Roses Where Thorns Grow

by bdafic

Approximately a month after their unexpected break-up at Crestwood, Ellana struggles to maintain a working relationship with Solas. But reoccurring nightmares and the fear that demons may be creeping into her dreams drives her to seek his aid, as much as she does not want to. When they are drawn back into a rekindled affair, Solas' guilt drives him to finally tell her the truth.

26. The Calm

The safe house looked like it hadn't been used in decades.

The coded directions they were supplied led to an unassuming home in the woods just outside the city of Highever, northeast of Crestwood. It stood far enough from the roads and hunting trails that it was unlikely to be stumbled upon by accident, but near enough to town that a supply run would not take all day.

It was the sort of place one could easily pass by without a second glance, if you passed by it at all. A modest home of boxy Ferelden design, with architecture old and plain even for the era it was built in. The façade wreathed in lattices of cracked, rain-worn, wood that supported a skin of climbing vines, and beneath that a spray of moss grew from the gaps in the brickwork, digging out the aged mortar. Convenient camouflage in the dense forest.

There was no barn, stable, or pens for animals; little to make it self-sufficient other than an old covered well and what appeared to have once been a garden. Now only a bed of weeds and withered stalks. A nearby stream had eroded a good portion of the land around it with yearly floods — meltwaters running to the sea — leaving little that could be salvaged into usable farmland. Whatever meagre crops the land was still capable of producing were destroyed by local fauna. Evidence of their trespass was everywhere.

There was promise in the discovery of a root cellar, accessible by a set of earth-cut stairs and a small door around the side of the house. But it held only a few crates of gourds that, by some miracle, hadn't yet rotted. Beyond that only empty shelves and cobwebs.

Inside, the house had been dressed as if to imply its occupants had left on a walk and would be back shortly. Beds were made, a few empty cups left on tables, boots by the door, a book laid on a settee — even the kitchen cupboards were stocked. All details that could be seen by looking in windows. Upon passing through the threshold the illusion was broken. A closer inspection revealed all the preserves spoilt, the blankets stiff and moth-eaten, and the cabinet hinges rusted shut. There were mouse droppings in the corners and dust on every surface. The old furnishings rattled and creaked when so much as brushed, and drafts crept in around the windows and loose floorboards.

If there was a hope the staging would evoke a comfortable, lived-in, feel it had missed the mark. Instead, the stillness felt eerie. And with the windows so fogged by age that they could let in only dim light by late afternoon, the ambiance was supernaturally cold. As if an entire family had up and vanished one day, and not a soul had trod here since.

There was an old caretaker employed to keep an eye on the building. In theory. Little was known about them. It was said they lived in the city and were paid to come by every so often for an inspection… but standing at the entrance it was clear they'd not spent much — if any — time inside. Other than rodents, the first tracks visible in the dust belonged to the party themselves.

Presumably this person had been told of their use of the house, but rather than greet them personally they'd opted to leave behind a key and lockbox filled with scrolls pertaining to the local area. Where to go for the best stores and goods, places to meet safely, and the names of several other contacts in case of need… Sera found it all in the bucket hanging in the old well.

They'd been promised supplies would be on hand — food and clothing — but a preliminary search turned up little that was still usable. It was clear this place was intended to be a temporary stopover rather of a semi-permanent home. A day or two, at worst. A group this size would stretch it thin.

When a second, even more thorough, search came up just as empty, "Tomorrow we will need to buy food from the city," Cassandra announced. By then she'd covered the countertops in an array of dusty, putrid, jars of something once considered fruit. She'd pulled them all out of the cupboards scavenging for something edible.

"Linens, too," added Sera as she descended the stairs. She wiped her hands on her pants, leaving two dusty streaks behind. "All the ones on the beds are worthless, but I did find a trunk in the attic with some bedding not full of holes. Not very warm, though — might want to double up. There's four beds, but they're real small, so it'll be a tight fit. Maybe push two together." She looked at Bull and frowned. "Maybe you should push three together."

"Did you find any firewood?" asked Cassandra.

Across the room Ellana sneezed as she adjusted the curtains.

Sera shook her head. "No, but I haven't checked out beyond the well yet. Might be a shed back there somewhere."

She sighed. "We may end up needing to take several trips."

Bull sat down on one of the couches and sent up a cloud of dust. He made a show of waving his hand around to clear it, coughing, and the old wooden joints groaned with each movement. "One of you will have to go. I'd volunteer, but…" and he gestured to his horns. Great care had gone into making the house inconspicuous, the last thing they needed was to draw attention to its unusual occupants.

"Sera can go." Cassandra pulled another blackened jar from the back of the cupboard, turning it to and fro. She sneered at it. "I'll need you to help me beat the rug anyway."

There was a pause.

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Ugh."

Ellana sneezed again.

"Best make a list of everything we need, then." Sera counted off on her fingers. "Linens, food, parchment and ink, feed for the harts, wood maybe, some wine and entertainment…"

That twigged Cassandra's ear. "This is not a party. We have a job to do until we're given the order to move."

"Have you ever had to babysit before? Because I have, and it's boring as shit. Sometimes you don't leave the house for days at a time, and even then only one of you can go somewhere. It's not like you can take a day off to visit a friend or catch a show. Books and cards and alcohol go a long way in making it tolerable." With a quick glance at Ellana, "No offence," she added. "You're great and all, but you can only spend so much time locked in a place with someone before they start to get on your nerves. There's not a whole lot to do here, and once we run out of suggestions for Twenty Questions that'll really start to dig in."

"No argument here," Ellana replied, and sniffed.

"Could be worse, though: Solas could have come with us. Imagine spending a two weeks locked in here with him. Full offence this time."

Bull chuckled.

Ellana gave them each a look for their cheek, but laughed despite herself. The wound was sore, having left him behind, but not so much that she couldn't stand a bit of ribbing.

Solas had many talents. Sharing tight quarters with others did not rank among them.

She said, "Aren't you supposed to be making a shopping list?"

"Not much else to put on it unless you got any special requests."

"Yes." Her answer was immediate. "Apples."

It was clear Sera expected something more to that answer, as she waited for some time in awkward silence for additional details. "…Just apples?"

"Sour apples." The thought alone was enough to make her stomach flip. A feat, considering how food-averse she'd been over the journey.

Sera raised a brow. "What, like they're not ripe?"

"No, just sour."

"Like crabapples?"

"Yes, those!"

"You're not supposed to eat those," Cassandra said, and sounded only a little baffled. "Would you not prefer something sweeter? I am sure there is a wide selection in the market."

"Just because people don't usually eat them doesn't mean you can't," Ellana countered. "They're not poison, they're just tart." Proper cravings were few and far between over the months — but this one endured. Even when the thought of eating anything else turned her stomach.

Somehow they always satisfied in those rare times the hunger pangs hit.

"I'll look, but no promises — it's not my fault if no one's selling terrible fruit."

"If you have no luck you could always rob an orchard."

Cassandra made a face. "Please do not."

"But if you do, do it carefully," Bull added. "Let's try not to kill anyone unless we have to. If we come back with a body count over apples I think Josephine might not let us back inside."

Near him, on the other end of the couch, was one of the books placed haphazardly around the house to feign its occupancy. Laid open and face-down for so long there was a crack in the spine. He picked it up and glanced at the pages, and when he quirked a brow Sera did the same.

"Anything good?" she prompted.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Romance serial. Templars or Wardens — some order with layers of armour. Your typical forbidden love story." He flipped a few pages ahead. "There's an entire bit here just devoted to buckles."

Cassandra perked up. Idly spinning a preserve jar around and around in her hand. Clearly hemming and hawing over whether to ask him for the book.

By the time she'd worked up the gumption to make a request, Bull was already holding it out for her. "Knock yourself out, Seeker."

The speed at which she crossed the room and grabbed it raised another cloud of dust from the floor. Ellana sneezed twice more and buried her running nose in the crook of an elbow. When she wiped it on her sleeve it left a wet smear.

This was becoming a problem.

"Could you also look for a washtub?" she asked.

Sera pointed a thumb back toward the stairs. "There's one up in one of the bedrooms. Did you want a bath? We just got here! Haven't even checked the water situation yet."

"A bath would be lovely, but that wasn't the reason I'm asking. If we don't get the dust under control, all of this—" she circled a finger around her face, already reddened and swollen even though they'd barely spent half an hour inside. "—is going to require me a clean pair of pants. Currently I don't have any to spare."

No sooner had she spoken the words that she succumbed to an impressively long and loud fit of sneezing. Not all of which were caught in hands or elbow. When it finally eased she was left bent over and braced against the wall. She opened bleary, watery, eyes to find Cassandra watching her, frowning deeply.

She'd even put the book down.

"Perhaps we should get started on the dust first."

Sera had no desire to linger once it became apparent the rest of the afternoon would be spent cleaning, and so managed to slip away before she could be assigned to help.

For her dust allergy Ellana was banished upstairs, leaving Bull and Cassandra to open up all the doors and windows while they tore through the place with a pair of straw brooms. After, all the furniture and rugs were dragged outside and beat. It was by small miracle only a single chair was lost to the spree when Iron Bull misjudged his strength and hit it hard enough to split the fabric. It was broken down for firewood.

By evening the house had been restored to a more livable condition. Better still, during a walk about the surrounding forest Cassandra found a cord of wood stored under a crumbling lean-to, allowing them to build a proper fire. By the time evening fell the house was warm, comfortable, and tidy. Ellana had even managed to brew some tea from the chamomile growing wild around the side of the house.

Sera arrived back much earlier than expected — less than an hour after sunset. The city wasn't entirely unfamiliar to her: she'd been through once before, many years ago, on a mission for the Jennies. Experience that lent her enough sense to navigate back alleys and avoid the places elves shouldn't go; it took her only a few hours to get everything they needed. And it only cost a fraction of what she'd expected to pay, as well. She stuck to Elven merchants, mostly in the alienage, leaning heavily on what grace was granted by her ears. She was still grumbling when she returned.

Ellana met her at the door to assist with the load. Flung it open before Sera could even manage to get near enough to drop the cart and call out a greeting.

"Did you find any—?"

"One sack of crabapples," Sera cut over her. "Cheap as dirt, bitter, and no good for anything — just the way you like them." She bent at the waist and gestured toward the cart with a spinning, exaggerated, flourish. To a leather bag that lay atop the other supplies, tied loosely, to reveal a hint of what bounty lay within.

Filled to the brim with near inedible fruit.

Barely a second passed between Sera's confirmation and Ellana pushing past her. She ripped open the sack, grabbed one of the apples, and tore into it like a starving bear ravages a fresh kill. No care for the juice dribbling down her chin nor the remaining pile of bags and sacks still needing to be brought in. One bite was all it took to reveal the helpfulness as a ruse.

It was hard not to be fascinated by the fervour. Sera raised a brow. "You really like those, huh?"

Ellana could only mumble out a reply around a mouthful, unwilling to pause between bites long enough to make an attempt at politeness. "I've thought about these every day since we left."

That one was quickly finished off, core and all (but spit the seeds), and she immediately reached for a second.

Sera's brows climbed higher.

She continued, "Solas managed to get me a basket from the kitchen every week or so. Brought it privately, pretending like he'd developed a taste for them." A brief space for breath was allowed there, lest she choke. "One of the kitchen girls even thought to make him a plate of tarts out of them once, as a gesture of kindness. He had to eat several to sell the ruse. He can't stand them."

A crooked smile pulled at Sera's cheek. "Heh, aww — that's sweet." Then she scrunched up her nose. "Piss, now you've made me like him a little."

Oblivious, "He won't even kiss me after I've been eating them," Ellana added.

"That part I could have gone without."

Bull slipped past them to heave two crates of vegetables off the cart. Manoeuvring around the pair, he brought them into the house — into the kitchen where Cassandra was unpacking — and passed one off to her. He was saying, "On the bright side, it might make it easier to stand the distance if he's not here to complain about it. Go nuts."

"You may regret that," Ellana warned, already searching for a third apple. And a fourth. "I'll be through this batch in two days and will need to send Sera back out for more. You might find yourself taking a page from his book just to shame me into pacing myself."

"Maybe, but unlike him I can assure any kisses I give following are both strictly platonic and free from criticism."

"You are making this so much worse," Sera lamented.

"Bake some tarts for him when this is over," suggested Ellana. "With the history, he'll never suspect it was you and will end up feeling obligated to eat them again. You can watch his misery from afar."

"So long as I don't have to hear about kissing for the rest of our stay, I'll take it."

"Keep me supplied and I'll pretend the child is a divine blessing from The Maker himself."

Somewhere behind them, Cassandra made a noise and rolled her eyes.

Sera snapped her fingers. "Oh, speaking of!" She quickly removed two sacks from the cart and deposited them just inside the door for someone else to put away, but assisted no further. Bull passed nearby with a barrel of mead heaved one up on her shoulder and grabbed them.

"I heard an interesting rumour this afternoon about the Inquisitor. Near the docks, where the merchants come in. Plenty of people down there like to gossip about what's what; don't even have to offer a coin to listen in." She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "How well do you know your Chantry history?"

"About as well as I know Orzammar's."

"Right. Promising start. Well, do you know how Andraste went out?"

"That one I do." There were enough songs and stained glass windows dedicated to the event that even a Dalish spy could pick up the gist inside a few days. "She was burned. Big fire, lots of angry people, betrayal… all the favourites. I got to know that story quite well back in Haven. Once I was promoted to 'Herald' over 'suspect' there were some interesting parallels drawn."

A sudden thump drew their attention to the kitchen. Cassandra stood over a dropped sack of flour, her now-empty hands cupped over her mouth. Wearing a drawn expression that had little to do with the mess.

"Oh, no…"

Sera gave another snap — "She's got it," — before turning back to Ellana. "There were a few people in the hall when you got into it the night you left, yeah? More watching from the yard, too. It's not every day the tower goes up in flames. Seems like someone wrote home about it. All the main points are there: big fire, lots of people, someone ticked off about you… but they got a few of the details wrong. Stories change that way. Take on a life of their own and get a little more interesting every time it's told by someone new. Everybody adds their own something — then it's a whole different thing!"

She was beginning to see where this was going. "Have I been martyred?"

"No…" Cassandra replied, before Sera had the chance. "You walked out of a fire meant to kill you, unharmed, just as you did at the Conclave emerging from the explosion. Even to the least devout such an act would carry great significance."

"But I wasn't unharmed," Ellana corrected. "I was injured in the fight. Anyone who saw me would've seen soot, burns, blood…" She gestured to her scarred shoulder.

"Yeah but that's not interesting, so that's not going to make it into the story," said Bull. With the last of supplies put away and nothing left to do he grabbed an apple from Ellana's new supply and leaned against the doorjamb. "A tale of Andraste's Herald, cut down, then walking out of the inferno whole and hale? Now that's a story. The details don't matter." He tossed the apple up and caught it again. Buffed it on his pant leg.

Ellana frowned. "I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that interpretation."

"With respect: your comfort isn't important here." He gestured at her with the fruit. "This is the best possible outcome. Nobody will be talking about what motivated the attack, what group is responsible, or even if they were taken alive. It shifts the narrative away from, 'she was attacked' to, 'she survived'. You're two for two. Let the conversation be about how that pertains to your leadership. You may not love it, but the mythology behind your position commands as much respect as it does fear. As far as anyone needs to know, someone made an attempt on your life and you came out of the tower unscathed by divine right."

A hush fell over the group.

Frowns and furtive glances were exchanged in the silence. Considering Bull's words.

He continued, "Bet if Red knows she'll be using it too. She may be devout but she's not above dabbling in a little blasphemy to get the job done. This is a good development, boss."

In the end not even Cassandra could argue. Though she looked pained for the suggestion she offered. "We should send this information to her, just in case she does not already know."

"We can do it through the caretaker," Sera volunteered. "I know where they are — they've got a place near the low market. I can go by tomorrow morning when I pick up more shit fruit."

Bull nodded his agreement and absently took a bite of the apple. In an instant his expression soured. He made a pained, disgusted, noise and leaned out the open door to spit the mouthful onto the ground. Then made to toss the uneaten remainder into the bushes to follow.

Ellana jumped into the path before he could. "Don't waste it!" she chided, and swiped it from him.

Sera snapped to attention, gesticulating wildly between the two of them. "See?! Terrible! I tried to eat one on the way back and drained my whole canteen to wash it down. Not for eating! Vile. Dirt food." Then she pointed at Cassandra. "You want to try?"

"Even if I did not already know I don't care for them, I can't imagine wanting to try after that display."

Ellana rolled her eyes. "More for me."

"You've just got shit taste."

Flatly, "Or I just prefer bitter over sweet," she countered. "It's a perfectly valid choice."

Sera snorted. Giggled. "It's both though innit? Because you—!"

Then all at once her expression fell. From cheeky grin to disgusted frown as she, belatedly, realized where this punchline would take her.

"No, wait, I don't want to finish that joke. Forget I said anything."

Bull quirked a brow. "Can I finish it instead?"

"No."

"Because really, on the subject of finishing, we owe this entire mission—"

She looked horrified. "Gods, stop, no, shut up!" Sera shoved him hard with both hands, the effort lifting her briefly up off the floor. It had no visible impact on him. "I'm going to go put the cart away. I don't need to hear this."

"Right. Putting it away like—"

"I can still hear you!" she yelled, already outside.

"You know," Ellana began, dryly, "I should thank you. Now I'm actually glad he's not here to have to endure this, too."

Bull held up a finger. "But it would be much funnier if he was."

---

For a while it wasn't so bad.

They joked, and talked, and slept well. Told stories they hadn't the chance to before, and taught each other games with rocks and coin. Ellana hummed songs while she washed the dishes and Sera taught Bull to patch a shirt. Everyone laughed watching him try to work a needle no bigger than his fingernail, and cheered when he finally got the hang of it and offered to do everyone else's clothes for practice.

They'd all spent plenty of time together over the years, in tents and on foot, in a wide array of stressful encounters, but this situation was unique in that it quickly forced walls to drop. Living so tightly packed with little time apart, and no space no roam, required a level of tolerance with each other none had exercised before.

Soon enough it became difficult.

Little habits and predilections turned into irritants that wore down patience already stretched thin. Bull's penchant of idly scratching his horns while deep in thought made a sound that set Ellana's teeth on edge. Sera belching without excusing herself had Cassandra praying for strength. Ellana left pieces of half-eaten fruit all over the house, attracting flies. Cassandra tended to pick up the slack on unfinished chores and then quietly fume about the extra work. Different approaches to communication and problem solving clashed more often than they harmonized.

It did not help that for three weeks they received no communication from Skyhold.

Left adrift, they felt alone in the woods. Forced together on this little plot of land in the middle of nowhere, each day passing as if they bordered outside the world rather than lived within in it.

For all they knew another breach might've opened up and burned an entire city to the ground while they argued over who got to eat the last bowl of rice.

Time became unmoored.

Hours turned to days turned to weeks. Whether something happened one or ten days ago made no difference. It all ran together. Sun rises and sets could be moments apart, while a night of insomnia could go on for months. An eon lost to watching the rain through a kitchen window.

Most days were broken down into familiar routines: waking, eating, cleaning, waiting. They rarely strayed from it. Sera and Cassandra each visited the city once a week to restock their supplies, careful to hit different vendors on opposite ends of the city so their travel would not be linked. Not too long between trips either, lest their loads seem too heavy and suspicious for a single home. They developed meandering paths to throw off anyone tailing them back, and wrote cover stories to answer any questions that might arise with regularity.

Sera, limited to patronizing shops friendly to elves, developed a story about bringing supplies to ailing neighbours. Old injuries kept them from travelling — bad knees and sore hips — so she took it upon herself to get them what they needed. She smiled politely and played the part of a considerate young woman, swallowing the grateful platitudes about respect for elders and Elven community she had never been a part of.

Cassandra, meanwhile, attempted to adopt a different accent.

And was unsuccessful.

When it became clear that tactic was not working for her she switched to meeting questions with stony silence or one-word answers. It played to her strength — intimidation — and so was far more convincing.

For the days they weren't away the warriors sparred with wooden staves to keep their skills sharp, and on occasion Sera would disappear into the woods — armed with a quiver and a hunting lesson from Ellana — to catch rabbits. With all the free time at their disposal there was ample opportunity to pass on the Dalish methods of traps and tracking; things she'd learned as a youth when living wild. How to forage for mushrooms or where to find clean water. Sera's upbringing had not gifted her the skills, and while she'd never been interested in taking Ellana up on the offer before, now was as good a time as any.

The results of the lessons, however, were mixed.

And would no doubt be improved by her company. But she'd been barred from leaving the house — it was too risky. So instead she watched from the windows and tried not to let her envy harden into resentment.

The daily fight against the downward spiral into melancholy was a long, difficult, march. Boredom was ever-present, and offered an easy slide from sloth, to apathy, to depression, and then despondency. The pull grew harder to resist as time wore on. They were forced to come up with increasingly creative ways to pass the time.

Bull tried his hand at cooking up the gourds from the cellar. Then spent several days apologizing for it.

Cassandra read voraciously, finishing every book in the house three times over.

Ellana donned a heavy cloak and walked around the outer walls a hundred laps trying to calm her restless energy, yet still slept too often.

Sera searched for oddities in the city, and brought back parchment and ink so Ellana could practice her writing.

Once she even sat for a beginner's lesson on Elvish. In the end, she walked away with some basic insight on curse words and the ability to recognize three letters by sight-reading. A rousing success by any standard.

At night, when sleep was elusive, Ellana wrote letters. To Solas, to her Keeper, to her clan, to her childhood friends, to Josephine and Blackwall and Dorian… Filling pages edge to edge with anecdotes, unfinished conversations, old stories, or mindless, rambling, accounts of her day. Writing for the sake of writing, so she could pretend for a moment they were talking face-to-face. Sat round the wrought-iron table in Skyhold's garden, or in a favoured corner at the Herald's Rest, shouting to be heard above the crowd.

She wrote until her fingers ached and the ink ran with frustrated tears. She rolled them into scrolls and sealed them with wax.

Then she burned them.

And tried not to think of how long it had been since she'd enjoyed the company of anyone else.

She was not meant for a cage.

When an update finally came, it arrived the same way theirs was sent.

No carrier would fly to the safe house, and no post deliver, but a raven's route existed from Skyhold to the caretaker's home in the city. A small apothecary operated there. It raised no eyebrows if several birds flew in and out under guise of establishing connections to suppliers. A shop like theirs was always in need of rare herbs and seasonal items.

Sera had met the proprietor face-to-face just the once, when she arranged for their letter to go out, and described him vaguely. 'Old, fat, and moderately helpful'. With no reason to go into any detail he remained a mystery to the others. It was not an issue until the morning he showed up.

Cassandra answered the knock when it came. Early; she'd only just sat down with some breakfast tea. Curious — and cautious — she held one hand on the pommel of her sword, ready just behind the door, and opened it. An assassin might not have the good grace to announce themselves, but it was suspicious anyone had come by at all. They were alone out there.

The old man that stood on the step seemed to have appeared from nowhere. A glance over his shoulder found only a small cart accompanying him; no driver, or sellsword as guard. Thinning grey hair and a crooked posture placed him in his twilight years, with gnarled hands and limbs too stiff to hold a weapon. Hardly a threat, but she was not put enough at ease to offer him a proper greeting.

Stranger still, in lieu of his own, he offered only the bewildering performance of a man she knew well. As if she'd been a long-favoured patron of his shop.

He flashed a happy smile and thanked her for an order she did not make, assuring her all the items she did not buy were well and accounted for. Then he gestured to a small crate still loaded on the cart and asked her to claim it. It was full of everyday items: jams, herb cuttings, spices and dried goods — nothing expensive nor unusual — things any household could stock.

In the pregnant pause that followed Cassandra worked to put the disparate pieces together, glancing between the man and his delivery until it finally clicked into place.

She thanked him for the trouble, a little belatedly, promising that next time she would come by rather than have him travel all the way out. Then she took the crate and bid him good day. Waiting until he'd disappeared beyond the trees before bringing it inside.

Sera found a scroll hidden in the offering not long after, coded as a family letter and tucked deep into a sack of grain where it could not be stumbled upon by accident.

The message was short and frustratingly vague: 'threat neutralized, information gained, await further instructions'. Not in so many words — Sera translated — but beyond that, nothing. No details could be entrusted to a method as insecure as the skies. The full story would have to wait until a face-to-face meeting could be arranged. Or whenever this was over, and things returned to normal.

"That could be ages," Ellana had lamented. And regularly, once it became apparent that word of their leave wasn't just around the corner.

A day passed.

Then three.

Then five.

After a week she did not bother waking with the hope it would come soon, and began to give in to apathy.

The situation had worn on all of them but no one could argue she hadn't suffered the most.

While normally she wasn't the sort to be caught complaining, this experience had put that to test. It seemed all the worst parts of her experience had been waiting around for this golden opportunity to rush in all at once and make her days as terrible as possible. If it wasn't sore and swollen feet it was the biting heartburn, the back pain, the return of roiling nausea, the sneezing that kept her up so many nights she'd taken to sleeping by a bedroom door so she'd stop waking the others every time she went outside to take a piss. She had become surly, moody, and impatient and the longer this went on the less shy she was about showing it.

She snapped at Cassandra over spilled tea, yelled when Bull forgot to double the portions for stew, told Sera to fuck off on a regular basis, and longed for the privacy to fall apart.

For days following the letter she was up at night restless and anxious and furious in turns. In ways she knew were not fair. It was no one's fault and yet she wanted to scream at someone for it. Demand answers she could not receive. Put the blame somewhere for every minute more she suffered. She wanted to burn the house to the ground so she'd never have to see it again.

Surely no one would miss it.

She worried, for a time, that she may actually do so by accident if she were not careful. The mana in her breast was a curious weight she was acutely aware of, especially here where she had no one to help her weather its draw. The more her unrest grew the more she felt it churn like a storm on the distant horizon. When sleep would not come, in the longest hours of night, she did all she could not to think about it lest she invite it to her hands.

She paced.

Aimless, up and down the hall. Climbing the stairs to relieve the pain in her hips and digging her fists into the small of her back when the strain on her body seemed too much to bear. When she could not stand to walk another step she curled cross-legged on the kitchen floor and tried to read by candlelight. Or sprawled out on the rug with her hands pressed into her belly, tracking every stretch and roll, trying to discern the placement of limbs.

She counted.

Days gone, gentle kicks, cramps, the marks on her skin stretched too tight… Anything to keep her mind off the reality that they might be here much longer than she'd planned for.

The night that marked a month into their stay she spent lying on the long couch in the main room. Listening to her thoughts run in circles and staring at the knots in the wood-plank ceiling. She weighed their time gone against her time left, against guesses and certainties, and worried this would not resolve before her pains came.

Would an exception be made, in that case, to bring him here with the midwife?

After she'd argued against it herself?

Unlikely.

Suddenly, giving birth in a villa in Jader didn't seem so terrible.

She'd choose a stage in front of a crowd if it meant his hand to hold during it.

She tried to console herself with old wisdom. 'The first ones are always shy', so said the wise women. 'Your body learns; it will go faster next time'. It was advice passed to every young maid waiting on their first. When they wrung their hands and counted days there were nods and knowing smiles from the older mothers with a brood of children under their wing.

Thirty days gone already, another moon — at least — to come and go before the end. We will not be here that long. It won't be that long.

There would be enough time. There had to be.

When worry and self-pity tightened their grip around her heart she let herself break down, but held a feather pillow over her face so she would not be forced to hear her own grief echo in the silence. It worked too well, for neither did she hear Sera slip downstairs and find a place on the floor beside her. Not until a hand touched her shoulder. Softly, so not to startle her, though the gentleness did not spare her the embarrassment of being caught a mess.

She wiped furtively at her face, ready with some hollow excuse, but when she turned to give it no words would come. The charade was pointless.

Sera sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms linked around them. "I go by the shop now, when I'm in town, but I can't do it too often," she whispered. "It starts to look suspect. Every few days, maybe." With her face turned away she was drawn in silhouette against the window. Ellana thought of Cole, then: a shadow come to offer comfort in the darkest hours, though she'd surely not appreciation the comparison. "She won't keep us here for longer than she needs to."

Write her again.

If it's been handled, why are we still here?

What is the point to wait for instructions?

How long will this take?

I know nothing.

A dozen arguments on her tongue, but she bit it instead, choosing silence. Sera did not deserve a fight she meant to have with someone else.

They stayed that way a while — not talking. The empty room amplifying every hitch and catch in her breath. Betraying all the effort she made to appear as steadfast as she'd hoped to be. Over winters, over frozen roads and threat of war, Skyhold could feel like a gilded cage… but it did not compare to this. She'd not felt so trapped since Templars bound her wrists and threw her in a cell.

Even that lasted no longer than a week.

For her yearning she punished herself with guilt and anger. Let it weigh heavy on her shoulders as penance for selfishness. How quickly she'd grown ungrateful for a comfortable bed and hot meals; time shared with friends who were careful not to complain while they kept her safe. For their kindness and their enduring strength she rewarded them with distain. Were she a better leader, and a better person, she'd handle this with grace.

Back and forth she went, through acceptance and denial, anger and resignation, self-flagellation, high and low, over and over. It was all so fucking exhausting.

After a time, Sera stood, and at first Ellana thought she might go back to bed. There was no more to say, really. But instead she walked around the back of the couch and climbed over it. One foot, then a knee, wiggling into the space between Ellana's rear end and the back cushion, opening it up. She pushed her forward and slid in, almost on top of her. "Move up a little," she said. "There's not much room."

She did, and Sera slotted in behind her until they fit like spoons. She slung an arm around her shoulder. Groped about until she found one of Ellana's hands tucked up under her chin, took it, and wove their fingers together. Like lovers might.

They lay together in the dark, in the silence, until breath and heartbeats fell in step with each other. Slow and steady. And for every rise and fall of Sera's chest against her back Ellana felt that much more tension bleed from her body.

She closed her eyes.

Then, somehow, it was morning.

It was the best she'd slept since their arrival.

They did not speak of it directly. Nor was any promise made to repeat it. Still, the offer stood each night thereafter. If not the couch then they shared a bed made of two pushed together. All curled up in one corner with arms and ankles entwined. The nights weren't quite so bad that way.

During the day Sera had a different tactic for keeping her spirits up: stories. Mostly tall tales and rumour, little things overheard while wandering the low streets. A different one for each trip to the city.

There were fish stories told by idle dock workers about possessed marine life. Tales of ghostly haunting in the woods. Treasure guarded by beasts. The tragedy of someone's aunt's friend's cousin's scullery maid who bore a mage child. And, of course, the new headline: the Inquisitor's miraculous escape from a raging fire.

Or twenty assassins.

Or a spurned Qunari dreadnought crew.

Or a gang of demons ripped from the Fade.

Or all of them at once, one after the other, waiting in an orderly queue for their chance to cripple the Inquisition.

The story had grown larger and more spectacular in each retelling just as Sera warned it would. Rolling through markets and alienages, little villages and roadside inns, trawling the crowds for salacious details and secret knowledge as all good stories do. A month from its inception now included daring escapes by brave warriors, Tevinter spies, sabotage, love and loss with all the wrong players. The most interesting versions came from branching points in the narrative — alternate storylines where one went left instead of right. Kissed instead of killed.

In most cases the Inquisitor played the hero.

More often it was, inexplicably, Varric. His name came up enough times that they became suspicious he might have planted it himself.

Regardless, the stories made her smile. It became routine to gather by the door when Sera returned from the city and listen to the latest chapter of The Ballad of the Herald while they portioned out sacks of grain and pickled vegetables.

Around the time, 'the Inquisitor rode out of the fire, naked, on the back of a golden halla' made an appearance in the tale Ellana began to wonder if Sera herself wasn't taking some liberties with the narrative… but it made no difference. As long as it was good entertainment, she was happy to hear it. Even Cassandra began to make a point to listen in, if only to refute the parts that strained credibility.

When that could no longer hold their attention, and hours had already been lost to chores and wooden swords, they played. Dice. Cards. Betting games, mostly — but also leaned on old standbys from childhood. If the day was particularly long they might mix them all together. Bull and Sera could devote entire afternoons to making up increasingly complex rules for increasingly incomprehensible games.

The most successful of their creations was so elaborate that a single game took up their last three days at the safe house. A spring storm had trapped them all inside; roads were treacherous and the harts ornery, so Sera opted to delay her trip into town until the weather was more favourable. Since then, she and Bull spent all their time seated around the table armed with a stack of cards made of two unrelated decks mixed together, and a set of rules no one else could make heads or tails of.

Somewhere around noon on the third day, "I'll raise you two cookies," Bull muttered to her. His stubbled chin was tucked firmly between a thumb and curled finger, elbows rest upon the table, as he considered his hand.

Sera was only barely visible beyond the stack of winnings she'd already claimed, her ankles crossed and propped up on the table. She pointed at him with a toe. "Accepted."

The pot between them was piled with two pouches of coin, assorted jewelry, several pears, a half-eaten jar of jam, Bull's eye patch, a copy of Hard in Hightown missing its cover, and three mismatched wool socks. It grew by two baked goods.

"Are those the spice ones?" Sera asked, craning her neck to make the appraisal. "No more of the creamy?"

"Ran out yesterday."

"Thought you'd finished these ones off, too?"

"I was saving them for this," Bull grumbled, and gestured to the pile. "They're worth twenty each. No way you get this round, you've won all day, your luck is running out."

"And that's sunk cost fallacy." She picked her teeth with one of his daggers, won two days earlier.

He waved a hand. "Just shut up and go."

Sera tipped her chair forward, back on four legs, and sucked her teeth. Cracked her knuckles. Then, with a twirling flourish, she extended a single finger and touched it to the top of draw deck. Slid a single card languorously — almost sensually — along the table's surface, off the edge, and added it to her hand. Drawing out the preamble for as long as possible while Bull pinned her with a one-eyed glare and an equally unimpressed frown.

There was a short pause for consideration and then, "Aha!" she cried. The card she'd just drawn was paired with another in her hand, then picked out and slammed face-up upon the table. Two suits from different decks, matched only by the twin drawings of phalluses scratched in with ink.

"Swords! That's six doubles and a run! Beat that, shitface." Before he had time to react to the play she'd snatched one of the cookies off the pile and shoved it in her mouth. It was stale and dry — everything around her was immediately showered in crumbs — but the victory made it sweet.

Bull made a grab for it, missed, and yelled instead, "Hey! You're not allowed to touch the pot until after I've had my turn!"

"Won't matter, I've got you beat by 56 points," Sera reasoned, mouth full. "These were mine the second you put 'em on the table. By eating them now I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment. You'll give me everything else you've got in about a minute."

One brow climbed his forehead. "We can't ante up and have a point goal."

"You just don't want to lose in two separate categories."

"I beat you by 700 points last week!"

"Only because we were counting shuffling as a skill. That was bullshit and you know it."

"Still counts."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Show up or shut up. Take your turn."

"Alright, alright…" There was a pause for thought — or dramatic effect. He took a breath. Held it. Leaned forward. Narrowed his eye, and asked, "Do you have a two?"

She held up both fists, extending her middle fingers one at a time to punctuate each word: "Go. Fish."

"Vashedan!" Bull slammed his remaining cards upon the table. Rattling him at all was a rare treat; a display so fierce only sweetened the deal. "How is it that you haven't had a single two since we started this game?"

Instead of reply, she wrapped both arms around the pile and slid it toward herself, giggling madly. But stopped when Bull shot forward and grabbed her wrist to still her. "No! Wait! I forgot the closing statement!" He cleared his throat. "You haven't ever worn your hair long."

She grinned. "No dice — you forgot to say 'I assume'."

"Shit."

From across the room, curled comfortably in a chair, "This game gets more ludicrous every time you play," Cassandra said, and did not look up from her book. She turned a page.

"If you want to join us all you have to do is ask," called Sera. "If you tell two truths and a lie you get to start with ten free points." Cassandra did not bother with a response, so she turned the question on Ellana instead. "What about you? Could use a third. Or you could take his place since he's gone off the deep end." She gestured to Bull, now leafing through the remaining draw deck and muttering to himself in furious Qunlat.

Ellana was seated on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs, pulled up to a large window to better watch the rain. She did not bother to look away either. "I'm still nursing my wounds from last time. You took my favourite mug and now I've nothing left to bet with."

"Could throw in your knickers."

That pulled her attention from the storm, briefly. She flashed Sera a quizzical look. "What would you use them for? Tents?"

"Come on, you're big but not that big." It wasn't true: she'd doubled in size at least. "Maybe a flag? Could wear them on my head."

"However will I refuse such a tempting offer."

"Suit yourself." Sera gave Bull a light smack on the arm to get his attention, then held out a hand for the cards. He gave over half the deck. Reluctantly, and after a thorough search. Then he moved on to the discard piles. Sera began to shuffle what she had. "There is something I've wanted to ask though. Would have made a good opening round."

"If I answer this question will you give me the mug back?" It was the only one without a crack. Using any of the others for her morning tea meant she tasted clay in every sip.

"Put a pin in that. Anyway… you're still doing it, right? I mean not lately, since you're here, but before yeah?"

Several interpretations were possible. None of them seemed likely.

"Doing what?"

Bull slid another pile of cards across the table. Sera took them.

"Banging, the dirty, dropping pants, bumping uglies, double dipping — sex, dummy. I mean, I don't need the details, but he kissed you goodbye so clearly he loves you or whatever… So how does that work?"

Beyond the dramatic pitch — and Cassandra's quiet, bewildered, 'double dipping?' from the corner of the room — was some clumsy attempt at a question she had yet to discern.

Ellana blinked. Several times. "Is this about men in general? Because if so I think Bull might have more experience to speak to."

"No! You specifically! I mean, no offence—" she began, in such a way as to imply the next statement could be nothing short of offensive, "—but look at you! You're all… just… puffed up! Big and—"

"Round?"

"I was going to say, 'huge' but, 'round' works just as well. Seems like it would get in the way." She took another handful of cards from Bull, adding them to what she was already shuffling. "How's it work? Does it work? Where's it go?"

"Are you really sure you want to ask this? Don't you have more things to win from Bull?"

"Actually I'm interested in this answer too," he cut in, and with his head down missed the look Ellana gave him in response. He muttered as he rifled through the cards, separating them into piles by suit, "Not a single two this entire game. Three fucking rounds — none."

"See? Perfectly natural question." Sera gestured to Cassandra. "Bet even grouchy over here wants to know."

"I am not listening."

Iron Bull extended a hand and, "Let me see those ones again," he prompted, and she handed back the pile without complaint. Getting an answer was apparently a great deal more interesting than stacking the deck.

Ellana sighed, as if put-upon, but in truth cared little. This experience had destroyed any expectation of privacy or boundaries long ago. Nothing was taboo anymore. Additionally, she couldn't muster the will to care about values like propriety or modesty. It was only his she'd protect, and he was hardly here to argue for preserving it.

With two hands held parallel to each other, "Not like this," she answered, "Like this," and rotated one until it was set perpendicular to the other. "Or like…" She struggled to arrange her hands or fingers in some approximation of one partner seated in the lap of the other, but after several failed attempts gave up and settled on something else. "Or there are other ways to be intimate, if the mood strikes. Use your imagination."

Sera wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

"You literally asked!"

She deflected with another question. "Does it move?"

"It's really not much of a good time if it doesn't."

"No! Not… fuck. The— it! That!" she absolutely did not clarify. She pointed. "The baby. Can you feel it moving about, like, during? Is it weird?" A terrible thought occurred to her, and her voice lowered to a scandalized whisper. "Can he feel it?"

She was full of questions today. "Is this something you've been meaning to ask this whole time?"

"Not the whole time," she said defensively, "only after we ate that pasta with the peas the other night. One got stuck inside the other and I started thinking about how that might work with people."

In a move that surprised even herself, Cassandra jumped in with an answer. "The womb is a separate part of the body — it doesn't work the way you are thinking."

"I thought you weren't listening?"

The book was lifted a little higher, not quite covering the pink blooming on her cheeks. To the pages she muttered, "It is a wonder you do not know these things already."

Once finished rifling through the entire stack a second time, Bull put the cards down and pushed his chair out, dropping to hands and knees to start searching under the table. He tapped each of Sera's feet in turn, prompting her to lift them up and show she held nothing beneath, then started crawling along the edge of the wall looking for a gap wide enough for a card to slip through.

The next round could be considerably delayed.

Sera turned her eyes to Cassandra, now that she'd made herself a part of the conversation.

"You've been reading that same book every day for the last two weeks," she noted. "Every time I see you finish a different one you come back to it again. Must be thrilling. What's it got? Ruffled hair and hand-holding? Steamy bits?"

Firmly, "It is not a romance novel," Cassandra replied, but the denial seemed shaky once Sera stood and began to make her way over. Her eyes tracked her across the room.

There was no title or author on the spine. Neither any marks or drawings; nothing that could indicate a genre. The cover was blank, and other than the cracks and spots from heavy wear there was nothing to set it apart from any other novel.

Once close enough, Sera stopped and stretched, hands clasped high above her head as she rolled up onto her toes. Using the extra height to try and sneak a peek at the pages. But Cassandra tilted the book down toward her chest. One hand sliding over the spine to hold it in place. She narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"

"Just stretching my legs is all," Sera answered, unconvincingly, and she shrugged. "No need to get touchy."

She turned away, feigning interest in the view out the window for just long enough that some of the tension eased out of Cassandra's shoulders, then she spun back around and made a dive for the chair. Scrambled for the book but missed her prize by a hairsbreadth. Cassandra was quicker on the draw and managed to have it out of reach, held high in the air over her head, before Sera's fingers could even brush the cover.

"If you are in need of something to do why not get more firewood?" she snapped. "The wood box is running low and we used the last logs this morning!" With her attention on Sera's attempted theft she did not notice Bull slide in around the other side. While she was occupied, he easily plucked the book from her fingers.

Outraged, she leapt to her feet. "The Iron Bull!"

The rare use of the article gave him pause, just for a second, and Sera seized the opportunity to jump up and take the book for herself. He tried to snatch it back, but she'd clutched it tight to her chest and dove over the couch, already out of reach. She rolled across the rug, ducked around a cabinet and slid into the kitchen. Cassandra was right on her heels, but the dodge and weave had bought her enough time to open the book to a random page and skim the contents.

What she found made her squeal in delight.

"Oh what's this?" she sing-songed. "There are dirty pictures! Cassandra, is this pornography?" The book was held open and flashed at the others, showing off a two-page spread that prominently featured a drawing of a naked woman with her legs open.

Ellana followed the image with narrowed eyes as it ducked around a shelf. "Wait, I don't think that's…" she began, but did not finish. Sera cleared the kitchen counter and bolted past her.

Cassandra, not quite as dextrous, was forced to go around. Cheeks alight in a deep shade of crimson by the time she made it across the room. "It is not pornography!"

Sera was cornered by the hearth now, unless she wanted to make a run for the stairs. She went left, Cassandra followed, feinted right, and baited her into retreating another step. It worked, and she gained a few inches — just enough to make another attempt to grab the book. But Sera spun away, dropped to the floor and rolled through Bull's legs. He'd not moved from his place near the fire since this started, correctly assuming the two would make their way back around to him eventually. His attempt to snatch it was also unsuccessful, but forced Sera to dodge wide, allowing Cassandra to get ahold of her sleeve. When she yanked it back the piece came off in her hand.

"Sera!"

She'd already put a couch and chair between them, dancing backward in short, bouncing, steps with the book held out so she could read aloud and keep an eye on her pursuer at the same time.

She cleared her throat, and pitched her voice loud enough to carry confidently through the house. "—During this transitional phase she may become agitated and even behave strangely as the strength and duration increase. Nausea is common, an adequate supply of food and water should be made available throughout to ensure she does not become dehydrated." The wicked grin slumped into a puzzled frown, her steps slowing. This wasn't nearly as salacious as hoped. Reading on, "Freedom of movement is essential to ensuring effective descent and so should be encouraged. Walking, swaying, crawling… Cassandra what the fuck is this?"

Confusion slowed her retreat to a dead stop and Cassandra finally caught up. But when she reached for the tome Sera raised it high above her head instead, turning a look of absolute bewilderment upon her friend. It was all fun and games before but now she wanted an explanation.

Though Cassandra was taller by a few inches, but Sera was deft enough to keep the book out of her grasp no matter how she approached. Finally, she gave up. Wearing a heavy frown and slumped shoulders, "It is a text," she said at last. "A medical text. The drawings are diagrams."

Her eyes were locked on the stolen tome, following it as Sera backed into a nearby chair and climbed on top of it for extra height.

Up until this point Ellana had been content to watch the scramble rather than get involved, but this had her interest piqued. "Cassandra," she said with careful emphasis, as though scandalized by the revelation. "Are you reading about childbirth?"

The nervous fluster and pink in her cheeks answered for her well before she got the words out. "I felt it was important to be prepared for any possibility." There was a short pause. Then, quickly, she added, "Not because I expect to be present. I know it is a private affair and I would not intrude. It was just in case." That was followed by another excuse. "Only if there was any need of assistance or the midwife did not come in time or was hurt in some way." It was a hole now and she was digging it down. "Any number of situations that are less-than-ideal could—"

Ellana stopped her with a raised hand. Smiling, she assured, "I get the idea. That's very sweet… I think."

Sera, too, looked swayed by the gesture. She lowered the book and flipped curiously through the pages. Stopping when she came to another set of drawings.

Eyes wide, "Fuck off!" she exclaimed, and turned the book around again. This diagram was much more graphic than the previous. "Did you get to this part yet? With the whole head there? Is that really what it looks like?" She tapped on the page.

"I've read it through a number of times," Cassandra replied in a clipped tone. She slid a step closer to the chair, one foot braced behind her as she readied for another grab now that Sera's guard was down… but Bull beat her to the punch. Caught Sera by the wrist and lifted her up by the arm, easily taking the book from her loosened grip.

"Hey!"

He ignored her, instead turning to Cassandra. "Where did you get this? Did you buy it in the city?"

"No, I brought it from Skyhold," she replied. "In the library there is a section on medicine and tradition. I grabbed it just before we left."

"Did you bring any others?"

She frowned. "Just that one."

He looked at the book.

Then at her.

Then turned and threw it into the fire.

It was set alight immediately, and all three women began shouting at once. In varying levels of alarm and volume.

"What did you do that for?"

"You didn't have to burn it I was just playing!"

Cassandra leapt past him, dropping to her knees in front of the hearth, ready to take it back bare-handed if need be. Bull stopped her with a firm grip on her arm, pulling her back before she could get near enough to risk a burn.

She yanked her arm back. "Why would you do that?"

"Dorian marks every book that comes into the library. There's a stamp, just inside the back cover, near the spine. Tarasyl'an Te'las — he worked for days on it. If anyone found this here they could also find out where it came from, and that could connect it to the Inquisitor." When she stopped fighting against him he let her go. Gave her a hard look. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, so I hope you read it through enough times to memorize the important parts because we can't have it lying around here. It's too big a risk."

He was right, of course, and she knew it.

Her gaze slid to the fire, crackling as the heat licked across the pages, making them curl and blacken. Another moment and it was nearly reduced to ash.

"I… did not consider that," she admitted, quietly.

"It was a good idea — just not well planned," he assured. Meanwhile, Sera struggled in his grip — he still had her held up. His eye flicked between her and Cassandra. "We're missing a mage, so having someone around who knows what to do in an emergency is smart. It just can't be in the form of something linked to the Inquisition. If we end up having to…" Something caught his eye, and his gaze narrowed on Sera's arm. Brows drawn in confusion, before rising in shock.

Then fury.

He slipped his fingers into the space between her bracer and wrist and pulled out a handful of cards.

They were all twos.

"You little cheat." He was almost breathless in disbelief.

A crooked smile broke over her face. "Heh, go fish?"

"I'm taking all the blackberry jam back."

There was a knock at the door.

Just a single rap, rather than the several that was typical for most greetings. It seemed deliberate. In the silence that followed they all exchanged curious glances, waiting for something more, and when nothing came Cassandra stepped up and crossed over to the door. First pulling back the curtain on a nearby window to peer outside.

She looked back at the others and opened the door.

Revealing… nothing.

The threshold was empty.

"Is there no one there?" Sera asked. Still caught in Bull's grip but that hardly seemed important now. "Was it just the wind?"

The heavy rain had brought down a scatter of pinecones and twigs over the last few days; it wouldn't be so unusual for some to hit the house when the wind picked up.

"Wait," Bull said. He let Sera drop to the ground and pointed out the door. "There's someone up the path."

Sure enough there was a figure in the distance. Small, thin, and wearing a large cap that partially obscured their face. They were running away from the house, a hundred paces gone already, nearly over the hill toward the main road. At the crest they stopped and turned back. Waved. Then took off again.

"It's a child," Cassandra muttered, mystified. She made to take a step outside, but stopped when her foot brushed against a rock lying just beyond the door. It was not there earlier. She bent down and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. "I think they threw this at the house."

Ellana stood — using the wall for support — and came over for a look. "Is there anything on it?"

Cassandra handed it to her and shut the door behind them. "No, it's just a stone."

"Did you recognize the child? Maybe you bumped into them before? Or could they be related to—"

"Oh!" Sera's exclamation shifted everyone's attention to her, still crumpled on the floor rubbing her wrist. "Wait! I know!" She jumped up, ran for the back door, and flung it open. Leaving it banging in the frame as she took off down the steps and out of sight.

A minute later she returned soaking wet and ankle-deep in mud. Leaving a trail of footprints across the floor. She held up a small scroll and, "In the bucket," she explained. The same place they'd found their 'welcome package' when they'd first arrived.

She ran a finger along the seam, broke the wax seal, and skimmed the message. Her eyes flitting back and forth across the page, reading it several times over to be sure.

Then the corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny, promising, smile.

"It's an invitation from Vivi to stay at a chateau of hers," Sera relayed. "In Jader. Dinner, guest quarters, quiet, she'll join us later, blah blah blah. There are directions from the main road. Shouldn't take us more than three or four days; it's not that far, really."

Ellana clutched at the lightness in her chest. Relief had stolen her breath. She could cry.

"Thank the fucking creators. Thank Andraste. Thank Leliana. Thank Vivienne and her fantastic house. I never thought I'd be so excited about an Orlesian villa. Please, let's get the fuck out of here."

The joy was infectious. Cassandra started laughing. Then, "We can leave tomorrow morning if the weather improves," she suggested. Already in the kitchen pulling things out of the cupboards. Preserves accumulated over their stay — things actually worth bringing along. "Otherwise we'll need to wait out the storm… however, that will give us the chance to pick up anything else we need in town."

"No."

Ellana cut across her with a hard swipe through the air. The authority in her voice made it clear she would brook no argument. All eyes turned to her.

"I'm not staying one gods-damned night more in this prison of a house. Everything we need for the journey we already have, we've been prepared to leave at a moment's notice since we got here. It takes an hour to pack up. Let's take advantage of that and just go. As soon as we can. Today."

Sera gestured to the window, sheeted with rain. Seepage around the frame had left rivulets that pooled on the floor beneath it, warping the wood. "Even if it wasn't storming outside, there's a basket of dirty clothes that needs to be washed out before we can go and we have only three potions left. We need the prep."

"When have you ever cared about a stained shirt?" Ellana countered. "Everything's going to get filthy on the road anyway! It's covered in mud!"

"All the more reason not to go right now. I don't mind the rain but the lake-sized puddles I could do without — it'll be miserable and you know it. The roads are terrible. Look," she began, and took a step back so she could sit down on the couch. Put her (filthy) feet up. The invitation was placed on a side table. "I want to get out of here as much as you do, but—"

"No, you don't!" She screamed it, instead of spoke it, and it was loud enough to echo off the walls. Bringing all argument to an abrupt, immediate, halt. "This hasn't meant the same to you — to any of you — you are not trapped here like I am! At worst this is an unfortunate job, something you'll look back on as a bit of a shit month, but to me it has been a fucking prison." She pressed an open hand to her breast. "I cannot even go out to the woods and look up at the stars. We've had so little information communicated to us that I have to assume there was always a risk. I cannot walk the land. I cannot throw on a disguise and go into town. All I can do is read the same books over and over again and wait. Count the days, and hope this seclusion ends before my pregnancy does. Do you understand what that feels like to have hanging over my head?

"I have been held hostage by a theoretical threat for weeks, all my free will stripped away, and no power to do a damned thing about it. I'm tired of it. I'm done. I'm done with the shit beds, the dust, the rain, the creaky stair that wakes me every fucking time someone fails to step around it. I don't fucking care about the mud and the storm and the rain — I am sick of this house and I am sick of all of you!"

When the tirade was through she stood, red-faced and breathing hard, and stared them down as if they were her enemies. Prepared to fight to the death if one dared stand against her.

She'd not meant to lose her temper quite so spectacularly — but once she started yelling she found she couldn't stop. Everything just came pouring out. Whatever strength kept dammed the tide of frustration, desperation, and loneliness built over a month had been torn to pieces by this final injustice. To dare suggest they wait another day. And now everything was loose and crashing against the walls. She had nothing left to give to patience.

This was the fire she'd been afraid of, but instead of ash in her hands there were tears curling under her chin and a ringing in her ears that drowned out everything but drumming of her racing heart.

She clenched her hands into fists and felt her nails cut crescents into her palms. They were too hot. Her skin had gone slick and feverish. She felt the surge rising in her chest like a tidal wave and willed it back. Begged her body to obey.

"Can we please just leave?"

For a long and painful minute the silence went unbroken.

Then Bull stepped forward. Raised a hand and very carefully placed it on her shoulder. Moving slow, to give her the chance to wave him off if she so wished. His palm was cold on her burning skin.

His gaze lingered on the touch for a worrying moment before, "Okay," he said softly, and squeezed her shoulder. "We can leave today."

He glanced around at the others for approval. Or perhaps just to ensure they did not disagree. Cassandra held her tongue, but Sera cast her eyes to the floor, arms crossed protectively over her middle, looking like a scolded child.

Ellana thought of every night she'd spent held for comfort, and guilt twisted in her belly. Too late to pull it back now.

"We'll need an hour to sweep the place and make sure we got everything," Bull said. "I can handle your pack. You grab your cloak and ready the mounts. Alright?"

It felt patronizing, but was more charitable than she'd expected. So, "Alright," Ellana agreed.

Bull looked to Cassandra and gestured sharply with his chin. She nodded, and the two set to work collecting the mess of books and clothes and cups scattered around the house.

Sera pushed past them and grabbed the invitation. Folding it into the hem of her pants, into a hidden pocket, for safekeeping.

Ellana left them all to their tasks, donned her cloak and boots, and walked out — free — into the rain.

---

The weather did not improve.

Counting the time before they left, it poured for five straight days, with gusts of high wind that whipped freezing rain like razors against battered skin. Cloaks and scarves offered poor protection once soaked through, and when night came they nursed nipped fingers and noses with potions made from fire. Hoping no worser challenge lay ahead, knowing they'd wasted their only bombs on creative frostbite prevention.

The storm rolled in off The Waking Sea, over the aptly-named coast, tore through the northern lands, south over Calenhad, before easing as it passed into central Ferelden. While it raged the roads were all but abandoned. Even the guard posts shuttered; soldiers fled en masse to find a better shelter to ride it out. They'd be no help to travellers until the skies cleared. Whatever misfortune befell those mad enough to push through was between them and their gods.

Northern Ferelden's rocky, uneven, topography did not lend itself well to drainage; storm runoff collected into dozens of streams that carved the hills to ribbons. Cliffs collapsed into landslides that piled rock and silt into narrow passages, making travel through them slow and arduous, while rivers already swollen with spring meltwaters surged well beyond their floodplains and washed away larger sections of road, forcing travellers off the beaten path and into unmapped wilderness.

The woods had their own dangers to contend with. Wolves and druffalo, emboldened by an early spring, on the hunt for food and mates; bears stumbling out of hibernation; bandits watching the alternative routes for easy pickings, and the ruins of long, forgotten, settlements overrun with demons of Despair and Rage. Getting through without a fight was a challenge in its own right. Once forced off the main road the party moved with great care — slow and quiet — with Sera sent to scout ahead while Ellana was buffered between the others for protection.

It made for tedious travel, but they avoided most fights.

On the ground Sera and the warriors could handle their own, but Ellana could not run the battlefield and nimbly dodge attacks the way she once did. Over the month she'd grown considerably — gone were the days a thick cloak could disguise her curves — she could barely bend down. Getting around at all had become difficult, a confrontation was out of the question. She was tired, and slow, and too easily out of breath; the time away losing more meals than she'd enjoyed had taken a toll, too. A day of travel left her bruised and cramping, ready to drift into uncomfortable, broken, sleep and start it all over the next day.

By the end of the second evening they'd wasted so much time fighting inclement weather, packs of wolves, and flooded roads that they were running almost a day behind schedule. Every morning started late, evenings came early, and hours were lost searching for somewhere safe (and dry) to pitch the tents at night. Once they passed Lake Calenhad and made the choice to head toward the surer Gherlen's Pass over Sulcher's, even at risk of losing the extra time, morale was beginning to suffer.

Everything was waterlogged, the rations were poor, and the few clean clothes they'd left with were all caked in mud — from boots to bags. With hypothermia an ever-present threat they could not chance a quick dip in one of the glacial rivers to wash it out, so they soldiered on in increasing discomfort, biting tongues and cheeks to keep complaints to a minimum out of respect for the stress they'd all been under.

It was a mistake to leave early.

No one said so directly — not out loud, at least — but it was quietly understood. Delaying their leave just a few days could've made a world of difference.

On the third morning, half a day's ride out of the mountain pass, the rain finally began to ease up. Ominous black clouds became an almost pleasant grey and what fell from them amounted to irritating mist more than torrential downpour. However, by the point the storm had done such significant damage that its passing offered poor comfort to weary bones.

A suggestion of taking shelter for a day was broached — find a protected outcropping or old cave and clear it out. Bed down for a night, maybe two, until the road was in slightly better shape… but the idea was flatly rejected.

Ellana had veto and no intention of losing any more time. She wouldn't hear of it.

Every idea they brought forward thereafter was nixed. Regardless of how delicately a suggestion was made, how broad or vague, if the intent was to improve the party's mood or overall health through this final push she was sure to turn it down without a discussion.

By mid-day she wouldn't even entertain conversation about the schedule.

Or any conversation at all.

Riding instead in stony silence through the morning and answering any comments directed to her with shrugs or nebulous, vague, noises. Worse, she refused to allow them a stop for food even hours after a break would normally be called. When they argued, she could only repeat what had become a constant refrain: "no stops, no breaks".

At first no one challenged her; they all wanted to get there as fast as possible, but the looks that passed between the party contained less and less sympathy as the journey wore on.

It was Sera who finally broke.

Soaked, starved, and miserable in clothes she'd not washed in nearly a week's time, she took advantage of her position as scout to deliberately lead the party astray. Redirecting them due north of the road until they arrived at one of the few rivers not destroyed by flooding. There she dismounted, tied her hart to a nearby tree, and dropped her pack on the ground without a word of explanation.

Right behind her, Cassandra and Bull exchanged a look of unspoken agreement, then did the same.

Only Ellana remained on her hart. Confused, she led it to the river bank next to where Sera sat pawing through her belongings. Pulling out soiled clothes and collecting them into a pile.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Why've we stopped here?"

"I need to wash my things," Sera said simply. Curtly. She did not look up from her task.

"We can do that when we arrive, where there are better resources. We're not— we're—" Ellana looked around, trying to get a bearing on their location relative to Orlais' border. She tightened her jaw. "This river runs from Lake Calenhad. We're half a day from the road to Orzammar, which puts us maybe two thirds from Jader if we push on. Riding straight through we might get there before midnight. Earlier if we cut through the hills."

"Why the fuck would we cut through the hills?!" Sera was losing her patience now. A hundred small burdens had grown into a mountain of misery and she was done hauling it with her. She left the pack and stalked over to Ellana's hart, splashing through flooded grass, and took the reins from her hand with a sharp yank. Tied the lead in a knot around the nearest tree, yelling all the while, "We're not crossing into unmapped wilderness just to shave a few hours off! I'm not eager to add 'broken leg' to my list of issues after one of the harts falls of a fucking cliff trying to get us around another landslide! What possible good would come of trying to make this journey even more perilous? Are you not tired enough of trudging through this shite? The roads only just started to improve now that we're inland, and it's going to go to shit all over again once we get back up by the coast. So why don't you explain to me why it's worth trying to kill ourselves to gain three damned hours?"

Ellana offered no explanation. Just clenched her teeth, and cast her eyes aside.

"No answer? Right. Because this is stupid, that's why! Nobody wants to be out here anymore and if it was up to anyone but you we'd have taken shelter two days ago to wait it out. You've got some fucking hard-on for pain, apparently, so we've all been along trying to make the hardship worth it! Being stuck in the house was awful, you wanted out, I get that, but tearing headlong into a storm with no plan and fuck all prepared is not the answer." She pointed to the ground. "We're fucking stopping. Right. Here. Even if it's just for a few hours, we're stopping here. I need to wash the mud out my clothes and eat a proper meal and you need a rest. Obviously! The only reason I haven't just sacked you over the head and forced it on you is that Cassandra might do the same to me." Her eyes flicked over to Seeker, who had opted not to join the argument and instead stack river stones in a circle on the embankment. Clearing an area to launder the clothes. "Might not even care at this point, I can probably outrun her."

Bull joined Cassandra on the shore. Leaned over the water and dipped a hand in, testing the temperature. "A little chilly, but if we can find somewhere nearby to set up a fire we can heat up a pot and use it for a spit bath."

Ellana looked between them all, her mind running a mile a minute trying to find a way to pull it back. Rank had done little to sway the argument in her favour, her veto had expired, so she tried a different track. "We're so close," she plead, and kept her voice even. "Don't you want to get somewhere warm and dry?"

"Yeah, I do, that's why we're stopping here." The pile of clothes sourced from three of the four packs was separated into piles — bad, and worse. The latter was carried over where Cassandra knelt and dropped at her feet. Sera wiped her hands on her pants, but they just got muddier. "I've camped in this area before: there's a few caves up the way." She gestured west, downstream. "Just our luck it'll be full of spiders or some crazy bear but that's better than pushing on."

Ellana slid from her mount, stumbling a little when her balance was thrown, and put a hand on her pack tied to the saddle. As if to protect it from Sera. If it stayed belted no one could argue she'd given in and joined the work. "Just think of how rewarding it will be to track mud onto Vivienne's clean floors," she said. "Let that be your motivation."

"Nope. Not working. Save your breath."

"Imagine pristine white marble sullied by a long trail of footprints."

Sera sat down on one of the large, flat, rocks at the edge of the river. Pulled off a boot and dunked both it and her foot into the water. Once she'd scrubbed away enough dirt to see the water run clear she started work on the second. Beside her, Cassandra and Bull had begun to beat the laundry against the river stones.

Ellana was not making headway. At best, they were ignoring her.

She sighed. "Please."

The sincerity of it raised Cassandra's head, but she was not so moved to stop working. The look she gave her was closer to pity than annoyance, however, which seemed like progress. "I agree with Sera. We will rest here. You, especially, should take advantage of the opportunity. You've not taken a break since yesterday and if you continue on like this you will only harm yourself."

Bull chimed in, "We'll wash out the clothes, find some shelter and get a fire going. Get cleanish, eat, sleep, and start again in the morning." A large chemise — in much better shape than a few moments earlier — was wrung between his hands, then laid out on a rock nearby. Later they'd be hung to dry from the branches of sheltered trees, or on a spit posed near the fire. "Fed and rested we'll be in much better shape. We can get there by mid-afternoon tomorrow."

"No!"

It came out like a sob, and the sharp breath that followed after caught in her throat. It was unusual for her to crumble so easily — even considering recent struggles both physically and emotionally — for a moment that had drawn their attention. All eyes turned to her.

"That's… I cannot just…" Words had failed her, and the excuses were wearing thin. A steadying breath, and she tried again. "I just can't wait another day. Jader will be safe and private and Solas is there waiting by now… I'm so close I can taste it. This whole thing is nearly over and it feels like it's inches away. You can understand that, can't you? I'm sorry I've pushed you so hard. One day I will make that up to you, I can promise that. I will have whole new sets of armour made or cakes baked or some recreation time pledged or something. Anything. Whatever you need. Just please get me there before tomorrow."

Bull was looking at her strangely. A deep and curious frown knit his brows. When he opened his mouth to speak she was sure he'd seen through everything and was about to call her on it… but Cassandra cut him off before he had the chance.

"He is not there."

All the colour drained from Ellana's face. "What?"

"He's not there. Solas has not yet left Skyhold," Cassandra repeated. "He will not travel until we've sent word. It was assumed, correctly, that the journey from the safe house may be delayed. We had no way to predict the date of your arrival, there were too many variables. Before we left Skyhold Leliana asked that we send a raven via the nearest Inquisition camp only once you had been settled. All of house staff has been dismissed for the duration of your stay, so one of us will stay behind with you while someone gets the message out—"

"Not it," Sera said, raising a hand.

Cassandra pressed on. "Once it arrives, Solas and — presumably — the midwife will set off from their respective locations. I'm not sure where she is coming from but I assume it is nearby. She may even be waiting at Skyhold as well."

Ellana looked a mix of horrified and furious. Lost.

Now Cassandra was staring at her too.

When her lips parted to reply she gave only a choked, sick, gurgle. Weeks of sharing space had taught them all well of her patterns and inclinations, so Sera turned away to spare herself another front row seat to the eruption. But when Ellana crumpled against a tree and doubled over it wasn't to empty her stomach — it was to try and catch her breath.

It had suddenly become very hard to slow it.

She was panting, then gasping, then crying. Muttering to herself in a quiet, panicked, steam of babble interspersed with Elvish curses near incomprehensible to anyone else.

Cassandra was at her side before she'd even seen her moving, the soaking laundry abandoned. A hand touched upon her arm, delicate, as though she thought the comfort might shatter her. "It will not take him long. A few days, at most. I know you have missed him terribly…"`

"That's not— I need…" she began. Then choked on the words. Trailed into silence, sucking a breath through clenched teeth.

It was the second time she'd done so since they'd stopped.

Cassandra's hand slipped away as understanding dawned. "You're in labour."

Ellana squeezed her eyes shut and gave no reply. There was no need for one. It was writ in every part of her from the tension in her jaw to the fist dug into her thigh. The line of sweat on her brow no one had noticed in the rain.

She was in pain.

"What?" Sera was on her feet. "What d'you mean? That's not right. That can't be right." She was angry, as if a joke had been told and she had unwittingly become the punchline. The pitch of her voice rising with every step she took. "You said Bloomingtide! That's what you said! It's not Bloomingtide yet!"

This was a promise made and not kept. No answer was given for the disparity.

Sera pointed a finger at her chest, now shrill with undisguised panic. "Not even five days ago you said weeks. Weeks! A month!"

"I know what I said!" Ellana yelled back, and sucked in another trembling breath. A silence hung, brief but heavy, between them all while they watched her struggle to stand upright.

"You haven't eaten all day, you've barely spoken, only to push us forward," Cassandra was saying. She was putting all the pieces together now. "You would not even call for rest. It's been hours. How long since it started?"

Two more careful breaths — in and out — then Ellana held up four fingers.

"Four hours?" Bull this time.

"Days. Since the sneezing," she said shakily.

Cassandra blinked. "The what?"

"Sneezing," Ellana repeated. Then growled, frustrated, and tried again. Spinning a hand in circles as she struggled for clarity. "When it looks like I've, 'sneezed my smallclothes'. She said that meant it would be soon."

Somehow she'd managed to impart something close to understanding. "That was before we left. Why would you not have us remain there? Why would you not say anything? We would not have travelled if we'd known the risk was this great!"

"I thought he'd be there waiting! I thought all I had to do was make it there and everything would be fine!"

Bull swore softly. He turned to Sera. "We need to find shelter," he said, and firmly. "We need to move her somewhere safe that we can warm up quickly and keep dry. Better if sound won't carry too far. You said there were caves near here?"

It was not immediately apparent if she'd even heard the question. Her eyes darted back and forth between Ellana and Cassandra, frantic, trying to find an anchor to hold on to.

Bull snapped his fingers in front of her face — "Hey! I need those caves" — and she lifted an arm and pointed vaguely westward. He gave a nod of thanks, then immediately set to work pulling out the soaking clothes from the pool made of stones.

"We can't stay here," Ellana pleaded. Fear had sharpened her voice to an edge. "We have to keep going."

Cassandra checked Ellana's pack, tightening the straps that secured it to the saddle of her mount. "How far apart are the pains?"

"They were all over the place until this morning. Maybe five or ten minutes."

"Is that close?" Sera exclaimed. Not quite a question. "How close is that?"

"Early," provided Cassandra. She untied the mounts from the trees, gathering the leads in a single hand. "It means we have time to prepare."

Something changed. Some knowledge gained, or confidence found; a goal decided. And Sera's expression suddenly hardened. She glanced between the harts, considering each in turn, and then without warning stole the reins of Ellana's out of Cassandra's hand and leapt onto its back. With a firm tug she turned it around, back in the direction they'd come from, and wrapped a loop of slack around her wrist for support.

"What are you doing?" Ellana made to take a step toward them, to intervene somehow. She had to stop this before everyone made the choice for her. It wasn't too late. She had time.

But Cassandra took hold of her elbow and pulled her back.

The hart snorted softly as Sera kicked it into a trot. "He should be here," she said. "There are two camps between this river and the foothills. They have horses. If I go by relay I can reach Skyhold in just over half a day. I can send help."

"No, wait—" Another step to close the distance. Ellana reached for the reins, but Sera pulled away. The hart reared up and kicked its feet.

She repeated, "He should be here."

"We'll move downstream until we find one of the caves," provided Bull. "We'll aim to stay as close to the river as possible — make it easier to find."

Sera nodded firmly. And with a final, meaningful, look at each of them, she took off. Back to the road. To Skyhold. At such speed she was out of sight in seconds.

By the time Ellana found the strength to cry out, she was already too far to hear her plea.