Three Years Later
Solana stirred the coals of the campfire, moodily staring into the glowing flames. The stew she had prepared bubbled cheerily in its pot, the scent of warmly spiced meat drifting over the campsite. She glanced up as her hound lifted his head from his paws. She laid a hand upon his back, brushing the coarse hair, and missed her old, long dead mabari, Skhol.
A tall, slender young woman coalesced out of the gathering gloom that came with dusk. She laid a brace of rabbit upon a stone and lowered herself to sit beside Solana.
"How many?" Solana asked.
"Snares got four, I shot the fifth on the run."
"Alveros will be happy with the break from deer."
"Yeah." Wynne leaned back on her elbows, crossing her long legs at the ankles.
"Happy birthday." Solana picked up the wrapped gift and handed it to her daughter.
Wynne's lovely face beamed with a smile. "Wow. Thanks." She eagerly unwrapped the silk ribbon and linen wrappings and lapsed into silence. Her mouth was open in a small oh of surprise.
"I thought it might be useful," Solana said softly. "I carried it with me for a long time and it served me well."
Wynne studied the dagger, the etchings on the hilt, the jewels embedded in the quillions. "It feels heavy." She pulled it from it's heavily tooled leather scabbard, battered and stained with old blood.
"Yes." Solana nodded, and stared down at her hands linked tightly over her knee. The dagger had belonged to Alistair. He had given it to her before their last foray into battle together. It had spilled the blood of many darkspawn before and since. The decision to give Solana the dagger that had belonged to her father had been one she had struggled with, but watching her daughter's face as she studied the play of light over the sharp blade, she knew the decision had been made correctly.
"This is great. Seriously great, Mum." She looked up at Solana, her blue eyes bright with pleasure. She launched herself forward as she hadn't done since she was a child and wrapped her arms around Solana's neck. "Thank you." Her voice was muffled as she buried her face into her mother's shoulder. Solana was startled at first, and then wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her close.
"Ahh, it's alright." Solana murmured into the rich golden blonde strands covering her daughters head.
They returned home at first light, the hunting trip part of Wynne's birthday present. The estate house was quiet, the coiling smoke of the fires being prodded to life drifting from the chimney's. Mist swirled across the ground, shifting and coiling as the two women swept across the muddy ground, their cloaks wrapped up against the chill of the air.
Solana stilled. There was a carriage in the stable yard. She narrowed her eyes. She didn't recognise the insignia.
"Take these to the kitchens. It looks like we have guests." Solana handed Wynne the brace of rabbits she carried. "Maybe take the hounds to the woods for a while. I want to be sure who it is."
"Alright." Wynne frowned at her mother, but did as she was bade. She headed for the kitchens, her long stride eating up the distance.
Solana strode up the stairs to the main doors. Two guards stood at attention.
"Who comes?" she asked the one on the right - Malcolm, she recalled his name.
"'Tis Commander Cullen Rutherford and Bann Trevelyan, my lady."
Solana stilled. The Inquisitor and her husband came here? She narrowed her eyes. No one in the capital had bothered her in years. "Thank you."
The doors opened and she strode within, the ragged hems of her cloak sweeping the flagstone floors.
She could hear the sound of voices in the lesser hall and knew her guests waited for her within. She glanced down at her hunting leathers. Tough. She wasn't expecting visitors and she sure as hell wasn't going to make them wait while she had a bath and changed into clothing suitable to meet the current darlings of Ferelden.
Solana paused outside the room, took a few calming breaths. She would greet them politely, give them a report and see them on their way. They would never have to see Wynne. She nodded at the footman who opened the door and she strode in, stripping her gloves from her hands.
Evelyn Trevelyan stood as Solana entered. Solana winced at the contrast they provided. The elegantly clad Inqusitor she knew by reputation only, and had heard tell of her loveliness. Nothing had prepared her for the force of nature that stood in her lesser hall. She was exquisitely dressed in a robe heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread. The scar bisecting her brow did nothing to detract from the direct, intelligent gaze from those grey eyes.
Slower to stand was her companion and husband, Cullen Rutherford. Solana inwardly smiled. She had once kissed him in a rash moment after her Harrowing. He had stumbled over his tongue, stuttered and fumbled his way through speaking to her. It would seem he had changed his mind about mages in the years since he had condemned all her kind. Marrying one and all.
"Solana Amell," Cullen was the first to speak, a smile curving his lips.
Solana resolved to be distant to them both. She wanted them gone. "I was not expecting guests. I'm afraid I have only just returned myself."
"Yes, from hunting." The sharp gaze of the Inquisitor regarded Solana thoughtfully. "I would not have though the Arlessa of Amaranthine would have need of such things. And with bow and arrow too."
"I no longer practice magic," Solana said sharply. "And I am Arlessa as an honorary title only. The true command of this region comes from Vigil's Keep."
"Where you also served as Warden Commander." The Inquisitor lifted a dark brow.
Solana crossed her arms over her chest, lapsing into silence.
The Inquisitor and Cullen shared a puzzled glance. Still she did not speak.
"Have you been well?" Cullen ventured, breaking the silence.
Solana tamped down on the instinct to be friendly. For all their reputation, they seemed warm. She couldn't risk it.
"You have come this far to enquire after my health?"
"Hells, Solana," Cullen snapped. The Inquisitor laid her hand on his arm. He covered her hand with his own. In a quieter tone he said, "We are travelling north of here. It was requested that we take a small detour to find out how you are going."
"Requested by who?" As if she didn't know.
"His Majesty was concerned that he had not heard news of Amaranthine in a few months."
"No he wasn't," Solana was blunt. "I send reports through my seneschal. And I imagine Vigil's Keep is prompt."
They shared another glance. The Inquisitor sat back down, her lips twisted in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.
"He said you were stubborn," she drawled.
"To say the least," Cullen added.
"But…" The Inquisitor leaned forward, "He didn't say you were this unpleasant."
Solana blinked, and recovered. "I wasn't aware 'pleasantness' was a requirement of the nobility."
Cullen grinned then. "No. It really isn't. And the hero of Ferelden has earned the right to be a little tetchy."
"I'm not…tetchy." Solana scowled, knowing full well that she kind of…was. She glared at the ground, unwilling to meet the curious gaze of her two guests. The stone was worn smooth from thousands of feet. A gleaming grey and brown that reflected the light from the fireplace. Bloody cold in winter though. She found her calm again. "How is he? His Majesty, I mean."
The reply came from Cullen. "Oh. He's alright." The reply made her glance up, so hesitant was it.
"What's wrong?" Solana asked, her hands white-knuckling on her biceps.
"It's his uncle, Bann Teagan," the Inquisitor said softly when Cullen hesitated again. "He is quite ill. The Bann was waylaid by bandits on his way to Redcliffe after visiting Denerim and was left to remain out in the elements for a couple of days. When his carriage was discovered, he had been unconscious for goodness knows how long. His Majesty is very worried."
Solana's fingers twisted in the fabric of her shirt, and she had to struggle to modulate her voice into the cool unconcern she had to adopt. "My sympathies. Bann Teagan is a good man."
"Very good," Cullen agreed. "The whole castle went into deep mourning when his wife Katrina passed of a fever last year."
"Oh. I didn't know." Solana winced. She hesitated and finally relented. "I suppose such an event makes a man, even a King, concerned for the welfare of old friends."
"Exactly," Cullen confirmed with relief. "That's just as it is. He cannot come himself, but he trusts us to report back that you are hale and hearty, if not…tetchy."
Solana gave a small smile despite herself. "You have gotten a sense of humour in the past sixteen years, Templar."
"And you lost yours, Mage." Cullen grinned at her, taking the sting from the tease.
"The Grey Wardens aren't known for their sense of humour," Solana tried to keep her lips from twitching again.
"It must be all that dour righteousness."
"Speak for yourself," she snorted, finally breaking into her first burst of laughter.
The Inquisitor watched the exchange with amusement in her eyes.
"Join me for dinner," Solana said. "Our table is simple, but tonight we have fresh rabbit. Our snares were full."
"Thank you." The Inquisitor smiled. "Have you somewhere I can wash up?"
"You can make use of our guest quarters." Solana glanced at a footman who nodded. "Erik here will show you the way. I need to wash up. Dinner will be at seven. Please take a walk in the grounds if you wish, I have some business to take care of first."
The Inquisitor walked arm in arm with her husband through the sprawling gardens that had been turned over for vegetables and fruits. Few flowers remained, as the garden beds were being set for winter.
"What do you think?" she said softly.
Cullen shrugged, releasing her arm to wrap his around her waist, drawing her against him with easy affection. "She's different. Not so honest and open."
"A lot of time has passed," she observed.
"True." He nodded, and paused. "She won't go to Denerim will she?"
"No. I don't think so."
"And no longer practicing magic?" Cullen frowned. "Can you do that?"
"With a great strength of will, you can. And I believe that Solana Amell has nothing if not great strength of will."
"To go from being a rival for the First Enchanter in power, to this? Hunting with bow and arrow?" Cullen was dubious.
"She must have had great reason for it." The Inquisitor shrugged.
Cullen rumbled something unintelligible and they walked in silence for a time, skirting the house to look over where the woods approached the stream some thirty metres away. Cullen stopped, his eyes narrowing. His wife placed her hand upon his chest, stilling his forward movement.
"Who is that?" His voice was barely above a whisper, as though it would disturb the vision.
It was a girl, mayhap sixteen. She was tall, slender with tumbling golden blonde hair. She was walking with three hounds over the bridge toward the house. She was dressed in hunting leathers. Solana's hair had turned white when she was still a young maid, but for that, she was the image of Solana when Cullen had first met her on his transfer to the Circle of Magi.
"Just a daughter of one of the servants, perhaps?" The Inquisitor suggested hesitantly.
Cullen hummed.
As the girl drew closer, Cullen drew in a sharp breath. The Inquisitors hand curled into a fist on his bicep. The girl glanced at them both with bright, clear blue eyes that were the very image of very sad eyes they had looked into just recently.
The girl nodded, bobbed a jerky curtsey as though the gesture were one she had been told about but rarely practiced. "Sir, ma'am." And without waiting for a returned greeting, continued on, the hounds bounding ahead to the stables.
"Is that…" The Inquisitor let out the breath she had been holding.
Cullen stared after the girl. "Maybe we are mistaken? It could just be coincidence?"
"Fifteen or so. Blue eyes. Image of her mother." The Inquisitor commented drily. "Lot of coincidences."
"Do we tell him?"
The Inquisitor drew her hand over her face, scrubbing uncertainly. "Is it really our place?"
"You know what's happened."
"Still…"
"But Solana…"
"Maybe there is another way…" The Inquisitor rested her head on her husband's solid shoulder. "Maybe."