"You want me to what?!" Sera paced her room angrily, her arms flailing about.

"Apologize to Solas," Andra repeated, sterner this time.

"After everything he's done?!" Sera stopped pacing and faced the elf in front of her. "You asked me to humiliate him, and now you're asking me to stop? Well which is it?! The way I see things, that bastard hurt one of my friends. Everything looks pretty clear to me!"

Andra rubbed her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose to try and stem off the headache that was sneaking up on her. "We made up, Sera. It is possible for people to forgive each other, you know?"

"Why bother when there's a chance they'll do it again?"

"We can't just shut out everyone that hurts us. Then we'll have no friends. We'll be lonely."

"Better than a knife in the back—"

"What you just did to Solas hurt me, Sera! But that doesn't mean I'm going to kick you out of my life. I forgive you, so long as you don't do it again. Or would you rather I follow your advice?"

Sera was taken aback as she processed this. She wasn't used to her words being used against her. "No…" She said finally, but stubbornly, "I don't want that."

Andra nodded, satisfied by the answer, "You'll leave him alone?"

"That depends on him, doesn't it," she said haughtily.

Andra sighed, it was as good as she was going to get with the tenacious elf.

"Now that yer done screamin' in my face, what happened to yours?"

"What?"

"The inky stuff. Those stupid elfy tree markings on your skin."

"I had them removed."

"Didn't even know you could do that. It's good though, innit? Those Dalish-y types are all stuck up, kissin' the arses of dead people."

"They're just trying to keep from losing any more history." Andra knew Sera was right, but the Dalish was still a sore subject for her. It had been her whole life, and now she was coming to term with new knowledge that everything she knew was wrong. Or at least, some of it.

"But it's all a load of shite. What do those things even mean?"

Andra sighed heavily, "The short version: they bring the Elvhen people closer to the gods."

Sera snorted, "Well if you believe that nonsense, why'd you remove yours?"

"Because I learned that that's not what they really mean. They're… a sign of slavery…"

Sera busted out laughing, falling back onto her overly decorated couch, "Well serves them right!"

"Do I have your word that you won't harass Solas anymore?" Andra wanted to move off the topic.

"Sure, whatever," Sera said, the amusement dropping from her face as she turned away from Andra to stare out her window. "You take all the fun away."

"I'm happy to see you too," Andra grinned.

Sera waved her hand dismissively, "Go on."

.

.

.

Ideally, Andra should have returned to Varric to find out where Solas was and how he was doing, but she felt drained. She had spent an entire day just trying to clear the air and she finally had been able to have a talk with Sera. Now there was nothing left to do. Her personal quest complete and no loose ends. No unfinished business.

Andra walked up the stone steps to reach the ramparts and stared out over the icy expanse, which glowed a brilliant yellow beneath the fiery death of the evening sun. Darkness stretched out, looming behind her, creeping upon the retreating light. Torches began lighting along the walls of Skyhold and the light from the fire within the Herald's Rest spilled out into the courtyard as the moon began its ascent. Boisterous laughter faintly reached her ears, though she barely acknowledged it. A wind caressed her face, biting into her skin with frigid teeth, swimming through her veins until she was shivering.

She thought about everything that had happened up until now: the fight with Solas; returning to her clan; reuniting with Calem, and then breaking his heart; seeing Solas again and removing her Vallaslin; going back to the Temple of Mythal; then returning to Skyhold. She felt… barren. Her old life lay behind her, and despite her attachment, she was beginning to let it go. She would move forward, wherever that path might lead her.

She loved her people, she loved her friends, but she needed to start living for herself.

Against her will, Andra's body turned away from her solitude and she began the slow march towards the Keep, where warmth beckoned her. She was also tugged by curiosity, her feet carrying her towards Varric's table, as she desired to know about Solas.

The blonde elf entered the Keep, and turning to her right, "Varric—"

He pointed a thumb behind him, "He's in his room, Flowers."

"Ma serannas." She hadn't realized she said it in Elvhen, the cold distracting her from much else, but she was sure he understood.

Entering the round room, Andra saw the grumpy face of her friend, stiffly sat in his chair at his table. He looked up at the sound of footsteps echoing off the walls and his features softened.

Andra approached but kept quiet, she wasn't sure if saying anything would send him reeling and she didn't want to make anything worse. Instead, she moved towards one of the chairs that sat up against the wall and collapsed in it, pulling her knees to her chest—resting her heels just on the edge of her seat—and reveled in the heat that began consuming her.

Solas stood quickly, crossing the distance between them, and knelt in front of her. "Are you alright, Lethallan?"

"I'm just cold," Andra forced a smile but her face was still thawing and she was sure it didn't look right. "When did you come back?"

"A little over an hour ago," He explained as he touched a hand to the blonde's cheek. She was ice beneath his fingers. "I figured this would be the best place to wait for you."

"Were you looking for me too?"

"I overheard Sera grumbling with Iron Bull a while ago at the tavern about the talk you had with her. I wondered, with everything sorted out, if you would want to leave?"

"We've barely been here a day…"

"And already it's been much longer than I would have liked."

Andra's eyes fell to her knees, "You didn't have to come with me…"

"Would you rather have been alone in this journey, left to face the world now that your clan sees you as a traitor? Or perhaps, do you wish I had not removed the markings at all, and you could have remained with your people and that boy?"

Andra flushed under the mention of Calem, but she shook her head firmly, "No… I don't want any of that. It… it means a lot to me that you stayed. I can't think of a single person I'd rather have at my side."

Solas smiled, "I feel the same."

Andra felt her stomach knot as her eyes locked with his. The air felt thick and she could feel every pulse of her heartbeat beneath her rib cage. And now, she could swear that Solas' face was closer than it had been a moment ago. She was keenly aware of the heat that rose off his body and the electricity that sent the hairs on her arms standing upright. Her own body practically ached in protest at the prodigious space that separated them from melting into each other.

"Tuas isalan sura rahnen'telam," Solas said in a low voice, but Andra heard the words as if he were shouting.

"Ahn?"

But her question caused his mask to fall back in place, all the strange emotions that had danced across his blue eyes were hidden once again. "Ir abelas," he said as he stood and walked towards the archway that led into the main hall, "I'll fetch you a blanket. It wouldn't do to have you freeze after all the effort it took to get here. Melena sul em." And then he was gone.

Andra fidgeted in her seat, she was hardly cold anymore. The heat from whatever had been transpiring left her body ablaze. Though she was grateful for a moment to sort through her confusing thoughts.


ELVHEN USED:

Ma serannas: "My thanks."

Lethallan: Casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar. Lethallin is used for males, while lethallan is used for females, but this is not always the case. Akin to "cousin" or "clansman" since "lin" is the word for blood.

Tuas isalan sura rahnen'telam: "You make me what to do bad things."

Ahn?: "What?"

Ir abelas: "I'm sorry"

Melena sul em: "Wait for me."

Vallaslin: Blood writing. Dalish receive these markings around 18, sometimes younger. When of age, the elf prepares by meditating on the Gods and the Dalish, then by purifying the body and skin. When the time comes, the Keeper applies the blood writing—in complete silence. Cries of pain are taken as a sign of weakness. If the elf cannot tolerate the pain, they are deemed unready to take on the responsibilities of an adult and the Keeper may make the decision to stop the ritual.