Daughter of Wind and Flame
By Pyreite
Chapter 2: To Find the Light
Ellana paced along that narrow strip of stone, so close to the precipice. If she put a foot wrong, losing her balance than she'd fall into the river below. The water fathoms deep, that fed the gurgling springs throughout the city high above. She'd retreated there often in the last few weeks, her agitation growing by the day. Her mood souring the more she had to fend off a man's unwanted attentions.
He was relentless in his pursuit, sniffing her out like a wolf. His nose to the ground, his ears pricked to catch the faintest whispers of her passage. It was infuriating having to hide like a mouse in a hole. She longed to confront him, to rend his flesh and burn him to ash. Five centuries after he'd turned her world upside down, he dared to seek her out again.
"Fenedhis!" she swore, gritting her teeth. "Why won't he leave me alone?"
She blinked, brows furrowing when the world brightened. The drab greys and browns deepening into shades of burgundy, mauve and midnight blue. Her nostrils flared, the wet stone carrying the discernible scents of salt, silt and clay. Sounds sharpened from a dull roar to a bewildering cacophony of noise. The change fuelled by anger, turned her round pupils into thin black slits.
She grimaced when her canines grew long and pointed, biting her lip.
Her fangs pierced that tender skin like a needle through leather. She hissed in annoyance, voice deepening to a guttural rumble. The displeasure vibrated in the hollow of her throat, a growl like steel grinding on stone. She bared her teeth at the sharp pinpricks of pain in the palms of her hands. The metallic stink of blood filling her nostrils.
She lifted her hands, fingers splayed – spying five bleeding welts in each palm. Her once crescent-shaped nails now long black talons. Each half the length of her thumb, red and weeping. Her hands shook, the spark of her ire intensifying. She gritted her teeth, bracing herself for what was to come.
It started with tiny prickles of sensation upon her brow. Then agony as her skin split and tore, gushing blood. Two nubs poked through the stained strands of her hair. Each thickening into a curve then tapering to a sharp point. Horns ridged like a seashell rose over the crown of her head.
She gasped when heat bled into her limbs. It deadened her aching skin, smothering the pain in a scorching wash of comfort. Mist rose from her wounds in scalding white wisps, steaming away the splatters of blood. Her hair once streaked with red, gleamed silver-white. Her palms once lacerated had healed, her skin the pink of mended flesh.
"She rages in your bones like fire. Burning, burning. The seed thought lost in the ashes of Mythal's funeral pyre. Her bloodline forgotten after the Fall of Arlathan. Her legacy dead for generations until you".
Ellana near bent double, stretched – joints popping as her back arched. Sleek as a cat she balanced on the balls of her feet, turning at the sound of that voice. She recognised the depth and timbre, the notes of reproach mingled with dread. He was there again, an unwanted spectator to the change that'd overwhelmed her. It'd fed upon the resentment that'd lodged in her heart like a stone.
A pearl of pain with jagged edges he hadn't plucked free.
"If she stays, if she becomes part of you. The change will be permanent. You won't be able to shed her guise, to turn back into what you were. You'll become beautiful and terrifying to behold. Neither elf nor dragon, but a blending of both natures".
She regarded him with contempt, inclining her horned head. A silver brow arched in challenge. A lad slender as a reed, returned her scrutiny. His watery-blue eyes dark beneath a mop of lank blonde hair. His face shadowed by the floppy brim of a patchy brown hat.
"I promise", he replied as if she'd asked a question. "But take me with you. I can help those above. I'd like to see Solas again too. It's been centuries since I saw him last".
He frowned when her eyes narrowed, her pupils' thin black lines. Her displeasure made the air roil and roll around her in curls of fog. He grabbed the brim of his hat, feet planted and knees bent – bracing himself. A blast of hot air spiralled outward from her charged with magic. He was buffeted by a gale that swirled around him in ribbons of veilfire-green.
He endured her fury, hearing voices scream on the wind. The mark of the Anchor, of the Veil torn asunder reflecting the misery of those lost. Solas' single-minded crusade against the Evanuris had cost innumerable lives. Elves, humans, dwarves, and giants had fought droves of maleficar, demons and darkspawn. Which god or prophet they'd followed had mattered little in the wake of a war that'd lasted a century.
"I can't help the dead!" he cried over their anguished howls. "Neither can you!"
The truth of his statement cut Ellana to the bone. The wind died down leaving a noticeable chill in the air. That blazing veilfire-light cooling to a frigid frost-white. He was shivering when Ellana glowered at him beneath the crown of her horns. Lips pealed back to expose the jagged line of her fangs.
He exhaled a mouthful of fog when she snarled. Furious. He'd grown used to her sudden unpredictable changes in mood. She'd grown more restless in the last few months, caring less and less about the need for secrecy. Solas' voice reverberated through the Fade with the clarity of a hammer striking an anvil.
"I know you hate hiding down here", he told her, hoping to earn a reprieve. "I know you want to tear Solas apart. That he has the audacity to seek you out after everything he's done is infuriating. But what if he understands what's happening to you? What if he can help?"
He stared when she blinked, seeing another unsettling facet of her changing nature. A pale nictating membrane rolling across her sclera then her irises. Her nostrils flared when she sniffed – testing his scent. She beckoned him with a flick of her clawed fingers. She growled when he hesitated, her irritation growing till he crept towards her quiet as a mouse.
She watched and waited, certain he'd baulk.
He came within arm's reach, unafraid when her knuckles grazed his cheek. She was pleased when he neither tensed nor shied away from her. Glad that something hadn't changed. That peeved rumble softening to a bone-rattling purr. He peered up at her, trusting that their bond remained.
"Will it let us leave?"
Ellana glanced at the stone walls around them. Tall, sheer and granite-grey threaded with veins of silver-blue. The lyrium pulsating as if it were alive. The stone trembled, dust churning as a wall slid aside to reveal an opening in the rockface. A corridor lit by silver-blue light led beyond.
"You were feigning upset so you could leave the city without rousing suspicion. Mahariel brought you down here to keep you safe. Now the titan's going to let you out. He'll be furious. But dragons aren't meant to live underground".
He listened with an attentive ear, hearing the words whispered in the depths of her spirit.
"You ache to see the sky again, to feel the sun's warmth on your skin. To hear leaves rustling, the birds sing. You want to know if Thedas has changed. You wonder if your people survived the chaos, or if they're a footnote in elven history. You're afraid that you and Mahariel are the only Dalish left alive".
Ellana exhaled a slow breath, her nose wrinkling. "Yes, Cole".
He smiled – glad to hear his name even if a forked tongue flicked between her lips. "Then we should leave before Mahariel escapes Valta and the Sha-Brytol. He'd barricaded himself in an abandoned Thaig when I left him. He thought I was coming down here to stop you. He'll be mad when he discovers that I tricked him.".
She shrugged – nonchalant. "He'll endure his disappointment. I'm tired of living in the dark. I will see the light again with or without him".
