A/N: I have like 19 chapters of this already written so I will update at least weekly, on Friday or Saturday depending on my schedule. Also, I'm striving to make this story as fun and lighthearted as I can because angst sucks and Solavellan has more than enough of that in-game.

One

Of Weddings and Tea with Ginger

If the musty smell of the horses didn't make Ellana vomit all over her formal attire in front of Halamshiral's nobility it'd be a miracle. The sway of the horse beneath her and the smell of its sweat and the distant stink of the city's sewage and docks all combined to churn her stomach. She stared forward, her head and shoulders held high, and hoped no one noticed her sweating or paleness.

Fen'Haral's balls, she cursed in her head. What did I eat?

Behind her, over the clip-clop of the horses' hooves, Ellana heard Josephine and Cullen chitchatting about the challenge awaiting them with the Exalted Council. She tried to focus on that rather than her constant queasiness.

"Another parade, another bloody negotiation," Cullen said, whining. She could imagine the snarl on his face.

"Smile everyone," Josephine admonished, her lovely accent like a caress on Ellana's ears even from a distance. "We must be careful how we present ourselves."

Ellana tried to follow Josephine's advice, but she knew it came out more as a grimace. Above them on terraced balconies she saw the Ferelden flag wafting in the wind. Men stood near it, shooting her and her retinue derisive glares. On the other side of her, also elevated above the common rabble, Ellana saw Orlesian nobles in all their silken finery—and wearing masks of course—despite the warm summertime sunshine beating down on them.

Cullen continued complaining: "Why did Divine Victoria call the Exalted Council? She's kept Orlais from bothering us for the last two years."

"At increasing political cost," Josephine reminded him, quick to defend Cassandra. "She's done all she could but the Exalted Council has now become necessary. Orlais would control us. And based on their many marriage proposals they have very specific plans for you."

Cullen groaned and Ellana heard him shifting on his mount. The horse grunted, jerking its head and making its bridle clink. She resisted the desire to twist and look at his disgusted expression. Poor Cullen had been fending off noblewomen's proposals of marriage ever since the ball over two years ago when Ellana had helped save Empress Celene from assassination.

Not to mention reunited her with Briala, Ellana thought, smirking for a moment before she saw an Orlesian noble gesture at her and quickly wiped the expression away.

"Our real concern is Ferelden," Josephine went on under her breath. "They would see us disbanded entirely."

Ungrateful bastards, Ellana thought and sighed. Of course Ferelden wasn't the only one that would happily see the Inquisition disbanded. She'd spent entirely too much time fighting with Solas about just that topic during the long journey here. She'd been fine hearing his opinion on it at first, but as the Exalted Council drew closer he'd become increasingly restless and insistent on it. For whatever reason, Solas really didn't want her to go and his solution had been that she should do Ferelden's job for it by ordering the Inquisition disbanded.

Her chest constricted at the thought that he had so little regard for everything she'd built with the Inquisition. When she questioned him Solas always had the same answer: the Inquisition would become corrupt and he wanted no part of that. Yet that didn't explain his reluctance to take part in the Exalted Council. Shouldn't he be eager for it since one possibility for the Inquisition was that the council might disband it?

They'd reached the gates of the winter palace. With a metallic clink and the whine of its hinges, the pair of guards standing watch opened the gate to admit Ellana and her retinue to the palace grounds proper. Ellana's horse tossed its head, nickering. The mare likely sensed that soon she'd be munching oats in the palace's luxurious stables. At least someone was excited about arriving.

They rode onto the grounds where more soldiers, both Orlesian and Inquisition, awaited them. A masked herald and several well-dressed servants also stood by, ready to greet Ellana, Cullen, and Josephine. The courtyard was empty, its white pavement and cobblestones pristine. Ellana tried not to think about her roiling stomach as she dismounted, fighting off a wave of vertigo at the change of position.

"Welcome again to the winter palace, Inquisitor Lavellan," the herald called out to her. "Greetings as well to Lady Ambassador Montilyet and Commander Cullen Rutherford."

Ellana stayed with her back to the guards, the servants, and the herald greeting her for several seconds, one hand over her stomach as she fought to find composure. She saw both Cullen and Josephine glance at her with perplexed expressions. Once her head had settled again, Ellana pivoted to face the herald and forced her lips into a smile.

"Thank you," she said. "It's a pleasure to be here once again."

The masked herald gave her a little bow, as did the servants. "Inquisitor, if you'd follow me, I will show you and your advisers to the honored guest wing where rooms have been prepared for you." He motioned toward the servants and ordered them, "Please unsaddle the horses and carry our guests' burdens to their respective rooms."

There were three servants, all of them elven. They bowed again and moved forward obediently, not making eye contact with Ellana or her advisers. Ellana started after the masked herald, willing her legs to be steady after the long horse ride. She heard both Josephine and Cullen following behind her along with a small entourage of Inquisition soldiers.

The herald chatted with them as he led them across the courtyard, telling Ellana that Empress Celene and Briala had prepared a dinner for her and her advisers that evening. The thought of eating made Ellana want to groan. Would the empress and her elven lover take more offense if she didn't eat or wound up vomiting after the first few bites? She'd have to ask Josephine.

The rooms provided to them proved spacious and as sumptuous as Ellana would've expected of Orlais. She had a bed big enough for three Qunari to fit in, with a silken bedspread in navy blue, walls paneled in gold and ivory trim and a bathtub larger than one of Lavellan clan's aravels. Cullen and Josephine's rooms were just down the hallway from her own corner suite. She had barely finished touring the room when a knock came at the door.

"Come in," Ellana called, leaving the enormous privy with its bath as the door opened and one of the elven servants from outside bowed to her.

"Your worship," the elf woman greeted her. In her arms she carried Ellana's saddlebags. "Where would you like these?"

Ellana directed her to place them on the bed and was about to make small talk with the elven servant—she couldn't help but notice the woman didn't have an Orlesian accent—when she heard Josephine's voice from the door. "Inquisitor?"

"Yes?" Ellana called. "Come in, Josie."

"Ah," Josephine said as she stepped into the room, taking in the place. "A lovely room, very good." She surveyed the area for a moment before her eyes fell on Ellana and her lips twisted slightly, her hands wringing together with worry. "Are you all right, Lady Lavellan? You looked quite…" She paused, clearly searching for the proper word. "Faint, earlier. Are you ill?"

Aware of the servant behind her still unloading the saddlebags on the bed, Ellana hesitated before bluffing. "I'm fine, Josie. You worry too much."

Josephine smiled, obviously relieved. "Oh good. I had feared I would have to postpone the dinner scheduled with the empress and the marquise tonight." She chuckled. "It would be a most inauspicious start to the Exalted Council if we were to renege on our first important event."

The servant finished behind her and left the room, her gait drawing Ellana's attention. There was something proud in her step and the set of her shoulders that didn't fit with a servant. Must be one of Briala's spies, Ellana thought. As soon as the servant was gone Ellana confided in Josephine. "I am a little concerned I may have eaten something that didn't agree with me."

"Oh, dear," Josephine said, frowning. "I will have some ginger sent to your room with your tea." She hesitated, one hand on her hip. "Will I have to postpone the dinner?"

"I haven't thrown up on my formalwear yet," Ellana said and laughed at Josephine's horrified expression. "So I think there's hope I'll make it just fine through dinner, especially with ginger in my tea."

"Very well," Josephine said and started for the door. "I will see to it at once. But should your health deteriorate, please let me know as swiftly as possible." She shut the door after herself, leaving Ellana alone for the moment.

Mythal's mercy, she thought and sighed. Please don't let me humiliate myself in front of everyone tonight.

She strode to the window, the silken curtains currently tied back to allow the most natural light into the room as possible. She unlatched the window and pushed it open, letting a warm breeze flow into the stuffy air of her chamber. Her view was out into the courtyard where already nobles had gathered, dressed in all their finery for the Exalted Council. Servants flitted between groups of chatting nobles, carrying wine or buckets of decoratively shaped ice that'd no doubt been created by a host of mages hired for just such purpose.

Somewhere in that courtyard Ellana knew Solas would be lingering, likely in a busy corridor where he could fade into the background and eavesdrop. He wouldn't be dressed in the same formalwear as he'd worn to the peace negotiations before Corypheus' defeat, which meant he'd be mistaken by virtually everyone as a servant.

She smiled to herself, knowing nothing could be further from the truth. Her Fade expert, regardless of his humble garb and loner nature, had never been subservient. He had the allure and wisdom of a leader, even if he'd never embraced it. She dug at the neckline of her formalwear until she'd managed to touch the stormheart arrowhead she wore beneath it and ignoring the tingle of magic it set off in her fingers. He'd never given her jewelry before. What had motivated him to do it now?

A knock came at her door then and a voice called out, "Tea for you, worship!"

"You there, rabbit," a man with an Orlesian accent shouted to Solas' left. He turned his head, keeping his expression impassive as he watched an Orlesian noble with a black mustached mask striding toward him. When the man saw he had Solas' attention he held up his slender champagne glass. "We require more refreshments over there on the balcony overlook."

When Solas didn't immediately leap into action, merely continued staring at the Orlesian, the man harrumphed and drew closer with an intimidating swagger. "What are you doing just standing around?" he demanded. "Where is your superior? I demand to—"

"Apologies," Solas said and stood up from his spot leaning on the courtyard wall. "I am not able to help you as I am not a servant in the winter palace. I am a guest of the Exalted Council." He allowed a small smile to twist one corner of his lip as he added, "And a mage." A little intimidation never hurt.

The Orlesian sputtered for a moment and despite the shadows of his mask, Solas didn't miss the man's quick up and down scrutiny, sizing him up. Solas wore robes in gray and green that looked nothing like the usual servant garb worn by the elves at the winter palace. He'd even left on the armband Josephine had provided him to ensure he and many of Ellana's previous inner circle could gain admittance to the palace grounds with little trouble. The armband had the Inquisition's symbol embroidered on it boldly and it was even on Solas' left arm, facing the Orlesian nobleman. Somehow the thickheaded man had still managed to confuse Solas with the servants.

"Oh," the man said, apparently seeing Solas' clothing and the armband at long last. Solas felt sure the man would be blushing with humiliation if his cheeks had been visible. "My apologies…sir." The way he twisted the last word made it clear he couldn't believe or tolerate the fact he had to say something polite to an elf.

Had Solas not been as tense as Ellana's bowstring before she fired an arrow he might've let the man leave without further comment. Instead he let himself chastise the fool. "Perhaps your mask obstructed your view or the heat of the afternoon has clouded your mind, but might I perhaps suggest you think before speaking next time."

The nobleman's lips twisted with a snarl. "Outrageous," he said and turned on his heel, marching away.

A familiar voice spoke up from Solas' right this time, laughing. "I see the last two years haven't made you any jollier, Solas."

Solas didn't restrain the slight smile tugging on his lips now as he saw Dorian approaching him with his usual confident swagger. He arched an eyebrow. "Ah, Dorian. I'm sorry; you're going to have to speak up. Two years later and I still cannot hear you over your outfit."

"That's no excuse. Didn't you know?" Dorian asked, strolling up to within almost arm's length of Solas. He twisted at his mustache as he spoke. "It's Ambassador Pavus now. I'm officially the token Teviner for all of Southern Thedas. Isn't that delightful?"

"I suppose congratulations are in order then. I'm amazed to admit it, but the Imperium finally did something right." He let his smile broaden with a little smug edge to it.

"Yes," Dorian said with a sniff. "But don't say that loud enough for anyone to hear you. My countrymen have quite the reputation at stake what with destroying Arlathan, unleashing the blight on the world, and of course Corypheus and the Venatori." He sighed. "Well, now I've gone and depressed myself."

Changing the subject, Solas cleared his throat. "Were you looking for the Iron Bull?"

"Yes," Dorian said, looking down to his sleeves and tugging on them. "But I already found him and caught up." He flashed Solas a grin. "I'm afraid you can't get rid of me that easily. I actually did stop to chat with you, specifically." He shifted in his spot, surveying Solas for a moment. "Funny how things work out with you and I being the last to leave after Corypheus' defeat. Who would have thought a loner hedge mage and a Tevinter 'spy' would have that kind of devotion?"

Wary, Solas didn't answer right away. He knew Ellana was close friends with Dorian and that had been one of the primary reasons the Tevinter mage hadn't left Skyhold for close to a year after Corypheus' defeat. Eventually he'd been drawn back to Tevinter, though. Ellana missed him a great deal and he had little doubt the two would immediately fall back into their close friendship during the next few weeks as the Exalted Council continued. But now he wondered what Dorian had heard. Had he already spoken with Ellana and listened as she confided some frustration about himself? Was Dorian needling him about his prolonged absence from Skyhold, hinting at disapproval that he and Ellana hadn't made some sort of official commitment to each other, or was it something else entirely?

Did Dorian know the Imperium crawled with Solas' spies? Had he learned of long prized and hidden Elvhen artifacts disappearing? Had he heard of slavers and cruel slave owners being slaughtered—in their dreams—by powerful elven mages?

"Yes," Solas answered with a nod of his head, hoping to convey nonchalance rather than the wary, tight energy he actually felt. "Odd where life takes us."

"How is she?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. "I assume things are well between you."

"Ellana is well," he answered, restraining the relieved sigh building in his throat. Dorian was just after gossip after all. That was simple enough to handle.

"When is the wedding?" Dorian asked suddenly, a mischievous smile spreading over his lips.

Solas frowned. "Dalish do not marry. Wh—"

Dorian scoffed, interrupting him. "Rubbish, man. You're not Dalish. Is it because she is? Sod it all, you've only been together…what? Three years? Four?" He shook his head and scratched absently at his scalp, ignoring Solas' disapproving scowl.

"The Dalish do not marry," Solas repeated. "They take bond partners. But that's hardly—"

"Oh, so when is the bonding ceremony, then? Because you don't expect me to believe Ellana wouldn't invite me." He laughed as Solas looked away, rolling his eyes. "You cannot tell me you haven't any interest in the matter. It must have come up in the years you've been together."

Maybe gossip wasn't as simple or easy as Solas had expected. Crossing his arms over his chest, he jerked his chin in the direction of the tavern where Iron Bull was drinking. "Since you're so keen on this topic, perhaps you can explain to me why you and Iron Bull are not married."

Dorian burst out laughing, nearly doubling over for a moment as he held his stomach. "Oh, Solas, that was a truly wretched attempt to change the subject." He caught his breath and stared at Solas, grinning. "But surely you can see Bull and I are in a vastly different situation."

"Hardly," Solas said, almost snarling. He wanted to lecture Dorian about his relationship with Iron Bull just to turn the tables on the Tevinter, but he didn't want to encourage the other man to continue thinking along the lines of marriage. That and he preferred not to consider Dorian and the Iron Bull sexually. So he tried honesty instead and said, "I'd rather not discuss it."

"It's a surprise then," Dorian said, a glimmer in his eye as if he'd suddenly grasped a tricky new concept. "Ah, I see."

"Excuse me?" Solas asked, still scowling but less with disapproval and now more confusion. Dorian wasn't just toying with him or seeking out gossip—he'd been put on this conversation somehow. "I must have missed something."

"The dwarf," Dorian explained, his brow furrowing. "Varric. He mentioned something about a proposal involving the Inquisitor in front of me and the Divine Seeker." He sighed and shook his head. "I should have known."

"I should prepare to receive more such questions then," Solas murmured, more to himself than to Dorian.

"Probably," Dorian said, chuckling. "And you should learn to answer them better."

Spotting a familiar servant rounding the corner behind Dorian, Solas dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, eager to make his escape. "If you'll excuse me."

"Right, right," Dorian quipped. "Off you go."

Solas retreated with as much speed as he could while also maintaining some dignity. He was ahead of the servant by a dozen feet or so and made sure to slow his pace as he rounded the corner and headed for an alley behind a little marketplace. He cast a look over his shoulder, very briefly seeking out the servant. She met his eye once and then looked away.

In the alley Solas casually leaned against the wall, covertly searching the area for anyone within earshot as he fished a small parchment scroll from his robes. The servant took her time entering the alley, carrying a tray with a bucket containing decorative ice shapes inside. "Ice, my lord?" she asked.

"Ar-melana dirthavaren," Solas replied, narrowing his eyes at her.

She nodded. "Revas vir-anaris."

Extending the scroll out to her, Solas smiled. "Ma serannas."

She ducked her head as low as she could without dislodging the bucket of ice on her tray. He didn't miss her whispered reply: "Fen'Haral enansal."

She walked away, her head high and her gait confident. His brow knit, irritated that despite having infiltrated the winter palace two months ago Lanya still hadn't managed to emulate the other elven servants as well as he'd like. But he knew from personal experience how difficult it was to adjust to this wretched, backwards world they'd woken into. At least uthenera hadn't claimed Lanya's sleek black hair the way it had his.

Not for the first time today he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled to calm the little flutter of panic in his chest. How many times had he told himself he should leave the Inquisition and Ellana? How many times had he sworn to stop being Fen'Haral, falling silent for weeks at a time with his spies, only to return again? Whatever choice he made, Solas endured the hot stab of shame and guilt that tore into him.

He'd balanced two personas since the fall of Corypheus: Solas and the Dread Wolf. They were different elves now, different men. Mortal and god, he thought with a sneer. Mortal Solas wanted to pledge his life to Ellana, to leave the Elvhen in the past and focus on restoring this world at her side, even knowing it'd ultimately fail. But the Dread Wolf had a will of his own and struggled against Solas, as slippery as a slimy fish and just as desperate to survive. The Dread Wolf wouldn't let him be happy. It wouldn't let him forget that he'd destroyed Elvhenan by creating the Veil and he deserved no happiness for such heinous crimes. Certainly he didn't deserve the love of a beautiful spirit like Ellana.

But he'd always been selfish and every time he tried to give her up it failed. The first time, when he'd taken her to Crestwood after visiting the temple of Mythal, he'd planned to reveal everything and accept her hatred as soon as she learned he was the monster who'd destroyed the People and their world. But the thought of her turning away from him hurt too much—it still made him feel as though he couldn't breathe thinking about it even now. So he'd offered a half-truth instead and removed her vallaslin and he'd sworn to give up the Dread Wolf for Ellana. She would never know the truth and he would never have to lose her.

Trouble was the Dread Wolf just wouldn't die. His spies still sought updates. New Elvhen awoke from uthenera and Solas' closest lieutenants always knew where to find and recruit them if they could. Lanya was just one such Elvhen recruit, but Solas had dozens of others—Elvhen who he'd known before the long sleep and even before the Veil. Most of the newer recruits and elves born in this world didn't know who he was on sight, though he'd met all of them in the Fade through their dreams to take their reports and test their mettle. But in dreams he always came as the wolf, an enormous black beast with a multitude of glowing red eyes. It was the monster that haunted the Dalish elves' legends.

Like a lyrium addict, Solas just couldn't give up control of it. He couldn't stop playing the Game.

And now he had to deal with this accursed Exalted Council and it was already such a mess. The three months he'd been away from Skyhold and Ellana had been spent sabotaging the Qunari who'd infiltrated the eluvians and sections of the Crossroads. As much as he hated the Qunari, he had to grudgingly admit they were thorough in their tenacity to understand and conquer the ancient Elvhen artifacts they'd acquired, putting their discoveries to malicious use so fast it'd stunned even him. They had spies in the palace, brushing shoulders with his own. They'd infiltrated the Inquisition as well, despite his covert efforts to root them out.

Fenedhis, he'd seen battlefields that were easier to manage than this.

And in the thick of it was Ellana, his vhenan, with no idea the Qunari had painted a huge red target on her back using her own Inquisition. He wasn't sure yet how to stop them and save her without showing his hand in it all. He'd hoped she would disband the Inquisition or refuse to attend the Exalted Council, but of course he wasn't that lucky.

He sensed a presence nearby and lifted his head, opening his eyes to find Cole now standing against the hall opposite him. "The path forks," the spirit boy said. "One dry, brittle, crumbling. The other dark, overgrown, ugly. The wolf stops, torn, twisted, aching, but time flows on…"

"Hello Cole," Solas greeted him with a warm smile. "Have you helped many people here today?"

"A few," Cole replied, not making eye contact under the broad brim of his hat. "Most are fuzzy here, distracted and…empty."

"That would be the nobility," Solas said, still smiling. He knew how to keep parts of himself shielded from the spirit to reduce what Cole might read from him but doing so took considerable mental effort. It was one of the reasons he'd been avoiding Cole over the last year. Before Corypheus' defeat Solas hadn't been as active in his own spy network, making it easier to hide that aspect of himself. Now the challenges of being Fen'Haral were frequently at the forefront of his thoughts and worries, making them easier for Cole to access. Fortunately Cole's oblique way of expressing things made most people ignore what he had to say.

"I saw Varric," Cole announced, slipping into a more lucid moment. "He still calls me kid." The spirit boy grinned, innocent and sweet as the sentiment he represented: Compassion.

"It would seem the years have not changed him," Solas said, chuckling.

"Yes," Cole said and his eyes fixed on Solas then, seeing him in a way that made Solas' skin prickle and his muscles tense. "Things changing, water pulling in every direction, can't breathe, can't swim, can't let go…drowning."

That would be Solas' fear of losing control over the giant mess that was the Exalted Council. He sighed, closing his eyes. "Please, Cole." He raked his mind, searching for something to distract the spirit with, to redirect his purpose and coming up empty to his shame. His mind brimmed with other concerns: arranging meet ups with his spies, managing his people in the Crossroads, rooting out Qunari operatives in both the Inquisition and the palace's servant staff, and still doing a passable job of being Solas, Inquisitor Lavellan's lover and Fade expert.

Not to mention he had to find a moment to sleep in all of that to make contact via dreams with his agents in Tevinter…

Cole cocked his head to one side, his eyes losing their focus. "They were dead all along. There was no island." Then suddenly he gasped, eyes widening. "Sorrow comes…"

Solas frowned, making a connection out of Cole's last comment, and at that moment he heard the quick tread of steps on the pavement. He recognized Lanya as she rounded the corner, her expression tight and her movements quick and tense. Her blue eyes flicked once to Cole and then she turned away, disregarding the spirit. Like Solas, she knew who Cole was and that he presented no threat.

"Hahren," she said, her words curt but respectful. "A message." She pulled out a small scroll from inside the vest she wore as part of her server's uniform.

Solas took it quickly with a nod and Lanya walked away, returning to her work as a servant rather than an agent of the Dread Wolf. She knew where he'd leave a message for her if he needed to make a reply. They couldn't afford to cross paths and exchange words too often—someone was bound to notice if they did. The last thing Solas needed was for Dorian or Sera or Varric or Cassandra to see him lingering with another elf and report it to Ellana as gossip. With no one but Cole in earshot or watching, Solas read the scroll, finding it in written elven, all but indecipherable to most modern elves and humans alike. Along with the text the writer had drawn a detailed image of rounded barrels that Solas recognized only too well.

Danger increases at the Crossroads. The pack cannot contain it without its leader. The Dragon's Breath must be stopped. Its fire has spread in secret and shadow, through mirrors without reflection, all across the south. Halamshiral as well. The Dragon will unleash its fury very soon. Will the Wolf stand against the Dragon in the coming week? –Abelas

Rerolling the scroll and tucking it away, Solas left the alley with merely a nod in Cole's direction, knowing the spirit wouldn't begrudge him the sudden departure. Abelas was his lieutenant in the Crossroads, fighting the Qunari scourge there with guerilla attacks in Solas' stead. He'd hoped for good news from Abelas but expected bad and of course this scroll met those expectations. Abelas hadn't been able to disrupt the Qunari plans or reclaim the network of eluvians Solas' people had lost. And now Dragon's Breath had moved on Halamshiral and the Exalted Council, just as he'd feared.

The Dread Wolf had found him again, closing its jaws on his throat, but this threat endangered Ellana as well. Solas and alter ego alike had to act immediately.

Marching past the little tavern where Sera was laughing and Iron Bull drinking, Solas made his way into the courtyard with the fountain at the foot of the winter palace's grand staircase. Varric stood near the fountain, speaking with a human. The dwarf's back was to him so Solas didn't hesitate as he hurried past. If Varric noticed him he didn't call out.

Guards blocked the entrance to the palace, their eyes narrowing at him as he approached. "State your business," one ordered him when he didn't veer away to the right or left staircase and upper balconies.

"My name is Solas. I'm with the Inquisition," Solas reassured them, offering a humble little smile. He twisted slightly, letting them see the armband. "Inquisitor Lavellan summoned me." The lie flew so easily off his tongue even he could believe it, but he hoped these guards wouldn't question him or send a servant in to find Ellana and confirm his story with her.

The glint of amusement in the guard's eye and the curl of his lips into a leering smile told Solas the man had heard his name before and knew of the rumors about himself and Ellana. The guard grunted and gestured at his partner. "Let him in."

The other guard did as he'd been ordered and Solas thanked them politely before heading inside. He made an effort to keep his gait relaxed and his pace unhurried though his skin was prickling and his body flushed with heat. He knew where the palace kept its eluvian locked away and he knew how to activate it. In only a few minutes he would be in the Crossroads himself. He would answer Abelas' question personally.

Unfortunately he expected he'd miss Ellana whenever she emerged to speak with their old friends. She'd be upset, of course, and he'd have to come up with a good excuse for the absence, but he'd worry about that later.

Elven Words/Phrases:

Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris: Fen'Haral's secret greeting. Translation unknown, but "Ar" is a personal pronoun, I. Melana is time. Dirthavaren seems to refer to "the promise" of the Dales, but that could be a modern meaning. Deconstructing it down "Dirth" has to do with knowledge, "var" is our and "en" could be the suffix for plurality so "ours." Revas is freedom, vir is path or way. As for anaris, I have no idea but in "bellanaris" meaning eternity we know "bel" is many so "anaris" would have to refer to the time part possibly? Unless it actually references the Forgotten One by that name? So: I/me time our(plural) promise/knowledge. Freedom path/way (forever?) Maybe something like I Promise Everyone the Path of Everlasting Freedom? Except it's two sentences so I'm stumped. I Promise my Time? The Freedom path [something possibly to do with time]. Yeah, I give up.

Ma serannas: Thank you

Fen'Haral enansal: Dread Wolf's blessing

Next Chapter:

"Don't you feel better, my dear?" Vivienne asked as she sat up and surveyed Ellana, only to answer her own question. "Oh dear, you look dreadful. Are you all right?"

"It's passing," Ellana said, swallowing with an effort and sucking in several deep breaths.

"What ever is the matter?" Vivienne asked with a cluck of her tongue. "Usually this place works miracles."

"I've been feeling…off most of the day," Ellana admitted, wiping again at the slime left by the cheese. "The smell of the cheese is what's bothering me. And the horses earlier."