Arya wakes up in Solas's bed. She makes her way back up to the entrance, only to find that it is dark, and still raining. She retreats back inside, the entrance sealing above her again. While elves can see better at night than humans can, trudging through the thick brush in the middle of the night in the pouring rain is not an experience she is eager to have. She supposes she is lucky that she hadn't taken the time to change out of Solas's shirt before she went to investigate- this way, she doesn't have to change back into it.
The temple is full of old ghosts, but for the first time, Bellanaris is content. She feels a little guilty about not telling any of them where she is, and she is sure that they're worried about her, but there is little she could do, save for finding Morrigan in the Fade. She finds that she is unwilling to go back to sleep.
The libraries here are extensive. The books are written entirely in ancient elvhen, and there are a few novels and storybooks. She can't remember if Solas or Lanaste had insisted they join the collection of research tomes, ancient and dusty even then, but it brings a smile to her face. She remembers that they had both insisted she read aloud to them. That had been in the early days of the rebellion, when they had more time on their hands than they knew what to do with. In the later days, they had spent every spare moment pouring over ancient battle plans and ancient tomes.
The books themselves are still in excellent condition. There are a few she wants to bring back to Theo- there are a few that she is sure belonged to Isala when she was young. They're children's books, easy to read. The Dalish have lost so much of their language that it might be a good place to start. Hesitating only a moment, she plucks them from the shelf. She thinks of taking more with her, but there is only so much that she can carry. Reluctantly she leaves them behind, drifting through more of the rooms.
It feels like a half-remembered dream, the kind where you wake up sad because you woke up at all. She knows she'll shake it as soon as she gets back to the camp, back to Lysander and Morrigan and the others, because she wouldn't trade them for all the half-remembered dreams in the world.
She comes up short when she finds a room. Lanaste's, Bellanaris supplies. It is much like Bellanaris's own room- there is a bed pushed up against one wall, a dresser and a closet against the other. But at the foot of the bed, there is a crib, and as Arya's eyes land on the ancient wood (ironbark, shaped carefully with magic over months of her pregnancy as a secret project of Lanaste's). She drifts closer, kneeling next to it and tracing over the carvings (she and Lanaste had carved them together, magic pouring into it as they worked, a promise of how much their daughter would be loved).
The grief is overwhelming. It is so much that Arya thinks her heart might stop beating, like she is trying to hold the ocean in her hands and it is threatening to drown her instead. A shaky sob is torn from her throat, and she is not entirely sure that it is her own. She closes her eyes and lets go. It is the easiest thing she had ever done.
Bellanaris wraps her fingers around the bars of the crib and weeps. She had been stubborn and headstrong, wouldn't trust Din'an even when his plan was strong. She had let him die because of her own pride (was it really Solas who deserved that name?) and Isala had died in the dark (her dreams were still haunted by her daughter's screams, but Arya never remembered when she woke up and Bellanaris didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse, that she was so alone in her mourning).
She curls further in on herself, head bowed. She remembers crouching down in the mornings, fingers wrapped around the bars of the crib as she smiles and coos at Isala. She remembers standing over her daughter's body, the blood of the servants of Falon'Din and Dirthamen on covering her hands.
Isala's body had still been warm when she had found her, and Bellanaris had never let herself mourn. It is only now that she realizes it is because she hadn't thought she deserved it. She had thrown herself into Fen'Harel's rebellion, dying over and over again, until she woke on Earth (she wonders if she would have been happier if she had lived out her life there instead of here. A single life in a thousand where her life wasn't a tragedy. Would it have even made a difference?).
She had planned to kill the Evanuris, and then Mythal had died, and she had died defending her temple, and Solas had torn the world asunder. It would have been a lonely burden to bear, she thinks. To kill them all alone.
Elgar'nan had told her once that she would do great and terrible things. He had told her that she would bring about the end of the world. He had told her that she would survive past it.
She wonders if she could convince Arya to take them to the Arlathan forest. The veil would be thinner there, if it is there at all (how many died screaming when the Veil rose? how many died in agony days later because they had relied on magic that wasn't there anymore to survive? all these years later and spirits of grief and despair and rage and wrath would press up against the veil still). She is one of the last of the elvhen- it is her duty to remember. To walk amongst the graves and the bones of the city and remember what had been. It would not hurt if it felt like home while she did it.
She wonders, briefly, if she could take over. It is not a serious thought- Arya is building a life here, and Bellanaris knows enough about losing them that she wouldn't take it away. She raises her head, tears still trickling down her face, and traces her fingers over the carvings once more. She can no longer remember which ones were made by her hand and which ones were done by Lanaste. They fit together perfectly, seamlessly.
She pushes herself to her feet, her fingers curling around the top of the crib. It is not empty- there are dusty blankets, and in the corner buried beneath them is a stuffed halla.
Bellanaris moves one hand, resting it on her stomach. Even in the days of Arlathan where time held no meaning (she remembered dozens of rituals that had taken months to do, and it had passed as though it were no time at all) it seemed as though it had taken an age or more for her stomach to round out. Lanaste had laughed at her impatience- she remembers standing in front of the mirror each morning, shirt hiked up as she ran her hand along her stomach, twisting around to see any hint of growth.
She hesitates for a moment before reaching out and picking up the stuffed halla. She cradles it to her chest for a moment, nose buried in the fur. But any scent that would have lingered had faded in the following centuries, so after a moment she raises her head and wipes the tears from her eyes. She moves deliberately, with an ease that Arya lacks, and places the stuffed halla in the pack.
Arya stirs in the back of their head, uncomfortable by Bella's extended control, but she doesn't start pushing back against her. Not yet.
She pads back to her bedroom first. She knows she will have to give up her control eventually, but for now she can pretend that she won't. She pulls Solas's shirt over her head, laying it out on the bed. She thinks about leaving some sort of note for him, but it will be ten years yet before he wakes. She rifles through her closet until she finds what she was looking for. It is a set of armor, much like what Solas had worn in Trespasser, in the days of Arlathan. It is missing the fur pelt and the buckles crossing her chest, but it is the same glimmering gold metal. It is lighter than the black leathers Arya had worn previously- those she had only worn when Mythal had wanted to show her off. The robes were what she wore casually, but the armor was what she wore to war. It was what she had died in.
It fits perfectly. She moves to stand in front of the mirror, pulling her hair down. It takes her a moment to locate the hairbrush, but when she finds it she brushes her hair out carefully and methodically. When she is done, she braids it like back like she had worn it in her time.
When she looks in the mirror, she almost feels like she always did. The only thing missing is the forest green vines trailing over her face, a mark left by Mythal. It brings the ghost of a smile to her face as she turns and strides back to Solas's chambers. She has yet to replace the wards, so it is a simple matter to enter his bedroom. She perches on the edge of his bed, taking his hand in hers.
Arya's return is a gradual one. At first, she does not know that she has returned, until she raises her head. By now, it is likely dawn. She leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His face twitches in a smile as she rises from the bed, squeezing his hand as she lays it by his side. She gathers the black leathers (she had not known when or why Bella had worn them, and now she wonders if she wants them at all, but they are made from dragon hide and they fit her like a glove) and makes her way slowly through the chambers once more, stopping only to replace the wards she had removed. She picks up the books she had selected for Theo on her way, and deposits everything in her pack.
She leaves the boots she had worn on the way over by the door. When Solas wakes, she hopes he will see them. She hopes they will bring a smile to his face, a reminder that someone had been here. That someone was out there.
It is still raining when Arya reaches the camp. Her barrier spell kept it off of her, but it was still annoying to squelch through the mud. She hesitates for a moment before she steps into the camp proper, coming in the same way she had left. The tent flaps had been rolled up, the tents themselves moved as close to the firepit as they could manage while still avoiding the mud.
She stands there for a moment, the pack on her shoulders, and then she hears Lysander calling her name. She doesn't even have time to turn and look at him before he's scooping her up, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"Maker's breath, I missed you!" he said, and she feels another stab of guilt as she wraps her arms around him. The armor she wears is smooth and light- lighter than anything else she's seen in Thedas- and is no more uncomfortable than a heavy cloak. He spins her around, his arms tight around her, as if he is afraid to let her go again.
"I was worried. But I'll let you talk to the others. I've got something for you when you're done," he says, kissing her. It's short and quick, lacking any heat, but there's something in Arya that wants to pull him to the aravel and see how loud he can make her scream.
She supposes that means she's missed him too. It was worth it, though, she thinks. She no longer feels the pull to the temple- she had seen what it had to offer, had taken what she needed. She thinks again of the stuffed halla Bellanaris had put in the pack. Maybe she'll return home to find Anora pregnant, and she can pass the halla on.
Which makes her think of the Andraste's Grace she'd forgotten to give Leliana. Shit. Hopefully it had survived in her other pack.
When Lysander steps back, the others take it as a signal to swarm her. Leliana is there, cooing over her new armor and her new hairstyle, and Morrigan is there scolding her for taking so long. Wynne fusses over her, checking her for injuries. Reno just slaps her on the shoulder hard enough to make her stagger and tells her it's good to see her again. Anaba hangs back until Arya can break away, only pulling her into a brief hug before letting her go again.
When they ask her where she had been, she tells them that she had remembered the location of a safehouse. It isn't entirely wrong- the underbelly of the temple had served as their most secure safehouse- but she thinks they can sense she isn't giving them the whole truth. They don't press her for details, though, other than what the armor is made of. She realizes that she doesn't have an answer. It is only something else that has been lost to the ages, and she realizes that she is so tired of mourning lost things.
"Where's Eldris and the others? I have something for Theo," she says, lifting the shoulder strap of the pack she is still wearing.
"Eden slipped out into the forest to hunt. She took Cammen with her. It was a scandal when they found they had slipped out, being as Zathrian has forbidden his clan from leaving the camp save for a few hunters. But Eldris and Theo are in their aravel. You might want to knock when you approach- I think Eden had left to give them some alone time," Anaba explains, a grin on her face. Arya shakes her head fondly, but makes her way through the camp.
Many of the other elves are hunkered down inside, waiting for the rain to pass. There a few milling under the central tent- it isn't raining hard anymore, just enough to serve as an annoyance if one wasn't able to summon a magical barrier to act as an umbrella. She finds the aravel that Eldris has been staying in. It is quiet inside, so she knocks, three raps of her knuckles against the worn wood.
It is Theo who opens the door. Eldris is curled up on the bed, sleeping under a pile of children. They have mud on their faces- pale imitations of the vallaslin the adults wear. She looks at Theo with a question in her eyes.
"Babysitting duty. The da'lens were driving the hahrens mad. He volunteered. We just barely got them down for a nap, and I suppose he's fallen asleep with them. But come in, Arya! Everyone's been so worried about you. They knew you were safe because of Morrigan, but they were so concerned! Creators, I almost thought you'd gotten yourself killed with the way Lysander paced around the camp. But look at me, making you stand out in the rain! Come in," he says, stepping aside and ushering her in with a hand on the small of her back.
She can see the way he eyes her new armor, and her new pack. She wonders if he recognizes their designs as elvhen.
"I've got something for you," she says, perching on the edge of one of the empty beds. Theo sits next to her, ears perked up with excitement.
"What is it?" he asks. She grins at him, opening the pack and unwrapping the books. She'd wrapped them with the black leathers- she knew it was waterproof, in case she couldn't keep the barrier spell over her bag as well as her.
"They were children's books. I- she- used them to teach her daughter how to read. There were other books, but many of them were difficult for even me to understand, and I remember ancient elvhen. The modern dialect is likely different, and I know the Dalish as a whole have lost so much, but I thought…if Isala grew up learning these books, then perhaps it could help you recover some of what was lost," she says.
Theo takes the first book in his hands with reverence in his eyes, holding it like it is the most precious thing in the world. There are half a dozen of them that Arya had pulled from the shelves, and more remaining in the temple that she hadn't taken. There had been many parents who let spirits of Wisdom and Knowledge teach their children how to read. Many of the spirits passed the information freely and willingly, merging briefly with the child to impart the knowledge. Bellanaris and Lanaste had wanted to teach Isala themselves. Bella remembers hunting through dozens of book shops over the course of her pregnancy to build the collection.
"Ma serannas, lethallan. This means more to me than you could know," he breathes, gently putting the book to the side to pull her into a hug. Arya curls into the touch- Theo's a better hugger than he has the right to be.
"I'm glad you like it," she tells him, pulling back.
"I love it. Speaking of gifts, though, your shem has something for you. I'd get back to Lysander if I were you. He was so excited Zathrian almost kicked him out of the camp so he wouldn't have to deal with him," he teases. He shoots a longing look at the books, and Arya thinks that maybe he just wants some time alone with them.
"All right, I'm going, I'm going. Don't let Zathrian or Lanaya know you've got those, unless you're willing to give one up. I didn't bring anything back for them," she says, rising from the bed.
"Your secret is safe with me," Theo promises, a twinkle in his eyes.
Arya goes straight to the aravel she has been sharing with Lysander. She isn't sure what he might have gotten her, but for Theo to know about it, she's sure it must be something important.
He's sitting on the bed, leg bouncing with anticipation. As soon as he sees her open the door, he pulls her inside, the door shutting behind her with more force than is necessary. His arms wrap around her again, face in the crook of her neck as he breathes her in. He doesn't know how to tell her how worried he had been, so he settles for squeezing her like he's trying to kill her. He finally lets her go, but she hooks her fingers into his belt and stays close all the same.
"So, like I've said, I've got something for you," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. She smiles- he's cute when he's nervous.
"What is it?" she asks. He leans forward to kiss her before turning around, pulling a small leather pouch from underneath the pillow. Her curiosity effectively piqued, she leans forward as he turns back around.
He opens the pouch, shaking the contents into his palm. It takes her brain a moment to catch up with her mind- two rings, carved from the ironbark she'd brought Varathorn. The carvings are miniscule and intricate, a magic all their own.
"The Dalish craftsmaster helped me with these. I know you already said you'd marry me, so I'll leave what they are up to you. They can be promise rings, or I can keep them. We can use them as our wedding rings," he says, voice quiet and serious and she can see how much he loves her. It makes her chest feel funny, just this side of painful.
"I want it on my finger ten minutes ago," she says, trying to pretend like she isn't about to cry. He seems to understand, because he takes her hand in his and slips the ring onto her finger, leaning forward to kiss her as he does.
She plucks the other ring from his hand as soon as they pull apart. He holds his hand out to her, fingers spread, and she slips it onto the ring finger. She holds hers next to his to compare- a perfectly matching set. Gods, she owes Varathorn more than the old elf could know.
"So, promise rings then?" he asks, a lopsided grin on his face. She pulls him into another kiss before she answers.
"I don't know if I want any other ring. This is perfect," she breathes. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her again before he slides his hands down to rest at her waist.
"Maybe when this is over, we should see the Keeper. Maybe we shouldn't wait until the end of the Blight," he breathes, and she kisses him again, all soft and slow.
"I think that is the best idea you've ever had," she tells him, tucking her head underneath his chin. She's sure he'll want another wedding later, a proper one that makes her a Cousland in the eyes of Andraste and the Maker and all of that bullshit, while at the same time sticking it to the Chantry. She's not sure where Fergus is, so until he shows up, Lysander is the Cousland heir.
Oh, gods, she hopes Fergus shows up. She doesn't think she could be the teryna of Highever.
"Oh? I'm glad you find it agreeable, my lady," he says, in that overexaggerated dramatic voice that she loves. She presses closer to him.
It is silent for a good long minute as they stand there. Outside, the rain picks up, beating on the roof of the aravel.
"I've got a question," she says, after a moment. She pulls herself out of his arms only to pull him towards the bed. She dumps her pack at the foot of the bed before clambering onto the blankets. He curls up next to her, holding an arm out so she can tuck herself against his chest.
"What's your question?" he asks, looking attentively at her.
"Theo promised he'd give me my vallaslin when we finish the stuff with the werewolves. Would you happen to object?" she asks, almost sheepish. She hadn't planned on asking at all, and she probably wasn't telling anyone else save for Eldris until it was finished, but if she was to marry Lysander, she thought that she maybe shouldn't keep something like that from him.
"It's your face, so no. I just…maybe give me a heads up? That'd be a hell of a surprise," he says, grinning at her. She laughs, leaning over to kiss him again.
"I promise not to get face tattoos with my own blood without telling you," she says, curling up on his chest. Lysander runs his fingers through her hair, movements gradually slowing until they stop.
The sound of the rain lulls them both to sleep.
