Daughter of Wind and Flame

By Pyreite

Chapter 6: To Strike A Bargain

It was mid-afternoon when Arryn stormed into camp. He scowled at the sentinels on duty, waving away their questions. He headed for the tent standing in a ruined corner of Skyhold's great hall. Several feet wide and tall, it housed them all (with room to spare). Its heavy canvas (atop a sturdy wooden frame) was lashed to iron stakes driven into the flagstones.

Its roof was anchored on the blunt end of a headless statue. Its shoulders a rounded nub ground down by centuries of rain, wind and snowfall. The floor around it flat, smooth and covered in lichen. A stone wall, broken and crumbling provided shelter from the wind.

Arryn slapped the canvas flap aside, startling his fellows. They gaped when he stomped inside. Something had infuriated him. They hesitated to follow, glancing amidst themselves. Uncertain of what to do.

"Should we intervene?"

One sentinel raised his hand to quiet them. "Listen".

They stared at each other, overhearing the terse exchange within. A smattering of words in elvish and the common tongue. The escalating volume of an argument. The voices recognisable till a third person spoke. His voice calm – his message simple yet profound.

"Ellana found the truth in the Deep Roads. It took her three centuries to burn her way from the Frostbacks to the Hunterhorn mountains. Each step worth a decade of fighting hordes of darkspawn. While you were on the surface, she waged a war underground. The dwarves thought her mad till their legionnaires kept returning to Orzammar alive".

"She fought with the Legion of the Dead?"

"They were the only ones brave enough to follow her deeper into the dark".

There was a stretch of silence then a troubled question.

"Where is she now?"

"Walking the ruins. Remembering. She would make peace with the dead".

The remaining sentinels had gathered outside. The conversation they'd overheard – ceasing. The spirits of the Vir'abelasan were silent. No whispers of reassurance, words of guidance or pleas for patience. They waited until someone emerged from the tent.

Tall and silver-haired with eyes like shards of amber.

"Abelas".

"Stay with Solas", he instructed, looking frazzled and upset. "Mind Arryn. I will return in a few hours. If you have need of counsel, speak to the spirit that returned with us. His name is Cole".

A stern look stopped the barrage of questions. His comrades shuffled aside, letting him pass without contest. Each sentinel certain of where he was going. Many ached to follow him, to face the woman they'd spent centuries searching for. Yet they abided by his will, hoping that Abelas would bring back good news.

Ellana found her sitting upon the steps where she'd died. Surrounded by flowers that'd taken root amidst the cracked stones. The pit where she'd told Mahariel to flee now a divot in the ground. Soil had filled the hole along with swards of grass. She was still dark-haired, pretty and yellow-eyed.

Like a blackbird in a field of green.

"Morrigan".

The spirit's brows furrowed. She considered Ellana, taking in the changes she saw. She rose to her feet, skirts rustling and stepped down into the grass. She passed through the long stalks, disturbing not a single leaf. Her form semi-transparent as if she were made of frosted glass.

"You look different", said Morrigan, her voice soft and sad with a noticeable echo.

"Observant of you. Is it the horns or the scales that give me away?"

"There's the biting wit, I remember. You have old eyes. Like my mother. Carrying an age's worth of rage, pain and sorrow. It took great loss for you to gain that wisdom".

"I had little choice", affirmed Ellana. "You ordered Mahariel to drag me into the tunnel the titan opened. Cole helped him when I fought back. I kicked, screamed and beat at them both with my bare fists. Then the titan sealed the entryway, cutting off your one and only escape route".

"I couldn't let you die that day".

"Why?" she demanded, recalling the desperation of their final moments together. "You were a wife and mother. You had a family. Mahariel has mourned you for the last five hundred years. He blames me for your death, though he's never said so aloud".

Morrigan smiled, thinking on her husband. "He wouldn't. Dalish honour. Mahariel understood the cost. In losing me he lost a lover and a wife. In losing you we would've lost everything".

Ellana gritted her fangs till her gums and jaw ached. It took all her self-control not to snap and snarl like an enraged mabari. The anger boiling beneath her skin. She glared at Morrigan, hating how composed she was in death. Not a hair out of place nor the slightest hint of regret.

Her face porcelain-perfect like a mask drawn over her skin.

"I am not a pawn!"

"But you are Andraste's Herald, the Bright Hand and Mythal's Heir. The best of us all. You are as needed now as you were then. Solas can't afford to lose more ground than he already has. He's fighting a war he can't win".

She stared at the friend she'd lost – appalled. "You want me to help him".

"He needs your strength, experience and guidance. You've seen and done things Solas can't imagine. For all his age and wisdom, he is of the elvhen. He clings to the past because he's afraid to lose it. You embody all that is good from his world and ours".

"I'm an abomination", countered Ellana. "How many elves have horns, scales and eyes like a snake?"

"Only you".

"I'm a danger to everyone, so it'd be best if I left Skyhold and never returned. I'm always angry as if I want to tear something apart with my bare hands. And the hunger – Maker's arse – I'm always ravenous as if I could eat a druffalo. I can't touch anything without fear I'd set it alight. My skin feels too tight as if I were wearing a bone corset".

Morrigan watched her pace, steps mincing as if she were treading on hot coals. Her clawed fingers twitched as if she wanted to sink them into something soft. The scowl upon her face – telling when she bared her fangs. That leonine growl sounding more frustrated than furious.

"You're not angry, Ellana".

"Of course I'm angry! I always want to kill something!"

Morrigan was certain that she knew what the problem was. "High Dragons rise once a century to mate and clutch. You're trying to nest, to follow your instincts. But you can't because you haven't found a suitable mate. If you had than you wouldn't be here looking for one".

Ellana ceasing to pace, gawked at her friend – bewildered. It all made sudden perfect sense. "I'd still be underground".

"With Mahariel".

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "He's yours".

"He was".

"I couldn't pursue him. Even if Urthemiel was willing. Mahariel wasn't. It felt wrong, so I left him with Valta and the Sha-Brytol. But he's intent on following me here".

"He loves you".

"There's affection, but it's tinged with fear. He stinks of it when he's near me. It's the dragon's blood. He's afraid that I'll turn into an Archdemon. Then he'd have to kill me".

"Nae!"

Abelas strode down the steps below the ruins of Skyhold's great hall. He passed through Morrigan as if she were an illusion. He hissed in response, shivering as he exhaled a mouthful of white fog. His gilded breastplate frosting over, the gold tarnishing. He brushed off the flecks of ice, waving an impatient hand at Morrigan.

"Leave us".

The spirit frowned but didn't take offense. Used to his comings and goings about Skyhold.

"Consider what I've said, ma falon", she told Ellana. "We will speak again before you go. I would say goodbye to Mahariel before then. We have much to discuss – he and I. It is beyond time our grievances were settled".

"He misses you and Kieran".

"I know. But he must find a way to live again or he will rejoin us far too soon".

The wind blew, her form dissipating like smoke. Morrigan was gone as if she'd never been there. Yet in her wake she'd left a noticeable chill in the ear. Abelas shivered in the cold, while Ellana steamed – heat rolling off her bare skin. He stepped closer, seeking her warmth till she raised a clawed hand to stop him.

"Don't".

"You would leave us?"

"I'm not Mythal".

"You are her heir", insisted Abelas. "All that we are belongs to you".

Ellana reminded him of what'd happened during the Veil war. "You led Solas' forces against mine after he tore the Veil. The Evanuris he set free from the void were hunting me. You and your people are the reason I had to flee to Skyhold. The world was on fire, burning down around us – we had nowhere else to run".

Abelas' face softened with sympathy. "That was not what Solas intended".

"My people paid the price for his selfishness. They died. Yours live. If I were to exact a toll than I should take their lives as recompense. Solas included".

He dreaded her answer. "Will you?"

"Nae. The Evanuris shed enough blood here to drown us all. I won't desecrate the place where Morrigan fell by seeking revenge. She deserves better. I would put her spirit to rest than have her haunting this place".

Abelas exhaled a shuddering breath. He was glad of the reprieve. He opened his mouth to reply – hoping to persuade her. The words lodged in his throat like a ball of spines. He had her full attention – her gaze unwavering.

It was as if she were appraising him.

"Were you Mythal's lover?"

He was too astounded (by her audacity) to lie. "I served as her counsel and guardian. We did not share a bed".

"A pity. You'd have made a good mate. If not for your ties to Solas, I'd consider courting you".

He stared at her – incredulous. "What?"

"You overheard what Morrigan said".

He blushed. "Vin".

"If I am Mythal's heir. If all she owns is mine. Make me an offer that I can't refuse. Show me where your loyalties lie. Then I will decide if I should help your people".