Exile
By Pyreite
Chapter 1 - Preparations
Ellana admired the bow that had served her for well over a hundred years. It was fashioned from a solid piece of bone, cut from a dragon's rib. She ran a finger over the handhold between its two gargantuan spurs, each shaped like a dragon's tooth. It was the only place on the entire bow that was wrapped in leather. The string too was fashioned from a material that was rare and difficult to find.
Ellana doubted there'd be dragon-webbing where she was going. Solas had tried to dissuade her from leaving Thedas. He would try again before he allowed her step through an Eluvian into the unknown. The man was as proud as he was possessive. Ellana doubted he'd let her go without an argument.
It'd taken her months to convince him to exile her to another world. And he had spent those same months trying to convince her to stay where she belonged. At his side, among her own people. Ellana hated the idea. She knew Solas intended to persuade her otherwise, with force if necessary.
He had loved her in Skyhold, and afterwards throughout the war. He loved her now with a passion Ellana was hard-pressed to return. Solas' betrayal had left her world in ashes. Her refusal to see him as a tyrant rather than a saviour had made her a pariah. Ellana clung to her Dalish roots with a stubbornness that infuriated the elves of the new world.
Thedas and its people had changed, but she hadn't.
Ellana was fastidious in the checking of her quiver. It was fashioned from dragon-hide, though the buckles were silverite. She picked through its contents, examining the arrows from arrowhead to fletching. She nodded in satisfaction, glad she'd done the work herself. Solas' reluctance to allow her access to the armoury had sent her foraging for supplies.
She'd sworn the cook to secrecy. It was better that Solas didn't know why there was a surplus of roasted swan on his table. His soldiers weren't complaining, but Solas would if he learned who'd culled the flock at his favourite pond. Ellana set aside the quiver bristling with white-fletched arrows. She gazed at the last of her personal arsenal – a pair of silverite daggers.
Each lay atop the coverlet of her bed, beside a pair of dragon-hide sheaths. Ellana gave the hilts a cursory look, though she concentrated on the blades. The daggers were dwarven-made with a pearl-like runestone inlaid into the crossguard. Ellana tapped each runestone with the tip of a finger, testing the magic. The first sent a burst of heat across her skin, while the second raised gooseflesh in a blast of icy-cold air.
The fire and frost runes were as resilient as ever. The magic infused into them (enhanced with lyrium) was as inexhaustible as their maker. Ellana's smile was bittersweet when she thought of Dagna. The smith, a dwarf out of Orzammar, had studied in the Circle of Magi alongside a handful of Tranquil. Ellana's daggers were the last weapons she'd crafted in the forges of Skyhold.
Dagna's greatest feat of smithcraft served a more mundane purpose. It was the length of Ellana's forearm, wrought from silverite, and warded by magic. It was lighter than steel, but had the strength of dragon-bone. Ellana rolled the ball-joint in the wrist testing for flexibility. The noise-dampening spell inscribed into the plates worked as well now as it had a century ago.
She barely heard the whir of gears as she wiggled her mechanical fingers. She paused when she saw the gauntlet's silver palm, stamped with the sigil of the Inquisition. The eye with lashes like rays of sunlight atop the blade of a sword. It was an eerie reminder of the past, of her failures, and Solas' many successes. The war was over, tens of thousands were dead but Thedas was as it had once been.
A world full of magic.
"A place, I can't live in", lamented Ellana. "Maker forgive me. All that's happened is my fault. I should have killed him when I had the chance. I didn't and all because of some stupid sense of sentimentality".
She scowled when she heard the lock rattle. A key unlocked the door to her cell, a warded room deep inside the heart of Solas' fortress. She was somewhere in the mountains, for the air was thin, though saturated with magic. Ellana didn't bother to check who had come to keep her company for the night. Only one elf ever brought her food and conversation.
The door swung closed as he hooked the keys to his belt. He knew better than to leave it lying about. He was a thief and a rogue too. A profession they shared though Ellana had trained as an assassin rather than a ranger. Solas had permitted her a companion over the years, though she doubted it was for her comfort alone.
This elf, like her, was one of the last Dalish left in Thedas.
"Mahariel".
He smiled at her with a flash of white teeth. "Lavellan. Haven't we known each other long enough to quit with formalities?"
Ellana snorted. "Hardly. Why are you here?"
He presented her a platter laden with food. Ellana frowned at the fare he'd brought. A bowl of stew steamed beside a plate of bread. She saw two pitchers and cups too. She grimaced, nose wrinkling when Mahariel set the platter down atop the only seat in the room.
A rustic wooden stool served as a makeshift table. Mahariel sank onto her bed with a smile. He claimed a cup for himself, then gestured to each pitcher. Ellana smelt the cloying stink of fermented fruit wafting from the first. She shook her head, nodding to the second. Mahariel chuckled as he filled his own cup, and her's with water.
"It upsets him when you turn down the wine".
Ellana snorted. "I'd rather not drink myself into a stupor".
"I would if I were you", teased Mahariel. "Fen'Harel has done little in recent years to endear himself to the people. The flat-ears call him our liberator, but the elven Viddathari are less complimentary. They've not forgiven him for storming Seheron, or for taking Par Vollen out from under the salasari. They think Solas is a warmonger not a peacemaker".
Ellana accepted the bowl of stew. She took the spoon Mahariel offered as he helped himself to a hunk of bread. She ate as he regaled her about the latest upsets in Solas' campaign. Three decades since the end of the war hadn't slowed him down. Ellana heard about the riots in Seheron, Tevinter, and Orlais before Mahariel got to the point.
She was halfway through her stew when the offer was made.
"Fen'Harel could use your help".
"He made mistakes. He can bear the consequences", grumbled Ellana. "I won't be his pawn. He should know that by now and so should you. My answer is the same as always".
Mahariel snickered. "A resounding – No?"
"What do you think?"
Mahariel pursed his lips, whistling. He was impressed by her continued refusal to involve herself in Solas' affairs. Although he'd never understood her reluctance. Thedas had changed. To a Dalish outcast, everything Solas had done was for the betterment of the elves.
His crimes were forgiveable.
Ellana thought him a fool.
"He needs you", wheedled Mahariel. "Fen'Harel has the power to reshape Thedas a thousand times over, but you and I both know he's shit at diplomacy. He alienated the elven Viddathari when he called the teachings of Koslun barbaric. He had about as much success with the elves in Tevinter and Orlais when he said their precious Maker was a fable. He was furious when they accused him of committing sacrilege".
"By capturing and imprisoning Andraste's Herald?" taunted Ellana.
Mahariel shrugged his shoulders. "It was more akin to murder, but you get the idea. The elves of Thedas think you're dead".
"No thanks to, Solas".
"As I recall. You volunteered to become his prisoner".
Ellana picked up a slab of bread and threw it at him. Mahariel caught it before he was struck in the face, and scolded her for wasting food.
"Now, ma falon. Bread is for eating not throwing".
"You know, I didn't have a choice!" snapped Ellana. "Solas threatened to burn Skyhold to the ground if I didn't yield!"
"And you believed him".
"He can turn people to stone with a glance. And he created the Veil, that sundered the waking world from the sleeping. Of course, I believed him when he said he would raze Skyhold to the ground. It saved my people, Mahariel. Even if I had to rot in a dungeon for thirty years".
Mahariel gestured to the walls of her room. "This is hardly a dungeon. You're not fettered hand and foot. You have a roof over your head, regular meals. It could be worse".
Ellana gazed about the room that had been her prison for three decades. The walls were mortared stone, bare of decoration. The roof was the timber floor of the room above. Her own floor was a thick slab of granite covered by rugs. Some were the hides of animals – bears and druffalo, whiles others were handwoven likely on a loom.
The blues, reds, and yellows brightened the room's bland greys. The two windows, little more than narrow slits let in the sun and breeze. Ellana was glad for the hearth, without it she would've lived inside a tomb rather than a prison. The fire thawed the chill in the air as she considered the point Mahariel made. Solas had kept her comfortable, even if he'd always confined her to her room in the evenings.
She had a bed large enough to fit three, a small desk, a wooden stool, and a bookcase full of scrolls. She had access to parchment and ink, though she was forbidden to correspond with anyone.
Mahariel, alone, served as her messenger to Solas. The rookery had been moved after her first breakout. She'd been relocated several times after she'd tried to memorise the fortress' layout too.
Now her door was locked at night, the windows of her room too small to wriggle through. The walls, floor, and ceiling were warded within and without to contain her mischief. Ellana snorted when she spied the runes carved into the beams overhead. The mortared stones in each wall bore more inscriptions, all in ancient elvish. The rugs on the floor concealed the wards against fire, flood, and every misfortune she'd ever created.
She was bound in every way except by hand and foot. Mahariel was spy and gaoler, keeping an eye on her as well as bringing her meals. Ellana supposed Solas had learned his lesson after the last one. The man, a city elf from Kirkwall, had belittled the Dalish once too often within her hearing. One night, she'd garotted him with the collar of his own gambeson.
He'd survived – barely. And from that day onwards, a Dalish elf had served in his place. Mahariel had been her gaoler for nigh on twenty-seven years. Pleasant company though he was, Ellana still thought him a turncoat. She tolerated his presence, though she knew better than to trust him. Mahariel would report every word she said to Solas.
This was a game for him, as much as it was for her.
"A cage is still a cage with or without bars", retorted Ellana. She regarded Mahariel with suspicion, eyes narrowing when he frowned. "Solas had best keep his word. I want out of this place for good. I'm ready to see the sky again, to breathe the air, even if it's on another world".
Mahariel's smile was gone, his voice grave. "You would be alone without friends or allies".
"I'll take the chance".
"You could be killed, even die there. No one would mourn your passing".
Ellana arched an eyebrow, and gave him a long hard look. "The people of Thedas have thought me dead for thirty years. If Solas exiles me to another world. They'll never know otherwise. His lie will stand with no one to contradict it".
"You'll be vulnerable, without protection".
"I can look after myself. Besides", said Ellana as she gestured to the bow, quiver, and daggers on the bed. "I'll not be going unarmed. Solas insisted I take my weapons with me. I'll forage for whatever else I need when I get there".
"Your life would be difficult, with few comforts".
Ellana frowned. "All I hear are excuses for me to stay. Why do you care, Mahariel? It's not as if you've ever liked me. Last I heard, you were telling Solas to be rid of me".
He blushed, cheeks reddening. "A mistake".
"I doubt that".
Mahariel set his cup down on the platter. He returned her scrutiny with a weariness she'd never seen in him. His eyes were dark and full of sorrow as he gave voice to a fear he'd long harboured. It was sobering to hear him speak of something so simple yet profound. They weren't friends, or clanmates even if they shared the same culture.
"If you leave. I will be the last Dalish elf in Thedas".
Ellana exhaled a weary breath. "Mahariel". She gasped when he grabbed her hand. His fingers were tight around her wrist. His thumb digging into her skin hard enough to hurt. She tried to pull away, but Mahariel held firm.
"You could stay".
"I don't want too! Now let me go!"
"Maker's balls, Ellana. Don't make me beg".
She tore her hand free, head shaking when Mahariel tried to grab her again. She reached behind herself, fingers crawling over her blankets. She snatched up the first thing she touched. It twirled in the palm of her hand, spinning like a top until she grasped the hilt. Ellana pressed the blade to Mahariel's throat, stopping him cold.
And still he had one thing on his mind.
"Stay".
"Never!"
Mahariel pressed forward till the blade bit into his skin. A thin line of red seeped from the cut, the droplets staining Ellana's fingertips. She stared when he admitted something she didn't expect. His face was earnest, his tone sincere. Mahariel offered her the last piece of his heart.
"Fen'Harel isn't the only man who cares for you".
Ellana trembled whilst Mahariel bled for her. "Get out".
"If you won't stay for him. Stay for me".
"Get out!"
Mahariel withdrew when he heard a commotion in the hall outside. Ellana's shout had roused the guards. They were noisy as they swore, stomped their feet, and rattled their keys. The door to her room was yanked open. Mahariel pressed her hand down into the bed to conceal her blade amidst the folds of her blankets. He pulled the collar of his gambeson high to cover the cut in his neck.
It bled into his undershirt, staining the fabric red. He pressed a finger to his lips when Ellana's gaze shifted from him to to the guards beyond. Mahariel acted as if nothing were amiss. He took the half-empty bowl of stew from her lap along with her spoon. He returned both to the platter atop the stool.
"Master Mahariel! Is everything all right? We heard her scream".
"Everything is fine. Return to your post".
Mahariel fetched Ellana's cup. He offered it to her with a nod. She accepted, brows furrowing. She stilled when his fingers brushed hers, the contact brief but electrifying. Ellana was perturbed when he pressed the cup to her lips.
The look he gave her was expectant. She sipped the water, tasting nothing as the guard was joined by another. Both were elves loyal to Solas. Ellana shared a look with Mahariel, swallowing. He smiled, mouth tight, the line of his jaw tensing.
"Goodnight", he told her. "Fen'Harel will await you at first light".
Ellana watched him rise from her bed with a casualness that belied the tension between them. She glanced from him to the guards beyond. The two men bowed their heads when Mahariel crossed the floor. He dismissed them both with a wave of his hand. He paused on the threshold when Ellana called.
"Does he mean to discuss my exile?"
The question startled Mahariel. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wide. Ellana saw fear reflected in there, as well as a sadness so deep it left her shaken. Mahariel's voice was soft, though she heard his disappointment. His smile was gone too.
"Yes. You've had a day to prepare. Fen'Harel will make his final decision tomorrow. Eat, Ellana. Tonight might be the last you spend with us".
He left her with the guards in tow. The door closed behind him with a click, and clank of a keys as the deadbolt slid home. She was locked inside again – alone. Ellana set her cup down on the platter, fingers shaking. She glared at the dagger in her blankets, the silverite blade stained red.
"Fenedhis", she swore. "What was he thinking?"
She gripped the hilt, turning the blade against her thigh. She wiped it clean on her hose, the wool dark enough to hide the red. Ellana grimaced when the stink of iron filled her nose. She sheathed the dagger with more force than necessary. The crossguard slammed home with a bang. She cursed, catching her breath, heart hammering in her chest.
Ellana was shocked by what had transpired. She knew better than to trust Mahariel. He was one of Solas' most trusted agents. She was suspicious of his motives. In twenty-seven years he'd never let on that he felt more than pity for her.
"It must be a lie meant to rattle me", she told herself. "Solas is as clever as he is manipulative". Ellana exhaled a shaky breath, her eyes closing tight. "Blessed Andraste, if you have any love left for me. Get me out of this cage".