"You know, Solas…" Iron Bull began again. This time with a passable impression of sympathy. "I'm sorry you didn't manage to make it until after the main event. But at least you didn't come early. After some time apart, that can be an issue."
Solas sighed.
Ellana snorted.
"Don't encourage him," Cassandra said, "That doesn't even make sense." She flicked the reins of her hart to command it into a trot, replacing Bull's position as lead now he'd fallen behind to engage his audience.
Again.
They'd been on the road since an hour past sunrise and he'd been at it nearly as long. No matter the protests.
He called after her, "Wait, I've got a better one!" and loudly cleared his throat. Patted his chest with a closed fit. Pausing, briefly — for dramatic effect — before turning a practiced grin upon the pair riding beside him. "It's too bad you didn't get to see her pop, given that it was owed to yours."
There was a moment of thoughtful silence in which Solas pretended he'd not heard.
Ellana broke it. "That one was better."
Seated behind her, sharing the saddle, made a poor vantage from which to share his heavy, exasperated, frown. But she felt it. Or, simply knew him well enough to anticipate it.
She twisted around for a better look. Flashing him a bright, sideways, smile. The very picture of innocence. "Purely on a technical level, I mean. That's a much better play on 'pop' than the one he told an hour back."
"A belch would be better than the one he told an hour back," Cassandra deadpanned.
The sheer weight of her disgust was enough to coax a wry smile from him. Gone in a blink, before anyone could mistake it for approval. Ellana quirked a brow, amused, but said nothing to give him away.
"It's almost there," Bull was saying. "I'll keep workshopping it. Pop, end, climax, grand finale… Oh, what about, 'come to a head'? That works on several levels!"
"Ugh."
"Hey, I've been saving some of these up for months and I may not get another chance to give him shit for weeks more. We've got time. He's hearing them."
"I don't need to. We heard enough at the house."
"And you were a great test audience."
"A captive audience," Ellana corrected.
Undeterred, "Just think how much your throwing arm improved," he continued. As if this were a valid point. "By the end of the second week both of you could nail me from across the house. And it kept your spirits up. My jokes provided you an invaluable service."
"Target practice?"
"You're welcome."
Quietly,"At least the stay not lack for entertainment," Solas mused.
"I'd tell you all about the thrilling time we had but I fear you'd fall asleep and never wake up," Ellana replied. "Then where would I be?"
Bull held up a finger, ready with another quip, but Cassandra cut over him before he got the chance to test it.
Pointing down the hill, "There they are! Just ahead!" she cried. Uttering a quiet prayer of thanks when everyone stopped to look.
A few hundred metres away, under the shadow of a large tree, stood two visible now that the party had crested a small rise. One wore a shield on their back belted over thick, padded, armour. The other held a tall staff, using it for emphasis while they talked. With them were four horses, tied loosely and grazing on roadside grass, each carrying a load of supplies. Too much for a simple pair of travellers to require.
They were deep in conversation. Faced away from the group's approach, and so unaware of it until one of the harts recognized the scent of a stable-mate on the air and gave a loud, piercing, call as greeting. When one of the horses whinnied in reply the man with the shield perked up and looked in their direction. Raising a hand to shade their eyes from the mid-morning sun. A second later he smacked, then pointed over, the shoulder of his mage friend. Who turned and waved gladly.
It was the swagger in his stance, more than the gleaming trim on his clothes or the unabashed use of the staff, that instantly and unmistakablyidentifiedhimas a relieved, happy, Dorian.
With that confirmation Bull gave a celebratory whoop, jumped off his hart, and all but ran to meet him. His great stride closing those last steps in seconds. When they came together he wrapped his arms around his lover and lifted him clear off the ground. Leaving the pointed toes of his fancy shoes dangling in the air as he hung from a firm hug. An embrace so tight Bull could reach all the way back around to grab himself.
There was laughter all around as he boomed a delighted greeting. "Kadan!"
"I'm happy to see you too," Dorian squeaked, only a little embarrassed by the attention. He was not typically inclined to such displays — even among friends. But he and Bull were rarely apart so long as this. Absence had softened his heart.
This time he leaned in a little.
And just as quickly regret it. Recoiling in horror when Bull nuzzled against his cheek affectionately.
"Kaffas, you smell awful!When was the last time you bathed?" He struggled against the vice-grip — though not very convincingly. "Put me down, you oaf!"
Bull obliged. Accusing, slyly, "You love it."
Dorian tugged at his rumpled clothes, making a show of brushing the dirt off his lapel. While he made a convincing picture of a man beleaguered, still, "Maker help me, I do," he admitted, smiling. And fondly, laid a hand on Bull's arm.
Cassandra rode up behind him, followed after by Solas and Ellana. With a nod at each Dorian and Blackwall, "You two are a welcome sight," she greeted.
"Can't say the same for you," the warden replied pointedly. He approached her hart and scrubbed a gloved hand down its neck, using the metal plates to give it a good scratch. It stretched — making a soft, approving, noise. "You look like you haven't slept a night in three days."
"Almost five." Her eyes cut to the makeshift sling Ellana wore tied over one shoulder. Heavy, and presently quiet, hidden beneath the drape of a shawl. "The cave we sheltered in had excellent acoustics."
"A glimpse into our future, then?" Blackwall said, and elbowed Dorian in the side. Laughing at the miserable expression he got in reply. "Cheer up! It'll only be a few days to help them settle in before we can head back. Could be worse. I once stayed a month in a camp with a young mother. Came in all by herself — half-starved and thin as rails, and her baby not much better. They were refugees from the Blight. Spent weeks waking up every hour with them. Had half a mind to try rocking the whelp to sleep myself, just to give her the rest, but she wouldn't hand him off to anyone. Couldn't tell her from a corpse by the time we moved on."
A moment passed in silence.
Then, bewildered, "What a charming anecdote!" Dorian remarked. "Entirely appropriate for new parents. What confidence that will inspire!"
The corner of Blackwall's mouth curled into a smirk. "I'm sure this won't be that bad."
"Fortunately, the chateau was built for privacy," Solas said. And he slid off the hart. "I imagine you'll have a far more peaceful rest than you did then."
"A shame we can't enjoy that same luxury at camp. No enchantment up your sleeve to soundproof canvas?"
Dorian answered for him. "Anything like that would require continuous concentration. You couldn't do anything but maintain it. Including sleep. It'd be terribly draining."
"That explains why you've never used it before," Bull commented mildly. And it almost passed for innocent until Blackwall, belatedly, picked up on what was left unspoken and gave a hearty chuckle.
Solas lent a hand to Ellana to assist her dismount and she took it gladly, but not before offering a grateful pat to their hart for putting up with all the trouble. They'd say goodbye to him here: swapping them all out for more the agreeable chargers. Harts were too near their wild roots to do well on long journeys. Temperamental compared to horses (to say nothing of the dracolisks and nugs) and far less tolerant of the sort of long, difficult, work asked over this month and a half.
She fidgeted with the sling, checking that the knot held tight and the edges weren't frayed. It had been improvised from one of the stained, torn-up, remnants of the woollen blankets she'd birthed on. Bull had done his best to wash the stains out in the river, but anything she'd used during her labour did not survive it intact. It was a messy business, life. And they'd all been woefully unprepared for its entrance. Like the blankets, everything she'd been wearing was also ruined. What she dressed in for the road was cobbled together from spare parts: one of Solas' shirts, Cassandra's spare bloomers, an oversized gambeson they'd taken from an abandoned outpost, and a set of Bull's vambraces tied to her thighs to protect them from chafing.
When she was done Blackwall clapped his hands excitedly. Pulled his gauntlets off and tucked them under an arm, rubbing his palms together. "Let's meet the new charge!" he announced. Looking as eager as a man stood before a great feast.
Behind him Cassandra passed a sly look to Bull, and he smiled back.
Ellana caught it too.
"Does he not know?" she asked, looking between them.
Dorian and Blackwall exchanged a look of their own.
"Know what?" Dorian asked.
"Might've forgotten to include that detail in my report to Red," Bull answered with a wave of his hand. Casual and off-handedly, as if it were a simple oversight rather than the set-up he'd very clearly planned. "Didn't want to put too much information in the message. For your safety, of course. I can give her the full story when I get back. Besides, it's much funnier this way. Remember the birthday party? Watching everyone's reactions to you two was way too much fun to pass up the opportunity for an encore. This is a surprise meant to be enjoyed."
"That meet was regarding any potential change in her ability to perform as Inquisitor," Solas corrected, "not her relationship status."
"You say that like the main takeaway wasn't that you two were fucking."
There were a few sharp coughs, a sputter, and another deep laugh from Blackwall. He gave Solas a half-cocked grin for his weary look.
He'd endured so much today.
"He's not wrong," he said, and glanced at Cassandra. Winked. "Some good stories came out of drinks at the Rest after that."
Her cheeks pinked, and she looked away.
Chuckling, Blackwall leaned in to get a better look in Ellana's arms.
Bull was right: this was worth savouring. And she did so happily. Relishing the anticipation, the excitement, in Blackwall's climbing brows. The widening smile. She stirred the air with a long, slow, unveiling; drawing back the fringed edges of the wrap as if it were a velvet curtain across a stage. Opening to debut its newest, brightest, star.
His response was as memorable as they'd hoped.
First, he froze.
Blinking in disbelief, the smile falling into shock as his jaw grew slack.
"…No, really?"
He looked to her — then to Solas — then back to the sling again.
Then he braced a hand on her arm and exclaimed, "That's grand!" before doubling over with laughter. Surprise as much genuine delight. When he could manage the breath, he waved over a bewildered-looking Dorian, still standing with Iron Bull. "Come here and see this!"
"What is it? Don't tell me: he has my looks. Good chin. Strong nose. Though I must admit you have lovely cheek bones Solas, it wouldn't be so terrible if that were—" The script stopped the moment they came into view. He staggered — a little theatrically — and pressed an open palm to his chest. Gaped. "Fasta vass!" he exclaimed, "There's two of them!How are there two of them!?" The other hand grasped Ellana's arm tightly, though whether the intent was to shake her or himself couldn't be said.
"I hear that's what happens if you spend the night and go for seconds," Bull quipped.
Cassandra sighed.
"You absolutely know that is not true."
"I can think of a few long nights at camp that suggest otherwise. They're lucky it's not triplets."
"That's not how that works!"
"Ah," he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Sera would agree with me."
"I'm sure she'd make a compelling argument, being such a renowned student of biology."
"All that hands-on experience has to count for something."
Still staring, "They look just like him," Dorian marvelled quietly, and the words gave Solas a rush of pride. He touched a curled finger, softly, to the back of one of the tiny hands. Watching as it unfolded and stretched. Then held it in his own, sweeping a thumb back and forth over dimpled knuckles. "Wonderful."
Blackwall scratched his chin. "That damned dwarf told me elves can't have twins."
Though it wasn't meant as a joke, Bull was delighted by it all the same. "Ha! And you believed him?"
"Took him at his word." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. More for how easily he'd swallowed the lie than for Varric's gall in telling it. "Feels a bit foolish now. Was going to guess that for the pool, as a joke, but he talked me into a proper bet. 'Boy, next month' is what I ended up going with. Could've been a rich man. But I got it half-right, I suppose."
"Everyone got it half-right."
He considered that. "Fair point. Guess we can't really name a winner, can we?"
Struck by sudden memory, "Oh, damnit Cole! Blast it all!" Dorian exclaimed. He threw his hands in the air. All eyes turned to him, and he sighed deeply. Pinching the bridge of his nose. "Before I left I asked the blighter, 'Is it a boy? A girl?' and he just said, 'yes'! Cryptic fucking nonsense. I didn't ask twice. Should've known!"
Solas smirked. "Perhaps he's owed the pot."
"His guesses don't count," Dorian said with a sniff. "He cheats."
"Says the man who tried to use him to change his bet," Blackwall countered.
"I was tapping a resource! One freely available to anyone, by the way, unlike telepathy. I cannot be blamed for your lack of imagination. But never mind that… he was right about it, yes? A boy and a girl?" A brief pause allowed Ellana to answer with a nod and a happy smile. "Which is which? What are their names? Why have we waited so long to hear these details? How do I tell them apart they look near identical! Out with it! This is too exciting to sit on!"
Laughing, she gestured to one, "Girl, a little bigger," then the other, "Boy, more hair. And…" Her eyes flicked to Solas.
He finished for her. "… And we've yet to come to an agreement about names."
Dorian and Blackwall exchanged another look.
"What should we call them in the meantime? 'Boy' and 'girl'?"
"I've been calling them Grumpy and Squeaky," offered Bull. He gestured to the boy. "That one's Squeaky. Because he's tiny and he squeaks. Sounds like an angry rat when he gets going, it's really something."
"Adorable," Dorian remarked. "I look forward to hearing it."
Cassandra gave him a pained look. "I assure you that you do not."
They pulled off-road for a short rest and regroup. To feed the babies and change their dressings, allowing ample time for fawning over knees and toes. Dorian and Blackwall each had a chance to hold one, putting aside their fears of being ungraceful to enjoy a moment spent with something precious. What limited experience they had with children proved to be more than Solas himself possessed. And as such, they showed more confidence with their first, clumsy, attempts than he had yet to glean from his twentieth.
Later, Bull happily demonstrated how he could fit the pair together in the cup of his hands.
They readied the new mounts, double-checked supplies, and reviewed directions to the chateau. Then, exchanged goodbyes… some lingering longer than others. When the hour was up Cassandra and Bull mounted the harts and left for Skyhold while Blackwall and Dorian took over as escort. Three of their horses dressed for riding and the last to carry supplies.
From there, Jader was only half a day away, allowing them to set an easier pace. Enjoy the pleasure of an easy afternoon ride under clear skies. In humble guise they'd draw no attention, and so made sure to carefully craft their appearance before setting off. Jader was a large city with diverse peoples and busy streets — without markers passers-by would be hard-pressed to pick them out of the crowd.
To ease her hours of travel Solas made his arms a cradle for Ellana, and there he kept her safely. Tucked against his chest. Free to shift and move as she needed while tending to the babies. They required little at this stage: warmth, touch, milk, and dry clothes. Sleeping contentedly between the meeting of those needs, wrapped tightly together as they'd spent their previous months.
Once they slept well Solas felt Ellana begin to drift, too. She gave it a good fight, but ultimately lost the battle, succumbing to exhaustion. The tension bled, slowly, from her body. Arms growing slack, breath heavy, until she'd melted completely into his embrace. Safe and comfortable, she drifted into blessed sleep. Rocked by the steady, even, gait of their horse and the tedium of the journey. A long, deep, sigh signalled her final surrender — and he was happy to hear it. She needed the rest. It brought him comfort to guard it.
To guard their rest, his mind corrected, for they were something different now.
For most of afternoon they barely stirred. The twins woke only the rare times they wriggled out of reach of a breast long enough to think it lost forever. Making soft, breathy, sounds that Ellana tended to before they ever had a chance to turn into full-throated cries. Adjusting their positions, tucking little arms back into the sling, humming forgotten tunes, all without even opening her eyes.
To him, the caretaking looked simple. Innate.
He'd never spent much time with children, even less with infants, and feared he lacked such instincts. To watch her, the ease and grace with which she loved them, granted some measure of reassurance. She'd started so unsure just days ago, and had already made the role her own — motherhood fit her well. That might live within him, too.
Becoming four from two was new and terrifying, but he could rejoice in these simple moments. His heart filled to bursting with every glimpse of a smile; every soft sigh let slip when they began to dream.
He'd not known, before this, how terribly his arms had ached from emptiness. All he was missing — all that could be. What wonder he'd never dreamed to behold in a world made of promise and potential.
How full he was now, with the whole of the universe encircled in his arms.
His eyes found the apple of Ellana's cheek, flush and upturned just beneath his chin, and it made a temptation beyond his will to deny. He laid a kiss there, when he was certain it wouldn't wake her. Watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, and the little faces pressed against it. Cheeks and lips squished together like little fish. It was a view he could enjoy for hours.
'Unwashed and exhausted,' she'd argue, if he paid her the compliment… but he'd always loved her most when she was raw and real. Baubles and silk were never so charming as a curl fallen from her braid. The flush of victory after battle.
A kiss, stolen, where no one could see.
A smile pulled at his cheek as he indulged himself in another.
"Not sure how I didn't see it before." Blackwall's voice broke into the reverie. It startled him. Somehow, he'd not noticed the warden ride up alongside them.
"Hm?"
"How smitten you are." He nodded to Ellana. "Looking back, I think it was just about there from the start. In the little things. You argued well enough, of course, but all that fire comes from the heart. I think she fell for you just as hard and fast as you did for her." It was a rare, soft, sentiment from him — and the smile kind. Like his laughter he shared it generously. "I'm happy for you. It's a lovely thing you've made. Many don't get the chance to find that kind of peace in these times. Cherish that."
Solas felt the heat rise on his collar. A flush of embarrassment and pride that crept into his cheeks, turning them a dusty pink. His heart was an open secret now — fielding such honest commentary on it was something he still struggled to handle with grace.
The tawdry jokes were easier.
He turned, averting his gaze, and coughed. "I did not take you for such a romantic."
"I have my moments."
"Have them more quietly, please," Dorian piped up from the rear. "All this sweetness is going to make my teeth rot."
"Would've thought Iron Bull cleaned all those hard-to-reach spots for you when you said goodbye," Blackwall quipped in return.
"Hm." There was a pause. "I suppose I deserved that."
They chuckled, and fell once more into companionable silence.
By dusk they were near enough to the city to start seeing farms and homesteads on the horizon, breaking up the endless sea of trees that bordered the road. They met few other travellers; half a dozen men with heavy bags, and a handful of travelling carts driven by masked merchants. All polite enough to move along with just a nod. There was no need for conversation, and so no need for subterfuge. They wore heavy cloaks that bore no sigils and kept their weapons out of sight; large hoods that concealed their features and the fine stitch of their clothes. It granted them some degree of anonymity, though might not hold up to deeper scrutiny, so they did their part to remain inconspicuous. Travel as peasants — forgettable and unremarkable.
In retrospect, that was their mistake.
Had they thought it through they might have made a point to appear a little threatening. Capable, at the very least. Lest they be mistaken for an easy mark.
Trouble stalked them for half an hour before it sprang its trap, and Ellana sensed it first.
Tired though she was she never fell too deeply asleep. Keen, she kept one ear on the road and the other on the babies. Experience taught her not to sleep hard in the wild unless under guard of walls and soldiers, and Solas had never known her to forget it. There were too many opportunities to stake an ambush in the woods. Too many places to hide.
When she jolted awake, it was so sudden he mistook it for reflex. Worrying, briefly, that she'd begun to slip from the saddle. But her eyes were too sharp for that… something had caught her ear instead.
She wrapped an arm around the babies, tucking them nearer her chest as she leaned out of the cradle of his arms. She scanned the woods. Eyes narrowed and brow heavy with concern.
He touched a hand to her elbow. "Is something the matter?"
There was a long pause before she answered.
"I'm not sure." She twisted in the seat to look up at him. "Have you passed by anything in the last little while? Not carts, but beasts. Something large — bears or druffalo?"
He glanced back at Dorian, who shook his head. "Not that I've seen. Why?"
"It's just… it's very quiet. And we're not quite close enough to the city for it to drive things away. There's usually more activity in this area. We should be hearing it."
Blackwall tugged on the reins of his horse, slowing until he rode parallel with them. "I can go on ahead if you like. Scout a bit. We closed a rift in this area about a year back. Might be something lingered." He nodded meaningfully at the sling. "Let's not plan on any fighting, though. It's not safe to have you in a fray, or to lend what strength you have to evading it."
"No, I'd rather not," she agreed. "And please, if you could, go on ahead — but not too far, just in case."
Don't bring something back, she meant.
The Warden dipped his chin in acknowledgement and kicked the horse into a gallop, disappearing over the next rise. Dorian took his place, giving Solas a curt nod as they fell into step.
They travelled that way some time. In anxious silence, searching the trees with worried faces, but it remained as she'd said — quiet. They saw neither foe nor fauna. No tracks, blood, smoke, signs of battle… nothing that would imply something was amiss, waiting in the shadows. Or that it had succeeded in separating the group from their guard.
The calm should have put her fears to rest, but, "I think we should pick up speed," Ellana said instead. "Just to get us off the road sooner. We can't be more than half an hour out — we passed the last marker not five minutes ago."
Solas frowned. "That would cause you unneeded pain. And worse bleeding, if you push yourself too hard. You should not take the risk." Travel on horseback made considerable demand of a body still recovering from childbirth — doing it at high speed would not treat her any kinder. The girding he'd helped her with that morning could only do so much. Additionally, "It's likely to disturb them, which would cause further delay. If you're concerned, it is better to opt for quiet."
She shook her head. "No — something feels off. I can't say what, exactly, but I don't like it. If we stop a moment here we can each wrap one of the babies to our chests and then it won't bother them as much. There's another blanket in your pack we can use as a second carrier. The technique is a little different — more like wrapping than knot-tying — but I've seen it done many times. I can help you with it. It's just a matter of—"
The fight began before they even knew they'd been surrounded.
Starting with a single arrow shot from the trees.
It zipped by just as Ellana turned her head. Too fast to see and too sharp to feel. Intended for her temple, it instead grazed her cheek. Missing its mark by a hairsbreadth.
There was no pain, just the sudden sensation of warmth and wet. Time slowing to a crawl as she touched her fingers to her jaw and pulled them away bloody.
Her eyes went wide with shock. "What—?"
A tree crashed through the canopy and landed across the road, blocking their escape. They barely had the time to realize it was intentional before a volley of arrows followed.
One hit the flank of Dorian's horse. One flew between Solas and Ellana, striking a tree. The last was blocked by Solas' barrier, raised so fast the air it displaced gave a snap that echoed like a crack of thunder.
"From the left!"Dorian shouted. He freed his staff from beneath his cloak, ready with a shield of his own, but when his charger reared up and shrieked in pain, staying in the saddle took priority. With a curse and a clatter, the weapon fell to the ground and rolled away.
Solas and Ellana's startled horse followed suit, skidding in the dirt, and the hard stop sent them reeling. Solas wrapped an arm around her chest to spare her a knock against the back of its head — or worse — but with his attention split on the maneuver his barrier was snuffed out of existence just as quickly as it had come into it. It left his side exposed. An opportunity their enemy was waiting for, it seemed, as the next arrow was shot straight into it.
"Fenedhis." He wrapped a loop of the reins around his wrist, yanked hard to turn the horse away from the direction of the shots, and used his body as shield in lieu of magic. The babies had begun to cry.
"Stop your assault!" Dorian yelled. His eyes darting from bush, to tree, to rock — searching for movement. "There are children here!"
"Then you best surrender what you have, or you might find them hurt," came a voice.
There was a sharp whistle, then a man in leather armour stepped out onto the road in front of them. He carried a longbow, raised, with an arrow aimed at Solas' neck — but his eyes were on Dorian. Two more men emerged behind them, pincering them in. Those ones armed with swords and shields.
The field stilled, not even long enough to give them chance to reply, before the leader spied Dorian's fallen weapon and decided the offer no longer stood.
He jerked his head toward him. "This one's an apostate!"
"Grab his staff!" said one of the swordsmen, "Don't let him get it back!" And with a nod the other ran to intercept.
They'd yet to realize there were two, and in that oversight Solas was granted the chance to free his own staff from the tie and raise it over his head. Cast an arcane circle on the ground that flared to life as the man ran across it. A shock of ice burst from the glyph, travelling up his legs and locking him in place, leaving him stunned and frozen.
He cursed sharply. Yelled, "This one, too!" to his comrades and then turned his sword around to begin cracking it against the ice.
The trap wouldn't hold him long but it bought them a few seconds. Dorian jumped off his wounded horse to retrieve his staff. Once in hand, he gave it a high spin and slammed it back down hard, drawing power to the crimson rune. There was a crackle of energy — a glow and a snap — then two firebolts flew at the swordsmen.
Only to bounce harmlessly off their shields, vanishing into smoke.
A flicker of blue, briefly visible along the edges of the metal as the magic rolled across it, gave Solas the answer why. The gear was much finer than what bandits typically carried. These kits were made for taking on riskier targets.
Dorian saw it too and called a warning over his shoulder. "Enchanted gear!"
Solas dropped the reins into Ellana's hands and braced his own upon her sides, using her weight to push backward off the horse. His feet hit the ground the same instant the butt of his weapon hit its flank, sending it tearing off with an angry whicker. It was a risky move, but one they'd used before, he could trust Ellana to intuit the rest. Get herself off the field and find Blackwall.
Spinning, he pulled a Stone Fist from the ground and sent it flying toward the man bearing down on him. Once more the magic broke over his shield… but this time with enough force to stagger him. He took a knee to bear the weight and Solas pulled up another. Then another. And another. Ceaseless, shot after shot, to hold him down.
The other man, free of the trap, ran at Dorian with his sword raised. A barrier blocked the first blow, but it shattered under the next. The weapon was clearly made for fighting mages. With a cruel smile he took a step back, surged forward, and threw himself bodily against Dorian. Throwing an arm into his chest with enough force to push him back and wind him.
In that second between thought and action, where one defence lowered and another had yet to raise, he swung his sword again… and hit hard. Cleaving through the leather armour like a hot knife through butter.
Red splashed across white.
"Dorian!" Ellana yelled.
The sound made Solas' stomach drop: she hadn't yet left. This would keep her.
Turning, he saw her by the fallen tree, the horse's reins in one hand and the other held tight to the sling. One side of her painted in blood from the wound on her cheek. "Go!" he ordered.
Worry flashed across her face. He could see the conflict. The moment of hesitation where she weighed her options, looking between him and Dorian and the road ahead.
She tensed, turned, and almost obeyed…
… But then the bowman shot an arrow through his shoulder. The last Stone Fist he'd pulled up crumbled into dust. The man pinned down by the barrage was freed.
And he saw her expression harden into determination.
By the time he'd glanced again between her and his enemy she was already on the ground. Crouched, with a knife in her hand. A second later it was in the throat of the charging swordsmen. Down he fell. Leaving a growing red stain on the dirt.
Dorian hit the other with a powerful blast from his staff, hurling his body across the field like a rag doll. It struck a tree, and he did not get back up.
Before the next volley Dorian managed to pull himself to his feet, swaying from the effort. He leaned heavily on his staff. Breathing hard and slick with sweat, he touched a trembling hand to the wound in his side, paling at the sight. Without aid the blood loss would put him down in moments. They needed to shift the balance soon.
As much as Solas hated to admit it, Ellana's presence would help. She was fair in a melee, but better at range, and never went anywhere without a pair of daggers.
She pulled another from her boot and threw it at the leader. Missed. The blade grazing his arm instead. It was the last she had, Solas knew, though she tucked her fingers in her belt as if reaching for another. Pretending she had weapons to spare. She was trying to draw attention off the mages long enough for one of them to manage something stronger than a firebolt.
Don't make yourself a target, he wanted to shout, run! But instead took the opportunity she'd granted him: sending a blast of lightning at the man now turned in her direction. It hit, and though he staggered in pain he did not turn back to fight him.
She had made him angry. He was coming for her.
Ellana's eyes flicked to the blade lying near the man she'd killed, and she took off running for it.
"Oh no you don't," said the leader. He shifted his weight to follow. But she was slower than she used to be, and he cut her off before she made it five steps.
Solas hit him with another blast. Dorian followed it up with fire, then crumpled to his knees. Managing only a weak, "Solas — by the tree," before he collapsed. Spent.
The stunned swordsman had managed to find his footing. Leaning against the tree he'd collided with, he held a hand to his wounded head, and sneered. He threw a knife at Solas' head. It missed, but barely.
He pointed at Solas. "Subdue her," he yelled to his leader. "I've got this one."
"No!"
The next knife hit him in the thigh, and Solas buckled. Dropping his staff to catch himself on the ground.
Ahead and too far away the leader stalked toward Ellana. Bloodied and furious. A dagger held tight in one hand and the other clenched into a fist. He spit a mouthful of blood on the ground and wiped his sleeve across his stubbled chin.
"I might've let your kits alone before that," he taunted. Each step drove her retreat until he had her backed against a tree. When she tried to slide left, he mirrored and blocked her exit. Tossing, then catching, the dagger in his other hand. "Ah-ah, I didn't say you could leave." He waved it back and forth. Clicked his tongue mockingly. "You rabbits are awfully rude. Now I'll have to dock their ears to teach you some manners."
"Fuck you," she snarled. All fire and spit — teeth bared, ready to bite what hand dared near her — but Solas could see the fear in her face.
Wit alone could not allay the toll of childbirth. Her body ached. In this state she could not bear a battle. The fray had already exhausted her. He could see her slowing; wincing in pain as she wrapped her arms around the sling, muffling the cries within.
He saw the scene through her eyes.
A lonely dirt road streaked with blood. Arrows in trees. Little bare feet caked in mud.
Blank faces, forgotten by time.
She was cornered.
She was cornered and he was down, and Blackwall was gone, and Dorian was exhausted.
The leader reached her, blocking his view. He heard her land a blow on him and the grunt of pain that followed. Then an Elvish curse, cut short. A choking sound as he grabbed her by the throat.
"Stop!" Solas shouted.
What followed after stole his breath: a piercing cry. High and terrible — a sound no child should make. For a pain they should not know.
At once, he was consumed. Never had he hated anything so much as hated this man in this moment, and the knowledge that his hands tried to mar such perfect skin.
An inferno of rage erupted from his belly. Bubbling, thick, and white-hot. Burning. Overflowing. Surging from his chest, into his throat, out the spaces between his clenched teeth, until it burst from his open mouth — hanging in the air as he screamed in cursed tongue. The voice of the Bringer of Nightmare, horrible and magnificent, honed into a spear that drove through flesh and bone. With it he bent reality to his will. Brought form to terror. It was a power not felt for an age. One no mortal man could ever dream to behold.
It tore through his vessel of fragile bone and hollow chest, wrenching every ounce of strength he had to give. He felt his skin sear and tear with it. The shadow of his many-eyed form emerging from the cracks, ablaze with terrible, violent, light.
The men dropped their weapons, dropped to their knees, and tore at their throats. Their eyes. Their mouths and faces. With their last breaths they begged for mercy… pleas that fell on deaf ears. For those who dared hold a blade to the children of Gods would bear their wrath and die screaming.
Bloodied, then boiling, then dust.
When it was over, Solas fell to his knees in the dirt. Gasping to fill his burning lungs. The edges of his vision grew dark and blurry. He staggered. Clawing at the earth, choking on air as he fought to stay conscious.
It took an eon to draw just one, slow, breath. Another for the second. And with the third, finally, his blood began to cool. The whine fade from his ears. The darkness retreat. With a few breaths more he could hear again… and was hit with the most wonderful sound.
The babies were screaming — but not in pain. Angry. Heartily.
They were safe.
It was such relief that he almost laughed. He choked instead. Then heaved, violently. Dizzy and nauseous and painfully empty.
He wiped his mouth with trembling hand and used his staff to pull himself to his feet. It took another moment to blink the stars from his vision and take in what was left in the wake of the Blast. The man Ellana killed still lay on the ground in a pool of blood. She was still at the tree, huddled with the babies. All that was left of the other two was a cloud of burning ash, hanging in the air.
And beyond that, Dorian's stricken face.
Staring, drawn, and stark white. One hand held to his mouth.
"Solas…" he whispered.
There was shock. Even awe. Surely, he'd never seen anything so powerful as this… but it was the fear, so naked on his face, that weighed the heaviest. No lie was clever enough to explain this away.
Dorian's hand twitched. The grip on his staff tightened. Solas' eyes followed it, but he did not wait to see what might come next. He turned away and ran to Ellana.
She'd slid to the ground in a heap with her head tucked down. Curled against the tree, holding the babies so close to her chest that they struggled and screamed. Little faces gone red from the effort.
When he touched her shoulder she flinched.
Softly, "Atisha, it's alright, it's over," he soothed. Trying not to sound as though he teetered on the edge of collapse. He ran his fingers over her cheek. "They're gone." When she did not move, "Vhenan, look at me," he urged.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Looked over his shoulder, to the body and the dust, and back to him. There was a question in her eyes. He nodded — you're safe — and she crumbled. Shuddering under the weight of terror, released. She heaved a single, wretched, sob and searched each baby's head with shaking fingers. Across necks and cheeks, back and forth, searching for damage.
Pausing on a bloodied ear.
When she touched it, the pitch of their cry grew louder. She winced. As if the pain were her own.
"He was going to cut them off," she whispered. "I-I had no weapons left, I couldn't cast, I tried but my hands are so cold — it-it wouldn't work. I had nothing, they were cold, it didn't work, I—"
"Ssh." He rest his forehead against hers. Gently guided her breaths with his own. "It's alright." He would say it over and over. As many times as she needed to hear it.
Solas closed his eyes and reached for the last, tiny, spark of mana in his chest. Called it to his hand and swiped, so delicately, his thumb across the cut point of his daughter's ear. It left behind a thin, white, line.
"There," he said, when it was done, "Just a scar, now."
Ellana kissed him. Four times, before he lost count. Awkward and clumsy at the corners of his mouth, around the edges of his lips and on his chin, holding his jaw for support. Then she laughed — just a little — in blessed relief. Pushing through the pain to manage a shaky smile.
In a halting stutter, "A-at least…" she began. She wet her lips and tried again. "At least now you'll be able to tell them apart."
It hurt.
Instead of smile, he kissed her back.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats had him back on his feet in an instant. His body screamed in protest; he could feel his heart beating in the wounds on his shoulder and thigh. He had no mana left to fight… but with staff raised, he feigned readying a spell. Nearby, Dorian did the same. Set a weak fire mine and made his staff flicker with electricity.
Once Blackwall came into view they dropped the ruse.
"Whoa!" he commanded. The horse reared up with an angry whinny, but stopped as ordered. "Are you all alright?" There was a dark stain on his shoulder and sweat on his temples — he'd been waylaid by his own fight. The horse looked uninjured.
"We're safe," Solas called back, pitching his voice to be heard above the twins' wailing.
Blackwall pointed a bloodied glove back the way he came. "There were two up the road, waiting. I was jumped as soon as I got a fair distance from you, and they signalled others to go back; they'd been aiming to separate us. Probably trying to collect on apostate bounties. Their gear was better suited to mages than fighters. After I cut them down I came running back as fast as I could." His eyes darted to Solas' thigh, and the growing red stain on his pants. "Damn, you're bleeding — how bad is it?"
"Dorian and I have both been hit." He raised an arm to show the arrows still lodged in his side, shoulder, and thigh. "But my wounds are not so bad as his — he needs urgent attention. I cannot apply any meaningful healing. Give your potions to Dorian first."
He gestured to Ellana and the babies. "And them?"
Solas turned back. Cradled the girl's head in his palm. Her eyes were wet with tears — this cut had caused her first.
"One of the men cut her ear," he said haltingly. "He'd intended to do worse, but—"
His eyes slid to Dorian.
Still frozen. Pale, from blood loss or shock. Or something else.
"—but I was able to dispatch him before he managed to."
"Animals," Blackwall growled, and spit on the ground. He reached into a small pouch on his belt to retrieve a potion. Dismounted, then offered it to Dorian.
He didn't notice at first — staring blankly into the middle distance. Blackwall had to tap it against his shoulder twice before he finally looked up. And shaking, took it.
"Yes," he muttered around the bottle. "Solas took care of them."
Their eyes met across the field.
He looked away.
It took half an hour to bind wounds and calm hearts, completely exhausting the potion supply in the process. Dorian's horse was too injured to bear weight, and so was led along behind the others. Blackwall offered up his own for him to ride and opted to walk alongside, holding the reins of both.
That last hour they travelled in silence.
Through it all, Solas felt eyes on his back.
The villa was clean, warm, and without staff when they arrived. The gate unlocked with a key Blackwall carried. It stood on a sprawling property bordered by tall hedges and lavish statues, with lush gardens full of fragrant blooms — varieties grown for beauty as well as function — all perfectly coiffed into Orlesian heraldry. Flawless and dangerous as Vivienne herself.
As one of her tertiary properties it often stood empty for months at a time, visited only by landscapers tasked to care for the grounds. It was not so unusual, particularly among nobility. Their stay would be undisturbed unless they chose to call someone there.
Vivienne had left them a letter on the table near the front door. When no one volunteered, Blackwall picked it up and read aloud. Affecting the Enchanter's stance and flowing cadence in an effort to break the tension. They'd barely spoken since the fight.
It advised them of the stores, the kitchen, bedrooms, and other amenities. Even an enchanted bath. Unlike the safe house, this was comfortably stocked.
"I've spoken with your midwife — charming woman — she'll be arriving several days after you," he read in Vivienne's accent, "and intends to stay a day or two before moving on. Leliana is to follow, though I've insisted she give you at least three week's time before bringing any work to your bedside. I know how important this first month of is and would hate to see you disturbed for something as frivolous as troop requests. There are gifts coming, all of which will be delivered to the gate—" He paused there, lowering the letter."'All'?" he repeated, then continued. "—Have Solas bring them at your leisure. I've arranged for all the standard supplies, blankets and nappies, to be set up before your arrival. Find them in the master bedroom. Enjoy yourself, sleep, and do nothing that Solas cannot do for you."
He folded the letter in half and placed it back upon the table. Then, looking around at each of them — at the layers of sweat, dirt, and blood — "Do you think there's more than one bath?" he asked pointedly.
"There'll be at least two," Dorian offered. "One for residents and one for guests. Probably a third for staff, but that one isn't likely to be enchanted."
"Water's water," said Blackwall with a shrug, "and this floor is far too nice to keep bleeding on. Shall we find some food and then look for the spare?"
Dorian nodded, smiling — but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And they didn't quite meet Solas' as he quietly excused himself, and followed after.
Hours later, when the knock came on Solas' door, it was almost a relief.
He'd been waiting for it since they'd arrived. Since he'd finished helping Ellana with bathing, and had gone to prepare the room they'd occupy for the next several weeks. Really, he'd been waiting for it much longer than that… It couldn't come as a surprise.
Neither did the stoic expression that met him when he opened the door.
Dorian stood a little taller when their eyes finally met. Brave, but swallowed past a lump in his throat. His arms held stiff — awkward — at his sides. With shoulders back and chin raised he did a fair job of feigning confidence, but Solas could see well enough past the façade. It was the way his fingers twitched, rubbing at the edges of his sleeves, that gave it away. The twist of hair out of place from nervous fidgeting. And his eyes held more fear than surety.
More hurt than anger.
Enough that he'd gone looking for courage in a bottle first. He smelled of wine.
He didn't say anything. No accusations or demands. He didn't need to. Dorian had never cared for secrets. In his experience, both their keeping and revealing were too often at his expense. One didn't have to know him well to trace that predilection back to its wounded roots. He'd always made a point to advise Ellana not keep them, and gave her playful admonishment when she'd spent so long avoiding telling anyone of her condition. It was something the two men agreed on. Even joked about, once or twice.
'Take it from me,' he'd heard him say to her once, 'Hiding is a form of lying, and it eats away at you until there's nothing left.'
He could hear it again now, in the silence that stretched between them.
It had gone on for too long already.
Solas took a step back and gestured into the room. "Come in," he invited. Needlessly. A gesture of good faith, more than anything. Once inside Solas closed the door behind them.
When it clicked shut Dorian stopped in the centre of the room, faced away from him. He glanced at the oversized bed, letting his eyes linger on the stack of blankets and clothes folded neatly beside it. The little wooden toys placed on the pillows. A scene of domesticity, unnaturally staged. For whatever reason, it made him smile.
He took a deep, steadying, breath.
"I'm not sure what I saw," he began, "Whether it was possession or something too eclectic for me to recognize… I worried it was the former. But knew that couldn't be it, because of how it felt. I've felt it before. That was the part that really got me: I recognized it. Eventually, I realized where I knew it from. It was the temple in the Arbor Wilds… the way the Sentinels used magic was so startlingly different and yet so damned familiar. I could never place it. And the longer I thought about it the more everything else started falling into place. All this unusual experience, all those practiced answers, all that vast knowledge — oh! The knowledge! — unlike anything I have ever seen! Lifetimes worth of knowledge. It was all there. It's been there the entire time, and now I'm just furious at myself for not seeing it sooner."
He turned around. "'A certain version of the truth'," he quoted. Then gave small, self-deprecating laugh. A subtle shake of his head.
They were her words, in her voice, and Solas did not deny the accusation tendered with them.
"She never said a word. Even when she should have."
That made him wince. Dorian saw it, and gave another bitter laugh.
They stood in silence for some time while Solas thought of what to say.
An apology would come off as hollow.
An explanation, like an excuse.
Another lie would be an insult.
Eventually, he decided on a different approach.
Extending another, much overdue, invitation.
"Sit, if you like," and he gestured to the bed. "I suspect you have questions."
* . * . *
Author's Notes: The end! It feels weird and emotional (and also scary?) to say, 'the end'. This story is not the first I've written, but it is by far the longest and the only one I've ever really shared anywhere. I've poured five years into it and thought about it literally every single one of those days. Countless long showers, morning commutes, and nights awake were spent trying to tie up dialogue or figure out how to write myself out of a corner I'd accidentally painted myself into. It was one of the main things I worried about when I received my injury. I spent days in a neurology ward afraid I'd never be able to finish it… so I'm really happy that I have. That would not have been possible if I hadn't been so lucky to receive so much incredible and encouraging feedback. Every time I felt shitty and useless and damaged I'd go back and read through the comments again. They nourished me through the worst parts of recovery and gave me confidence when I lacked it. If you left at least one, I tried to thank you personally. Those who left on multiple chapters, or as you binge-read over days, I probably have your username memorized. Really, I cannot overstate how important those have been to me.
I know bittersweet stories are not everyone's cup of tea, so I deeply appreciate everyone who came in ready to soak up some of that sweet, sweet, angst. This was always intended to be a study of flawed people who love deeply.
There are many writers whose work was an invaluable inspiration to me, and whose fingerprints are found all over this one. If you liked this story, you should read their work too. There is a full post with their thanks, recs, and links here: bdafic dot tumblr dot com post/642174653728702464/a-proper-fic-rec-list
I also have a playlist for Ellana, if you love discovering music as much as I do: bdafic dot tumblr dot com post/647436941422444544/roses-where-thorns-grow-playlist
Thanks for being with me on this ride. It took almost five years but it eventually made it to its destination. :)
(Note: I'm going to be reworking/updating some of the older chapters. Revised versions will have a chapter title - and I'll remove this note when I'm all done).