Morning at Skyhold started with a lavish breakfast in the main hall. The variety of food astounded even the pickiest eater. In recent weeks, the Inquisition had procured a select group of chefs from different parts of Thedas, each eager to outshine the other. The competitiveness was displayed in their dishes, which of late were ingenious showpieces, rather than mere fare.

Zevran sat at the end of a long table full of Inquisition staff. He had seen Sera and Cullen emerge from the kitchen with a plate full of bacon, eggs and toast and wanted the same, but Leliana had convinced him to order from the chef's special menu. Dragon Eggs en Cocotte with smoked Orlesian salmon and spindleweed cream did sound heavenly. Visions of some intrepid adventurer or maybe a handsome assassin fighting a dragon for his breakfast filled him with excitement. The egg would be large, full of the yoke of a legendary beast, but most importantly, he would be gorged and happy.

When the servant finally laid the plate before Zevran, the elf lost all faith in humanity. The breakfast of champions that he had anticipated was nothing more than a small ramekin atop a pristine white plate.

"I was certain dragon eggs would be larger," Zevran remarked to Leliana. "Surely there is more."

Leliana waved a hand over the dish to take in the aroma. The presentation was flawless and the smell of the smoked salmon and dragon eggs almost sinful. "This is the food of kings and queens. It is deliberately small so that you are not overwhelmed with the richness of the flavor." When he did not seem convinced, Leliana begrudgingly added. "You can always order another course, Zevran."

"Will the next dish be larger?" Zevran asked.

"Of course not," Leliana replied and finished with a little laugh. "This food is meant to be appreciated for its complex flavor, not its size."

Zevran now understood why Sera and Cullen had fetched their own food. The sight of their runny eggs and the crunch of their bacon made his gut rumble. "Tell that to my empty stomach. It appreciates feeling full not so much complex flavor. That should be left for the bedroom," he stated. "Food should not be so complicated, my dear Leliana."

For Leliana the food was a part of her identity, one of the few positive memories she associated with her childhood. She gestured to her plate. "The apples are served in a marinade of West Hill Brandy, absinthe, spices and citrus, and topped with fresh snow ice cream," she explained. "All of these ingredients came from very different places in Thedas and they were combined because together they create something new and tasty. How can you not appreciate this?"

The passion in her voice amused Zevran. Food was a device. Several days without it and even the stoutest assassin would spill their secrets. He appreciated good food, but he appreciated it more when it actually served its purpose and filled his stomach. Going without food as a child had not been a pleasant experience nor was it as an adult even if the taste was divine.

Zevran and Leliana turned their attention to a newly arrived plate of food in front of Gatsi. It smelled unmistakably like nug. The expression of disgust on Leliana's face was priceless as far as Zevran was concerned.

"If I may ask, what is it that you eat, my fine Dwarven friend?" Zevran asked Gatsi. The dwarf looked for the description on his menu. "I wish to appreciate its ingredients."

Leliana covered her nose. The smell reminded her of the pet nugs she kept at home.

"Fillet of Orzammar Nug in puff pastry with Sauce Felandris," Gatsi answered. "I was surprised it was served topside."

"How can you eat them?" Leliana asked in a heartbroken voice that implored the dwarf to reconsider his choice of food. "They are so adorable."

Gatsi shrugged. "It was my favorite dish as a child." He sighed. "Sometimes I need a reminder of home. Sorry if it offends you."

"I would not worry, my good friend," Zevran reassured the dwarf. "After all, I am certain Leliana would want you to enjoy the complex flavor of nug."

Leliana stabbed an apple with her fork and took a forceful bite. "Remind me why I still speak to you, Zevran?"

The elf chuckled. "Your life would become boring and stale if I were not in it." Zevran beamed a winning smile. "You know this to be true."

There were many times in the past when Leliana had wanted to kill Zevran. But she could not deny that he had in fact impressed her on occasion. Instead of leaving when the Warden had given him the chance, Zevran had remained and fought the archdemon at Solona Amell's side. That was an act that deserved admiration even if Zevran was, at times, more trouble than he appeared to be worth.

Zevran pointed his spoon towards the keep door. "I must ask, why do I continue to see the Inquisitor pass by with a large bucket?" Since the early hours of the morning Zevran had spied on Ellana and Abelas in the courtyard. He was still no closer to understanding the purpose of their work. "Is this a holy ritual or something more interesting?"

"I am told that it is the way of the arcane warrior. The Inquisitor has been instructed to carry dirt to the top of an unused watchtower." Leliana sighed at the idea. "It is... a rather unusual training exercise."

"I agree," Cullen concurred. "We brought the best trainers here to Skyhold. If she wants to refine her skills further then why not seek out Commander Helaine?"

"'Cause she listens to Dusty Butt," Sera answered with a mouthful of bacon. "Just let her waste her time being, all elfy-elf. She can't do naught without her sight anyway."

Cullen stabbed his fork into his bacon. If actions could scream, his were yelling about the indignity.

The conversation had yielded a bounty of information for Zevran. Leliana, in the past week, reminded him more of a jaded lover than a former spymaster. In private, she had complained about Abelas and his constant involvement in Inquisition affairs. Cullen, on the other hand, was most likely suffering from feelings of inadequacy since it was Abelas who continued to keep the Inquisitor safe. As for Sera, her complaints, Zevran believed, stemmed more from missing the company of her friend than for all things elfy-elf. The revelation was unpleasant for Zevran. What he had observed while watching Abelas and Ellana was not undignified, or even about being an elf; it was two people helping each other come to terms with their new existence. It saddened him that the Inquisitor's friends could not see the same.

"Have you considered that perhaps there are other reasons why the Inquisitor is eager to learn from the very tall, very strong, very golden elf?" Zevran suggested. "He is... how should I say?"

"Eye-catching?" Leliana answered. "Many members of the court have commented on his appearance."

"I was going to say, well formed, but that works too," Zevran said. "I wonder if he prefers men or women... perhaps both?"

Cullen choked on his drink and covered his mouth with his napkin. Zevran laughed at the ex templar's reaction. It reminded him of Alistair in the early days of fighting the Fifth Blight.

"Ugh, stop it," Sera demanded. "I'm trying to eat."

Zevran pointed to the entrance of the keep. "Ah, here they are now. Perhaps, I can hear it straight from the horse's mouth, as they say."

The Inquisitor's boisterous laughter drew the attention of the hall. Cole's hat was covering her entire head, and she was laughing at the spirit as he frantically searched for her face.

Ellana pulled the hat from her head and handed it back to Cole. "It's too big, but thank you, Cole. I appreciate the offer."

"But how will you protect your ears from the sun?" Cole asked. "They are red. Does it hurt?"

The sun was strong during the summer, even in Skyhold. A cold wind and plenty of snow still blew through the mountains, but on a clear day Ellana's delicate elven ears turned a bright red and burned.

"I will fetch one of my own hats," Ellana said to Cole. The smell of cooked food wafted passed her nose, and after a morning of hard work, she wanted nothing more than to sit. "Right now, I need breakfast."

Cole smiled at the Inquisitor with a mixture of warmth and familiarity. "I can get you your favorite," he offered. "I like to watch you eat. You make happy sounds."

Ellana patted him on the shoulder. "That is a sweet offer, Cole, but Abelas has already seen to it, although... I hate to think what he will bring me to eat."

"He brought you oatmeal with a spoonful of honey." Cole smiled at the sight of the food. "It's his favorite."

"Abelas is standing next to you isn't he?" Ellana had a knack for making a statement at the wrong time. "Should we eat before it goes cold or before I say something else I will later regret?"

"That would be best," Abelas replied. Ellana with Cole leading, made for the table where the rest of the Inquisition sat. "Perhaps we could eat in the garden. Fresh air is always welcomed."

I know he really means the garden is preferred to sitting with a bunch of icky mortals, Ellana thought. Well, he can go into the garden if he wants, but I am eating with my friends and there is not a damn thing he can do about it.

Cole stopped and looked at Ellana. "That is not why. He does not like small talk," the spirit explained. "Unbound, the breeze on my skin, like birds free and the sky above open for my eyes to see."

The spirit's word salad was a reflection of Abelas's thoughts and as usual they were unexpected. Ellana's perception of the sentinel was still skewed by the experience at the Temple of Mythal and by the negative views of her friends. No one understood Abelas, and most avoided his company since he was prone to speak his mind. Brutal honesty, at times and in Ellana's position, required a bit of sugarcoating to make the truth easier to swallow; a skill the ancient elf lacked.

Abelas waited patiently for Ellana to be seated before parting with her bowl of oatmeal. The members of the Inquisition greeted their Inquisitor, and some, acknowledged Abelas. Soon after they were seated, the table fell into silence. Only one person dared to strike up a conversation, because unlike the others, he reveled in awkward situations and loved the art of mischief making.

Zevran smiled at Abelas and the ancient elf's posture immediately turned rigid. "You, my tall elven friend, are quite the specimen. Tell me—is it true?"

"What is it you ask?" Abelas inquired.

"The dwarf with the rather ambitious chest said that you would engage in orgies atop your temple when the moon was full and the goddess was laid bare. True or not?"

Ellana snorted into her oatmeal. Many questions had been posed to Abelas since he had arrived at Skyhold, but only two people had been brave enough to make those questions personal. It was a joy to listen to Abelas try and fight his way out of an impossible conversation using logic and reason.

Abelas grunted. "I decline to answer," he said to appease the strange man.

"So tell me… do you prefer the company of men or women, my shiny friend?" Zevran was enjoying the one-sided conversation far too much.

There could be no room for doubt. The mere thought of Zevran trying to woo him sent a shiver down Abelas's spine. "Women," he emphatically stated. "Only women."

"How unlucky am I. Though it occurs to me that you must have your eye on someone." Zevran's eyes drifted to the Inquisitor. "All those years you slept alone. Surely, you are ready to end your drought."

"My mind is not so easily swayed from purpose to carnal desires," Abelas informed him with a hint of warning in his words. "Unlike some who would do well to consider their choices in life."

Zevran's animated face went blank. He tapped his finger against his lips and his brow wrinkled. "I see… tell me, does the beauty of the Inquisitor rival that of your goddess? We could perform an orgy and lay her bare if that will help you find your carnal desire."

Ellana was blind but she could sense the hard stares of her companions. "I have always said the Inquisition should respect the beliefs of others," she replied. By the sound of Abelas's exasperated sigh, the response had horrified him and that pleased the Inquisitor. "We would have to consult Lady Montilyet to make arrangements. She would make certain the ritual was performed to the ancient Elvhen standard."

Abelas cleared his throat. "If only you were blessed with the rare grace of never saying a word too many," he stated. "This discussion is finished."

Zevran pointed a playful finger at the sentinel and smirked. "See, that is where you are wrong, my fine golden friend," he replied. "It has just begun."

Leliana nudged Zevran with her foot. "I would apologize for Zevran's behavior, but I would be here all day," she explained and smiled. "If it is any consolation, he made similar inappropriate remarks to the Hero of Fereldan and the King of Fereldan. It's a favorite pastime of his."

"And here I thought I was special." Ellana smiled at her spoon just before taking a bite. Her new spymaster reminded her of an old friend she had known during her years with Clan Lavellan. The considerable amount of pomp and circumstance she had endured under the Inquisition was a bore. At least Zevran was interesting. "Did Zevran suggest laying the Hero of Fereldan bare and performing an orgy with the king as well?"

Sera was the first to laugh followed quickly by the rest of the table. The lighter side of the Inquisitor was a welcomed change to the one who broke down into tears in the presence of any bald man.

When the laughter died down, Zevran said, "You know, you are nothing like I thought you would be, your worship. It is refreshing."

"Oh?" Ellana asked. "What did you think I would be like?"

"Well, let me think..." Zevran pondered his answer. "I am reminded of the first time I met Leliana. She had rejected my advances and refused to knock boots with me. She simply had no sense of humor. But you, Inquisitor, are thankfully nothing like her."

Leliana rolled her eyes. "I was a lay sister with the chantry. Did you really expect me to knock boots with you because you asked?"

"I was trying to do you a favor," Zevran replied. "You were in need of a good boot knocking, no? As is the shiny elf."

Abelas sighed. He took one last bite of his oatmeal and stood. "When you have finished, please meet me atop the watchtower," he said to Ellana. The ancient elf walked away, intent on ignoring Zevran's continued efforts to elicit a reaction.

Zevran called after Abelas. "Oh? Is that where the orgy will be performed?" When it was obvious Abelas was not going to reply, he decided his work was finished. "No, I guess not. Shame really."

Breakfast with Zevran had proven to be a unique experience, one that Ellana planned to repeat often. To hear the discomfort in Abelas's voice after every inappropriate question was the best entertainment to be had in Skyhold. What she wouldn't give to see the elf's expression.

After she had finished eating the morning meal, Ellana requested more sweet mead and fruit to combat the starchy aftertaste of the oatmeal. There would be time enough to train later, until then, she would enjoy the company of her friends and partake in a well-earned rest. Since the early hours of the morning, Abelas and Ellana had been hauling dirt across the courtyard and up several flights of stairs. When asked why it was necessary, the only explanation Abelas would offer was to say that it was part of her journey. Cryptic answers did not reassure her aching muscles that there was a good reason for the hard labor. But if she wanted to learn the ancient art form of Dirth'ena enasalin, she would have to endure the trials he posed.

The sun had just risen above the peak of the lowest mountain when Ellana stepped foot on the top of the watchtower. Abelas was standing in the center with a mound of fresh snow in his mug. It was one of the few treats he would indulge in, usually after a meal.

Abelas sighed. "Why did you tarry? I believed you eager to learn."

The strain on Ellana's body from hauling dirt would have challenged the muscles of the resident Quanari, but Abelas seemed oblivious to her discomfort. The petite elven woman eased her aching body down onto the ground before her legs gave way.

"You are weary?" Abelas asked. The Inquisitor was physically fit, as anyone could see, but the weight of the dirt must have proven tiresome. From what he had seen, mages in this age were weak.

Ellana struggled to catch her breath after the sprint through the keep and up the rampart stairs. "Yes. Aren't you? You carried twice the amount that I did."

"No. My endurance is augmented by my magic; it is therefore long lived." Abelas sat down beside his pupil. The sun was overhead now and the glare coming off of the snow-covered mountains was blinding. He kept his eyes focused on the ground or on Ellana when he spoke. "Your magic is insular, constrained by the backwards perception of those who have trained you in its use."

At some point Ellana was going to insist they have a conversation about the misuse of brutal honesty and how to give an explanation without sounding like an ass. "Thanks, Abelas. Remind me not to come to you when I need cheering up," she told him. "So… are you going to tell me why we did this?" There had better be a damn good reason.

Abelas gently waved his arm over the area. "This is the beginning of your journey. You are much like the barren ground before me. Uncultivated, uninspiring, un..."

"...unconscious will describe you if you continue." Ellana nudged Abelas's shoulder to reassure him that she was being playful. When his arm tensed against the force of the push, she laughed. The sentinel was like a large grumpy boulder newly rolled onto a trail blocking the way ahead. "So… the beginning of my journey is dirt?"

For a moment, Abelas was so irritated he did not dare speak. When he did, it was through gritted teeth. "It would benefit you to consider your words before spouting them," he chastised her. "If you feel this endeavor is not worthy of serious devotion, you need but say."

Ellana wilted before his anger. "Ir abelas, Hahren," she replied in a small voice. The lecture transported her back to training sessions with Keeper Deshanna. Those were miserable days that she had tried to forget, days that often ended in tears and hollow vows that she would run away and find a new clan. This is different. It is a chance to learn the true origins of the Knight Enchanter discipline and I am not giving up. "I have always used humor to relax when I am tense. But I do truly wish to learn."

Abelas sighed and rubbed his temples. There must be a way to inspire Ellana. A sudden gust of wind caught his attention. He watched a vortex of cherry petals blow across the pale blue sky and eddy upwards. The colorful specks were caught in the tail of a strong wind—jostled—until the wind saw fit to let them go. They fell like rain onto the barren ground where Abelas sat, and as he watched the pink flakes dapple Ellana's hair, he was reminded of the differences between men and women; a different approach was needed.

"My teacher once told me ignorance, with effort and persistence, can be transformed into wisdom." Abelas plucked a petal from Ellana's hair and rubbed it between his fingers, admiring the soft, silky feel of it. He flicked the petal away. "You may prove difficult to educate."

"So my Keeper told me." The first lesson with the Keeper years ago had proven disastrous. Two aravels and a portion of the plains burned to the ground. I guess it was inevitable that I'd screw this up too. "If you do not want to teach me, I understand."

"You believe that I will not continue to train you?" Abelas asked her gently, aware that he had trod on her feelings one too many times. "I will, Ellana."

He said my name? My actual name? I wasn't aware he even knew it. "I assumed you were going to tell me to go away." The Inquisitor picked at the gold buttons on her leg; a nervous habit that drove her seamstress insane. "I was also under the impression you disliked me and resented being surrounded by filthy mortals."

The words humored and stung the ancient elf. Bluntness did not sound natural coming from the lips of the young elven woman. He had brought it out in her, pushed her into a defensive position with harsh remarks. This was not conducive to learning, and Abelas was ashamed that he had already failed before they had begun to train.

Abelas bowed his head. "Ir abelas," he whispered, and the words were heartfelt. "I am reminded why I was not counted among the wise. You have been hospitable and open to my teachings. I believe there is much we have to learn from each other."

What? "I... am a bit lost for words."

"There is a first time for everything," he said to her amusement. The bright sound of her laughter teased out a thin smile from the ancient elf. He shook his head at his own unexpected reaction. It had been so long since he had lived a day like today, where an emotion besides sorrow was allowed to fill his old soul. Abelas reached down and lifted her delicate hand into his, and he gently guided her fingers into the barren soil.

"To walk the path of Dirth'ena enasalin is to defeat Fear with the silence of Wisdom and Compassion—to argue or attempt to persuade is a waste of energy. The wise know this and do not choose the fight." He purposefully paused to give weight to his next words. "This is the knowledge that leads to victory." Abelas admired how Ellana listened to every word as if it would be his last. It was respect, the kind his students had shown him during his days at the temple. He gently pushed her fingers further into the loose soil. "Nature is wise, complex, and irrational. It is a divine chaos that gives birth and life to all things—this is where your path begins." He released her hand and for a brief moment Abelas remembered the early days of his own training. Eager to learn was an understatement. He had tried the patience of his trainer with his thirst to know the complete history of Dirth'ena enasalin in a day. Fatigue from training subdued his mind, and with it, came patience.

"I have sown seeds into this barren earth for you to sprout," he revealed. "What grows here will be a reflection of your own inner chaos and beauty."

The true explanation of the arcane warrior path was all that Ellana had hoped it would be. This—now—what she was doing, was the knowledge of her ancestors, and the joy of being a part of it, was priceless. No matter what happened in the future, she would always be thankful to Abelas for this precious moment.

"What do I do?" she asked.

Abelas laid his hand on top of hers and closed his eyes. "Reach out with your magic and your mind. Find the seeds—will the energy forth," he instructed. "Like this—" Magic flowed from his fingertips through her hand and outwards into the dirt. The tendrils of energy located every seed, even those buried deepest, and pulled at the stored life inside.

Abelas lifted his hand. "Try."

The first bout of magic to shoot from Ellana's hand was ice followed quickly by lightning. "What am I doing wrong?" she asked.

"You are pushing, not reaching," he replied. "A delicate touch is required."

An hour past and Abelas watched his student burn, freeze, electrify, and shake the ground. She had managed to grow one weed which she then caught on fire. Abelas grabbed her hand when she attempted to use the anchor out of frustration to make the seeds grow.

"That will not work," he said. "The garden requires subtlety of mind and action to grow." The ancient elf laid his hand upon hers, and with a large course of magic, the seeds sprouted and grew. Ellana could not see, but she could feel and hear tall grass. A tree rustled in the wind and the unmistakable scent of wisteria filled the air.

"I bet it is beautiful," she whispered to him. The sadness in her voice was evident. "You've had many lifetimes to learn this. I have but one. I'm not sure if it is possible."

The words touched Abelas. It was not pity he felt for Ellana but a deep appreciation that she was willing to acknowledge her own limitations. "Mortal you may be, but you are not incapable of this task," he assured the disheartened woman. "You must grow a part of yourself."

Ellana sighed and bowed her head. "I don't understand."

Silence fell between student and teacher. Ellana closed her eyes—they were useless anyway—and she listened to the sound of the grass rustling in the breeze. It reminded her of days spent with her father in the plains hunting wolves for skin. Just like then, she felt compelled to run her hands through it. The moment her fingers touched the stalks she realized it was not grass but wheat. "You grew wheat, for what purpose?"

Abelas followed Ellana's example and closed his eyes. He snapped off a wheat head from the stalk and stripped it. The feel of the kernels as he fondled them in his hand stirred up a memory. "Before I pledged my service to Mythal, I was the youngest son of a wealthy farmer. It was a simple life apart from the political strife of Arlathan. This garden is a reflection of my childhood home."

Ellana understood. Abelas was not simply sprouting seeds, he was bringing forth a part of his own life. To get the seeds to grow it had to be a meaningful act, not a mechanical manipulation of the Beyond.

"Dirth'ena enasalin is not just about technique is it?" Ellana whispered reverently, still awed by her own self discovery. "It is a way of life."

It delighted Abelas that his student had managed to grasp the fundamental concept of her training. As he recalled, it had taken him much longer. "Yes," he responded. When he looked at Ellana it was with a newfound respect. "Before the murder of Mythal I was taught to seek balance in all matters, including war."

"And after?"

"In the face of extinction, I sought to preserve everything that could be saved. In doing so, I abandoned the heart of Dirth'ena enasalin. I… sacrificed my soul." There was an uneasy lapse in the conversation while Abelas struggled to reign in his pain. "It was necessary or so I believed."

Would I have done the same in his position? The man before Ellana was noble and no one could deny dedicated, but had it been worth suffering a life of isolation to keep a remnant of the past alive? And what of the others in the temple? Why doom themselves? She could not make sense of such selfless devotion.

"So you were farmers? Why wisteria then?" she asked him. If every plant had meaning, she was eager to know the reason.

Smell, Abelas had learned, was the greatest herald of memories. He plucked several flowers from the wisteria and inhaled the scent. "My father had a servant train a vine of wisteria to frame the door to our home—it was my mother's favorite fragrance." He handed the flowers to Ellana, who soon after, dipped her nose into the petals and smiled. "We grew many crops, including grapes, but I remember the ripened wheat most for turning the land into fields of gold."

"Your home sounds lovely," she commented softly. "I miss mine as well, if it is any consolation."

With a wave of Abelas's hand, the energy of the garden was sapped and the plants withered away back to dirt. He stood and helped Ellana to her feet.

"We should focus our minds on the now," Abelas stated. "That is something I have learned from you, lethallan." The reminder of his past would not serve either of them well. There would be time to heal old wounds later when Anaris no longer remained an ever present threat. For now, Ellana's safety was his only concern. "Let us turn our attention to your sight."

Ellana was eager to see again, but a part of her lamented not learning more of Abelas's life. "I have to say it would be nice if I didn't have to rely on everyone, although… I dread to see what outfits Dorian has been picking out for me."

"Your friend's selections have been tasteful," Abelas assured her. Dorian had taken it upon himself to rearrange the Inquisitor's wardrobe and throw out any garment he deemed drab. But Abelas was not going to be the one to tell her that. "In the waking world, your body determines your experience, but in the Fade, dreams are determined by what your spirit encounters. Your magic crosses both realms and it is through the Fade that you can see."

Abelas held both of Ellana's hands and demonstrated how to bring the energy of Fade into her eyes. The mark on her hand had strengthened the connection and she found it easy to bridge both worlds with her magic. At first, the world was a blur of shapes, some moving, others too bright to look upon, but as she pulled more energy from the Fade, her surroundings began to take shape. There was light and dark, no color; a strange set of images that wobbled and undulated in time with the energy pulsing through her eyes. For Ellana, it was an emotional moment. She grabbed Abelas's arm for support, finding the movement equivalent to being aboard a ship during a storm at sea.

"I can see," she whispered. "But it's hazy, colorless, and the images waver. I think... I am going to be ill." The young elven woman turned from Abelas and heaved. He offered to fetch a mug of water, but with a shake of her head she refused. "Ir abelas, why is it so distorted?"

"You are seeing through the Fade first," he explained. "It will take time before you can better control your vision." Abelas paused. What he had to say next gave him no pleasure."I must warn you that not all that you see will be of the waking world. There are those who can traverse both at the same time."

Ellana's grip tightened on his arm. "You mean like the thing staring at me right now?"

The distinct shape of a wolf loomed in the distance. If it were not for its many eyes, Ellana would have missed it. It approached cautiously at first, circling with its head bowed to show that it was not a threat. She reached out, but the black wolf ran before her hand was able to touch its fur.

"It is the Dread Wolf that you see." Abelas pointed to the beast to show that he could see it too. "He has long stood guard over you against those who could reach you from the Fade."

The thought that an unhappy legend of her own people was acting as her guardian unnerved Ellana. "Is it because I have his anchor?"

"No... I believe the Trickster cares for you." Abelas used the Dalish version of his name to purposely annoy the Dread Wolf. Ellana was owed the truth, and everyday Fen'Harel failed to give it, would be another Abelas resented him. The wolf growled and turned tail to head deeper into the Fade. Typical, Abelas thought. "As much as one such as he can care for another."

And here I thought Corypheus would be the weirdest thing to happen to me in my lifetime. I suppose a trickster god is on par with current events.

"Would you explain to me why the Dread Wolf cares about me?" she asked. "How is that even possible?"

Abelas turned to her then, amused by her humble belief that the Elvhen gods were above mortal fancies. "Even the humans believe their god could love a person of His making," he said. "Gods are egotistical and rightly so. Humility does not create a world."

"That's a good point." An elven god interested in a mortal... in her, why? Did she pray at his altar one too many times? Women of greater beauty and poise were easily found among the Dalish. It was impossible. It had to be. "I wonder if that means he has always been watching me? That's kind of an embarrassing thought, considering some of the things I have done in my lifetime."

"You would do well to thank the Dread Wolf," he suggested. "He has rarely, if ever, shown favor to one of lesser status, and for it to be a mortal—it is unthinkable."

Ellana crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Abelas. "Don't you start with the filthy mortal remarks or so help me… I will blast you off of this watchtower."

"You misunderstand," Abelas said in a soft voice. "To have the favor of the Dread Wolf is to be an exceptional person," he bowed his head to her, "—and that you are, Ellana."

Not at any point in her entire life had she been given such a compliment. Even after the defeat of Corypheus, the praise had gone to Andraste and the Maker, not the small elven woman and her elite team. They were heroes, but only because they had divine luck. This was different. A man had actually complimented her for being the person that she is, not the clan's First, not the Herald of Andraste, not the Inquisitor, and he had meant it.

"Oh..." Ellana looked to her feet to hide her blush. She drew circles in the dirt with her wrapped toes. "Thank you, Abelas. You are exceptionally flustering me, so we should probably continue with the training."

"You are unaccustomed to compliments?" The nature of the relationship between Ellana and the Dread Wolf intrigued him. "Unexpected."

Ellana was uncertain what to make of the current conversation. Is he... flirting? Surely not. "The only other man to compliment me, besides you, was Solas, and that was after the battle with Corypheus. It was the last time we spoke…" There was pain in those words, enough to make Ellana look away and try to hide it. But Abelas had already sensed it.

"A daily compliment is easily forgotten, however, Solas knew you would always remember his final words." The ancient elf laid a hand on her shoulder. "Surely, that was the moment worthy of the finest compliment?"

The words touched Ellana more than any she could remember. For so long, she had believed the Beyond and Solas's spirit friends had meant more to him than she ever could.

Ellana reached up and laid her hand on top of Abelas's. She squeezed it once and quickly removed it. "Ma serannas," she whispered. "That was very kind."

The arrival of Lady Montilyet drew Abelas's attention. The ambassador was standing on the rampart below, her hand raised above her eyes shielding them from the sun, her ruffles blowing in the cold mountain wind. She waved and nodded. "Your ambassador requires your attention..." he gestured to Josephine. "I promised the peculiar dwarf that I would visit the forge. I will find you afterward."

The Inquisitor nodded. "Of course."

It was rewarding to watch Ellana walk away without the aid of another and to see the happiness in her face once she explained the return of her sight to Josephine. She was independent again and Abelas had helped her achieve it. Skyhold was not home, it never would be, but it was a place where he could feel useful and that was important to a man who had been a mentor for over a thousand years.