Daughter of Wind and Flame

By Pyreite

Chapter 4: Reunion

It'd been two days of searching the ruins of Tarasyl'an Te'las. Of crawling through rubble, assessing the petrified wood holding up the roof. Of taking tentative steps upon cracked flagstones. The fortress that'd housed the Inquisition had collapsed five centuries ago. Its smouldering shell blackened and burned out.

"I did this", said Solas, shaking his head. "What choice did Ellana have but to flee to her last bastion in Thedas?"

Abelas shared a concerned look with his lieutenant, not for the first time wishing they hadn't come here. "Ma falon".

Solas frowned, hating the lack of reproach in his voice. "I do not ask for consolation".

"You need it".

"Nae".

"Solas".

He turned at the sound of his name, lips pursed to reply. The ground shook beneath him. He gazed at Abelas, dread crawling up his spine. He regarded his friend and ally, grey eyes wide in bewilderment. The floor split beneath his feet, cracking like the shell of an egg. Dust spewed into the air, stinking of cobwebs.

"Solas!"

He didn't hear Abelas' panicked cry or spy the glint of gold in the sun. He heard the rumble of thunder, felt the sudden tilting of the world. The ground gave way, caving inwards – sending him tumbling down. He expected to hit stone and rotted beams, to be impaled then buried alive. He was caught three feet into his descent.

He stared at the face wreathed in silver hair, yet the eyes were split by a slitted pupil.

He was reminded of a cat, till her lip curled in distaste – exposing the pointed tip of a fang. He spied something above her forehead. He exhaled a shuddering breath. Horns curved over the crown of her head – sweeping, grand and recognisable. The legacy of Flemeth, Mythal and the High Dragons of Thedas.

He said the first word that came to mind.

"Vhenan".

Bars of iron closed around his throat. He choked, grabbing at the thing holding him aloft. It was strong, solid and unyielding. His fingernails scratched a hard surface that reminded him of chainmail. He smacked it in desperation, trying to tear himself free.

"No!"

His lungs burned. The vivid colours of the world greying out. His struggles slowed, fingers scrabbling for purchase. He grasped at the thing locked around his throat, realising that it was a hand with four fingers and a thumb. Each clawed, sharp as a blade and hot as molten metal.

His skin blistered.

"I know you're angry! I know what he did was unforgivable! But I have never asked for anything! And I have always been your friend! Let him go!"

The stink of scorched flesh filled his nostrils.

"Please!"

A drum beat in his ears. His blood coursing like a torrential flood. The flame of Mythal's spirit ignited. She blazed in his irises – fiery-blue. Solas peered down at his assailant, digging his fingers into her wrist.

He expected her to flinch and recoil, not bare her fangs.

She snarled at him, her displeasure an avalanche of gravel rolling downhill. Deafening, furious and unrelenting. She bent her elbow, fingers loosening and cast him out of the hole as if he were a pebble. He gasped, inhaling. Air filled his lungs again.

Cool, refreshing and life-saving.

"Solas!"

He heard the patter of feet, the skidding of booted heels in the dirt. He felt the shift of his weight, the inevitable downward pull of the world. He fell hard against Abelas, sending him tumbling to the ground. A second sentinel charged after them, gauntleted hands catching hold. He gripped Solas' arm – horrified.

"Fenedhis! Look at him!"

A tentative brush of his fingers against a pale cheek revealed burns. Five-fingered in the shape of a hand, the palm had rested beneath his chin. Claws the length of a thumb had dug-in drawing blood. Yet each droplet had dried hard, the heat of his foe's touch – scorching. Solas' skin was a dark red, his breathing laboured as if each inhale were agony.

"What could have done this?"

Abelas inclined his head, enfolding Solas in his arms – protective. He heard his friend whisper a name. He peered into Solas' eyes, seeing Mythal's spirit reflected there. A lantern in the darkness of their despair. Yet whomever had hurt him hadn't baulked in the presence of an Evanuris.

"Not what", corrected Abelas. "Whom".

His lieutenant looked down at the leader of the new world. Solas laying supine, his head pillowed in Abelas' lap. His throat red, blistered and tinged with purpling bruises. Mythal's spirit recoiling in fright as a name was whispered in his ears. The voices of the Vir'abelasan warning of the danger.

The sentinel trembled when he saw Solas' mouth move.

"Ellana".

"Vin", affirmed Abelas. "She is here. Be wary. If she did this to Solas than she could turn on us. When she emerges do not draw a weapon".

"But she hurt him!"

"We are at a disadvantage. Solas is injured. Our camp is on the far side of the ruins. How far do you think we would get if we retaliated? Be calm, stay quiet and follow my lead".

The younger sentinel studied his superior, hating what he saw. Abelas crouched over a fallen comrade, ashen-faced and tense as a coiled spring. Yet his armour was clean, the gilded plate gleaming gold in the sun. The silver rope of his hair – brushed and braided – was unstained and unmatted. He wasn't the spectre splattered with blood and grime that'd haunted Mythal's halls.

He was a man again, whole of mind and body – even if his heart was broken.

His peoples' loss so great that he carried their grief in the syllables of his own name.

"Abelas".

His lieutenant flinched at the sibilant hiss on the last consonant. The sound emphasized as if the speaker had a prominent lisp. He dreaded Ellana's arrival, hearing the scrape of claws on stone. The crunch of gravel underfoot. The creep of a shadow that had a dragon's horned silhouette.

Only a handful of creatures that walked upright like a man had such horns.

Ogres, demons, the giants from Par Vollen and a witch that'd perished centuries ago.

He watched his superior, regretting that his back was to their foe. He dared not turn around even as his hand fell to the scabbard at his hip. Gauntleted fingers grasped the hilt of a knife. Yet it was the look upon Abelas' face that gave him pause. The leader of their order, slack-jawed and gaping as if he'd seen a miracle.

"Ellana. You live".

"Vin", she replied with a leonine rumble that startled his lieutenant.

"Arryn! Nae!"

He turned, knees sliding in the dirt. An unsheathed blade flashing silver in the sunlight. He was caught mid-strike. A clawed hand clasping his wrist with enough strength to break bone. He gasped when he saw an elven face.

Heart-shaped with angular cheeks, a wide nose and a broad forehead. Her eyes the green of emeralds. Her brows and lashes pale against the darkness of her skin. Errant strands curled about her ears, having escaped the braid down her back. Yet it was the horns upon her silver crown that appeased him.

Each ridged, curved and tapering to a sharp point.

The dagger fell from nerveless fingers, hitting the flagstones with a dull clunk. Arryn went limp in her grasp, breath hitching. His surrender confused Ellana, the slitted pupils of her eyes dilating. That menacing growl softened to a rattling purr. Her grip gentled, clawed fingers ceasing to pierce though no less sharp.

"Why yield?"

Arryn blanched, his hazel eyes widening in disbelief. "Ma Mythal'len", he told her, hoping that she'd understand. "We have waited centuries for you to return. What was hers is now yours. You are the All-Mother's rightful heir".

"Is that what you believe?"

"Vin".

Ellana scowled as if he'd said something abhorrent. She shook her head, nose wrinkling in distaste as she released him. Arryn stumbled, more shocked than relieved. He stared when she ignored him, spying Abelas sitting in the dirt. Solas' head cradled in his lap.

Cole stepped out from behind her, giving him a fright. He cursed whilst the spirit pleaded with her.

"Heal him".

"He deserves to suffer".

"What if he can help you?"

She growled, baring her fangs. A forked tongue flicking between her lips, tasting the air. Cole implored her with an earnest look, his eyes soft and sad. She snarled, relenting and stormed away. The heels of her boots grinding gravel into the dirt.

Behind her a gaping pit in the earth sealed shut. The ground shaking as stone walls shifted. Stairs cut into the bedrock disappearing. Another was a day behind her, climbing those spiralling steps with his escort. Valta leading the way with a platoon of Sha-Brytol, their eyes glowing an eerie blue.

Mahariel hoped that he would catch Ellana before she left Skyhold.