

Ellana's skin prickled with fear as shadows peeled away from the wall to their right. Five lithe figures emerged from around the potted plants, their postures aggressive. "And just who would you be?" one of them asked. The moon was at their backs, casting their faces in darkness, but its light illuminated the sharp points of their pronounced ears.

"Hinder me and die," Morrigan snarled at them, releasing Ellana and raising both hands as she prepared to defend herself.

"A mage," one of the other elves, a woman, observed. The note of caution in her voice was unmistakable and Ellana saw the other elves react to it, stiffening.

"Let us through," Ellana added, firm and authoritative—her Inquisitor voice. "Enough blood has been spilt this night."

"They're nobles," the man who'd spoken first grumbled, apparently itching for violence.

"Wait," another woman said, taking a sudden step forward and leaning closer. Ellana could just make out the sheen of her eyes as they narrowed. "Lady Lavellan?"

"Lavellan?" a different man chimed in. "Briala wants her."

"Well she can't have me," Ellana shot back, raising her bow with one hand while the other reached for an arrow. She nocked it in less than a heartbeat and tensed, ready to draw even as she sighted along the arrowhead at the elf who'd mentioned Briala. "Let us pass."

"Let us pass," Morrigan added with a growl. "I won't ask nicely again."

"Kill the human," the first man spat. "Take Lavellan alive."

In the instant the five elves lunged toward her, Morrigan waved her hand, casting a wall of flames that blocked their path. Ellana, having already aimed, let her arrow fly and heard the dull thump and sharp scream of pain that told her she'd found her mark. Grabbing another arrow and nocking it, she searched the flames for the telltale sign of their enemies, shadows moving against the light.

One of the elves darted out of the flames, rolling forward to close the distance, daggers flashing as he aimed for Morrigan. The witch tossed up a barrier over both herself and Ellana, then made a fist and jerked her hand backward. Ellana felt the blast of cold air as the rogue froze, skin and clothes smoking with the rapid transition from hot to cold. The spell slowed him but hadn't killed him. Ellana let her arrow fly, deliberately aiming for this man's thigh to incapacitate but not kill him outright if she could help it.

Another elf lunged for Morrigan through the flames, throwing a dagger aimed at her chest with one hand while the other tossed out caltrops. The dagger deflected from the barrier, but the caltrops found their mark as Morrigan cursed and stumbled backward into the wall behind them. The ivy growing over it shuddered and rustled.

With a shout, Ellana let loose another arrow, catching the woman in the meat of her bicep. She yelped with pain, gripping the arrow as blood spurted. She grit her teeth. "Bitch!"

Scrambling to grab another arrow, Ellana didn't have time to react as another elven man made it through the diminishing wall of flames and slapped the bow from her hands. His fist impacted the side of her head, making her cry out as white stars exploded through her vision. Something warm and wet trickled over her brow and into her right eye.

The world spun and she staggered, arms flailing as she fought to stay upright. Her mind whirled, the pregnancy disrupting her equilibrium and destroying dexterity. She might've flipped away if she had her pre-pregnancy nimbleness, but now her abdominal muscles were as good as useless. As rough hands grabbed her arm and then her hair, wrenching her head back, Ellana couldn't stop thinking about her child, worrying their attackers would harm the baby more than herself.

Her hands fumbled at her waist, searching for the knockout bomb even as the man holding her twisting her other arm and kicked with a grunt at her knee, forcing her down. The impact made her cry out, before she blurted almost incoherently, "Please—I'm with child! Don't—"

The elf shrieked, his grip on her convulsing as his body jerked. A blade stabbed through his chest with a wet crunch of bone cracking. Hot blood splattered over her face and hair. Ellana recoiled as the warrior behind the elf grunted and withdrew his blade, flicking it away and pushing the now dying elf off to one side, the body thumping with a wet splatter on the cobblestone.

Scrambling to her feet, blinking the blood from her eyes and gritting her teeth, Ellana found her dagger and clutched it as she pivoted to face the newcomer. He was human, thick and muscular, a shield on one arm and his bloodied sword in the other. The moon was behind him as it had been with the elves, obscuring his features. Out of her peripheral vision Ellana saw more figures nearby engaging the last elves, driving them off. One of the newcomers was a mage, hurling crackling lightning at the fleeing elves.

"Take it easy now," the warrior in front of her said, his deep, gruff voice gradually impacting her and tickling her memory with recognition.

She wiped at the thick gore covering her face, struggling to see him to confirm what her ears told her. "Thom?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Rainier answered with a short, dry chuckle. "It's just me, my lady." Using his blade, he tapped the elven man's body. "Good thing we came along when we did."

Morrigan grunted, approaching with a rustle of her dress. Blood spattered the front of her, staining the rich fabric. Her hair was mussed, her breath a little fast. "Thank you for your assistance," she said to Rainier. Then, to the other shapes stepping closer, finally registering in Ellana's shocked senses, she added, "And my thanks to you all as well."

"Lady Morrigan," Dorian's familiar singsong voice rang out. He stood beside the gargantuan, distinct form of the Iron Bull, who had his enormous two-handed great axe balanced on one shoulder. "How nice to stumble upon you like this!" He clucked his tongue as his head swiveled slightly to look directly at Ellana. "And you, too, darling! Are you all right? That's an awful look on you, all that blood."

Dazed, Ellana wiped at her face and scowled when her fingers came back coated in crimson. Their words seemed to echo inside her head, as if her skull had gone hollow. Her knees and back ached, feeling shaky. She noticed the blood had stained her coat and made a little noise of distress in her throat.

"Uh oh," a smaller shape—Varric, she realized—said. "I think Lavender's lost it."

"Andraste's tits," Sera put in from behind Dorian and Iron Bull. "Is she gonna pop? Burp up her bits? Is mini droopy ears about to drop?"

"We don't have time for this," Morrigan scolded with a derisive scoff at Sera.

"And why is that, exactly?" Dorian asked. "Where were you taking her?"

Ellana sucked in a breath, blinking again and shaking her head, as if that would clear it. Of course it didn't work, but the motion helped her feel the slight chill of the night air again as her mind resurfaced into the present rather than retreating somewhere inside. She cleared her throat, struggling to find her voice. "We're trying to stop Solas."

"By the Maker," Rainier said with a quick laugh. "That's the best news I've heard all night. All day, really."

"Excellent," Dorian said, clapping his hands. "I knew none of this could be your idea."

"You got a plan?" Varric asked, striding forward with Bianca still on his arm, drawn and ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"Not much of one," Ellana said and then hissed through her teeth as pain tore over her abdomen. Groaning, she wound her free arm over her middle, hunching forward and breathing loud through her mouth. "Ow."

"Ah, shit," Varric muttered. "That doesn't sound good."

"Yeah," Sera said, sounding irritated. "I'll say. How we s'post to stick it to Fanny Hair what's-his-face if lady elfy-elf is too busy huffing and puffing?"

"The only way we can interfere with Fen'Harel's plans is by removing the Anchor," Morrigan explained, a note of urgency coloring her voice that Ellana heard even through the wave of pain coursing through her. As if to punctuate her concern, an earsplitting scream rang out, accompanied by the clatter of armored footsteps. "So we must move."

"Well," Dorian said with a sniff. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" He tapped at Iron Bull's massive arm. "Care to play pack animal again?"

"For you?" Iron Bull asked with a smirk. "Always."

Ellana struggled to stay on her feet as Iron Bull strode forward and collected her into his arms with a soft grunt. She groaned, writhing against his chest as the pang finally let up, leaving her winded and bathed in sweat, her heart hammering in her ears. More shouts reverberated across the open courtyard but Ellana didn't try to see what caused the commotion, merely clinging to Iron Bull's chest like a lost child.

"This way," Morrigan said and started trotting for the gates across the courtyard. "My sentinels are nearby."

"Take it easy there, Boss," Iron Bull said as he jogged after Morrigan with the others falling into escort positions. "You get to ride the Bull again. I'm starting to think you're a fan." He waggled his eyebrows.

She let out a small laugh, still choked with mild pain. "I do hope Dorian isn't jealous."

"There's plenty of me to go around," Iron Bull told her with a laugh of his own.

Next Chapter:

With a ringing noise, Ellana shot out a burst of green energy. The hills echoed with the whump of the Anchor now as green magic coated Ellana like a thousand prickling needles, enveloping her. The pain in her palm receded down to an annoying sting. Green light gleamed from her hand, bright and distinctive, lighting up the night around her.

Shaking and weak at the knees, she tried to return to the road and stumbled. Dorian and Iron Bull were there at once. In only a few moments Ellana found herself dizzy and sweaty and inside Iron Bull's arms again. She leaned her head on his chest, panting as Dorian probed tentatively at her palm a moment before she tugged it out of his grasp. "It's fine," she said.

"We must move," Morrigan said and then, darkly humorous, added, "Do you still intend to keep the Anchor after that, Lady Lavellan?"