Everything was so… cloudy.
It was like a mist had settled over the world, not matter where she was.
Her eyes traced the spots of stars on the dark walls of the hallways, knowing them as lanterns but watching them bleed like light in a sky.
Her leg throbbed like a dull ache of misery in her chest, painful and present. But she was too tired and no longer able to fully appreciate the sensations it could cause.
The servants that were carrying her were whispering loudly, and for moments she thought them the same as the whispers she knew from the Fade, the ones that had been begging her for hours.
'Sleep, sleep, let us take all the pain away.' They had promised, and never had she thought herself so willing to temptation than now, when everything was covered in mist and the energy was sapped from her body.
But then she would see visions of Despair and Terror's dead eyes and gaping mouth, jerking awake again with harsh and unstable clarity.
"Solas—" The call for him was instinctual despite knowing he wasn't there.
Light erupted around her and ceilings changed and suddenly she was falling, body hitting something solid.
Her head dropped on wood unkindly, the sharp pain of it snapping her eyes open to the sight of being set on a table in a room flooded with lamplight and crowded with people.
"How simple that was—The Herald of Andraste."
The voice rang in her ears, the tone of it shaky and croaked.
Ellana's eyes flickered lazily about the room, seeing nothing but man servants with black eye masks.
Another came forward, his clothing odd and sharp, and his face uncovered.
He bent low to the table, smiling at her in an odd fashion. "Not so glorious now, Herald?"
She shifted, brows drawing in confusion. "W-Who are yo—"
"Lord Edmond took the other one to the parlor in the center chambers." A manservant spoke and the tone of everything being said was sending hot red uneasiness seeping into her skin.
"Good, we only need enough time to ready her for travel."
"Are we not to mend the leg?"
"No- we'll need to stop the blood from draining enough to kill her. The Elder One wants her alive. But a broken leg makes it harder to run."
Elder One.
What was happening? They had come for sleep—for rest… Solas was to fix her leg… Everything was mushing together with her weak memory and she felt herself distantly writhe on the table.
"What should we do with him? The one that came with her?"
"Does it matter? Kill him."
No.
No, no, no, this was all wrong. All wrong – Solas had said they were going to the city for help. For healing! For sleep! They had finally made it—they were supposed to help!
"Solas!"
"Grab her arms please—bring the laudanum."
The hands on her were forceful and now her mind was awake, eyes wide and trying desperately to see through the haziness of her pain. "St-stop! Wait! Who are—"
The unmasked man was handed a dagger, the metal of it glinting brightly in her vision as he stepped forward, slicing it on his open palm.
Blood magic.
Corypheus.
Venatori.
"Can't we take the other one for ourselves?" The manservant insisted and the Venatori blood mage sneered at him angrily.
"You aren't here to make a profit, Slaver—you are here to help with the job I give you."
The manservant's jaw snapped shut with a glare.
"Go kill him, then come back to help take her to the caravans."
"Don't! Solas!" She tried to scream and failed to her tired voice. Her hectic twisting was halted by hands holding her down. She tried to draw some sort of magic, anything, but a thick dampened cloth of repugnant odor was shoved forcefully into her mouth.
Her tongue hit the wet fabric instinctively and the bitter taste was repulsiveness enough to nearly make her vomit.
Her mind was screaming as she tried to fight the arms that held her, to create any magic, to run, to shout for Solas.
But she was so—so tired—her magic had been long gone since closing the Rift. She hadn't had any rest, and the pain of her broken bone had taken anything left of her own physical strength.
And then everything in her vision split in two.
Her eyes jarred and everything went slow, as if drowned in water.
Someone pulled the cloth from her mouth, the taste of it still seeping into the crevices of her teeth, moist drool spilling from the corner of her numb lips.
Laudanum.
"Sss—oo…" She tried, hands scraping pathetically across the table. "So-lassss."
She couldn't feel anything, the thick weight of her skin dragging her to thud back onto the table.
"Unwrap her leg—I need to see the wound to apply this spell—"
"Please, if it is the same to you Lord Aradeau I would prefer to speak later."
Solas kept his voice tightly calm, but made sure his eyes held his persistent authority.
"Believe me, I understand your worry for your Inquisitor, but I thought it imperative we talk first." Aradeau motioned toward the entryway of the parlor and Solas proceeded inside despite his impatience.
"I only want to make sure you know of my hospitality…"
He said nothing, preoccupied with running his eyes over the room.
The mansion was ornate, as all Orlesian things were. But it was still so shockingly darkened. Perhaps due to the late hour.
It seemed old as well. Not old in its history, but actually old. With slight confusion he noticed the small parlor table littered with dust and a few pieces of furniture in the corner covered in sheets.
As if no one had been here in some time.
"I am glad to have been thought of in the Inquisition's need. I want you to know that should you need anything, you may only ask it. My resources are plenty."
"Kind of you." He nodded and while the Lord sat in the center armchair, he simply clasped his hands behind his back.
Something was wrong.
None of this tasted right.
His hands were beginning to fist in their utter desperation to go back to Ellana. He imagined her beneath incompetent hands, writhing in pain or fading to quickly spilling blood.
"Please sit—"
He couldn't, he couldn't be polite anymore. And the itch to see to her was growing wild. "No. I must insist I—"
The door opened once more, and servants poured in.
Solas frowned, watching them filter through with their heads bowed, unassuming as they lined the walls. Three—four.
Why so many?
They were all dressed similar to the chauffeur who had fetched them before—eyes in black masks and clothes rich. Males, all of them.
And none of them elves.
His eyes flickered, watching from his peripherals as a servant went for Lord Aradeau, speaking in hushed tones.
His fingers tensed lightly, the weight of his staff on his back apparent.
When the first attack came, he was ready for it.
It came from behind, a thrust of a dagger from someone who had lunged.
His barrier took the blow, a loud crack of sound as his mana repelled the pathetic attempt backward.
His staff was in his hands in seconds, its weight twisting with his pivot as he turned, magic ripping away from the air into him in a fell swoop.
The staff twisted, the heavy head of it coming forward to smash straight into the first attacker's skull.
Blood spurted from their mouth as they hit the ground and the sight of it only fueled the fire fanning beneath his skin.
His aura pulsed, emotion unlocked and unchecked as a hand thrust forward to grasp the souls of the three other false servants by the walls.
His rage ripped open the pockets of the Fade, a swirling void of space that yanked their bodies upward to the ceiling. He collected them there, felt the traces of energy through their limbs, and cradled it in his fingers before smashing it with a flicker of movement.
He heard their screams die as he used his mana to smash them back to the ground.
When Solas turned, the Lord Aradeau was already yelling in horror, backing away from him as the last servant cowered, brandishing a sword with terror in his stance.
"Please! Stop! I can explain!" The Lord called, voice muffled behind the golden mask. "It isn't me—I had nothing to do with this!"
Solas stalked forward towards the servant, the pulse of his mana something thudding at each crevice of the space around, in time with his heavy heartbeat.
"It's the Venatori! The Venatori wanted the Inquisi—"
Just as the servant seemed to think twice, his sword lowering, Solas let his aura pinpoint and condense. Crackling ice erupted on the floor beneath the servant's feet and raced upward. Branches of ice unfurled and coated him to be still, his screams ending as quickly as they began.
The frost breathed through the human, devoured his essence to nothing but more energy to fuel his own willpower. He sucked out anything he could take from him before walking deftly by and allowing the form to crumble, nothing but shards of snow on plush carpet.
The lanterns and pictures on the wall clinked and jumbled as the squealing Lord back into them, his hands trying to grip them in fear.
"Please—wait, wait! I can tell you where she is—" He tried, a hand hurrying to remove his mask and show his upset red face, begging. "I know where they took her—I'll show you—"
"I don't need you to find her."
Solas let his magic sway to a calm halt as his hand lunged out, fingers grasping the pathetic shemlen's mouth.
The man writhed immediately, hands grasping at the unyielding arm.
He wasted no magic, using only the faintest bit of it to keep the mortal body in place while his hand yanked the jaw sideways, dislocating it with a sick pop of flesh and tendon.
The yell of agony was satisfying to know he had suffered. And once that was assured, it was only another quick snap to the left to twist his head off his spine and kill him.
Ellana could do nothing, her mind awake and alert in horror as her head lolled to the side, staring at her unmovable hands as something jerked at her leg harshly.
Move, cast, scream, run—
He mind was begging her body, but nothing stirred. She focused on her limp hands, catching the sight of the braid that rested there. Cole's frayed Lover's knot with bunching hairs and flyaway strands looked like a blurred mess in her drugged vision.
She tried to see past it, to focus on the anchor.
She tried to think of it opening, flaring, and ripping the sky apart to suck the slavers and the Venatori all away from her.
She could feel the dark energy of the blood magic stirring around her; see the flash of it on the shadows of the walls.
Her eyes squeezed shut and she focused on the buzzing of her body and the thick laudanum running through her throat and in her veins. She could feel none of her magic, but she could feel that.
If she just willed – tried—something—
A hot searing pain shot through her, erupting the room in bright white and blues.
Lighting.
Hers—her magic. It was an uncontrolled flare, a weak child's attempt at a cast, fast and unfocused. But it worked, the bolts snapped about the room, stinging her numb skin and burning the Venatori mage away from her.
She used what little distraction that was to pull herself to the end of the table with all her might. Hands shaking, she begged her body for more.
Leaves erupted from the wood beneath her fingers. Keeper magic tickled from her fingers, shy and habitual, but then…
Fire.
It erupted in her pain, in her haze, and her absolute desire for protection and chaos.
Screams echoed in her head and she tried yelling too, but could hear nothing and see only blurred visions of people moving, trying to grasp her but being engulfed in the licking flames.
Something grabbed her leg and she knew she screamed. She knew tears poured from her eyes even if she couldn't hear or feel anything.
Oh Creator's please—
Her vision engulfed in white.
At first she imagined her fire too uncontrollable or the pain that unbearable, but the white void was cool and it seemed to encase the room with… power.
Power—magic, presence—it was palpable even through her addled mind and unfeeling nerves.
The grip on her leg was gone and while the screaming and ringing of sound did not stop her vision seemed to clear.
Solas.
He was there, shrouded in an obscure mist, but there, before her, coming for her.
She tried to call to him even as his pale eyes met hers and his hands grasped her. He pulled her to him and her arms tried to cling back with equal desperation. She felt him pull her close and push her head to his shoulder. Her eyes watched hot white magic sear through figures in the room as he held her.
Everything seemed slow and abstract as if she were in the Fade.
Time seemed as distorted as her vision. Her gaze was wide as she watched, felt Solas' aura and magic light up the room in powerful sunlight. Tingling magic poured from unseen crevices into the Fade.
The slavers and the Venatori burned, their skin cracked and peeled like dried earth and dead leaves. Light poured out from their crevices crumbled them. It ate them away like ash.
It happened slowly, like a dream with no sound.
"I have you, it's alright."
His voice was the only thing clear as she felt his arms lift her from the table.
"Sssoo—"
He hushed her, a gentle pressure from his fingertips graced her face as the last of the bodies fell to the ground and the white lights of his magic faded.
"Venn—"
"No, it's alright—none of it matters right now."
What had he done?
He lifted her gently in his arms, his healing magic a distant caress on her own weakened spirit. She kept the blurry gaze of him in her sights and his pale eyes did not leave hers as they made their escape.
A/N: I imagine Solas keeps the extent of his magical abilities in check when others are around. Even then - have you seen his Firestorm ability at tier three? Holy shit.
Laudanum, for those of you who don't know, is a strong opium that was sometimes used as an anesthetic. Though mostly it was used to get really f**ked up.