A/N: I might start updating this twice a week because I have so many chapters already done...I'm at like 26 right now. So...I know I have a few follows! Thank you! But of course you know the best author reward is always reviews. I like to hear if I'm doing well...or badly. Like if the chapters are too long, I'm out of character, or...whatever! So, don't be afraid to drop me a line!
Three
Distraction, Deflection, and Humor
"The Qunari are deeply entrenched in the Elvhen library," Abelas reported, his eyes narrowed and his lips pinched thin. "They have been activating eluvians and exploring faster than we can keep up with them."
Abelas' voice echoed through the narrow corridor. The pale stones, ancient and brittle now, left a streak of white on Solas' fingers when he absently brushed them over the wall. They were in a sheltered part of the watchtower, shielded from view by a magic barrier that took the shape of a mural of Fen'Haral.
"We are too few to push them out," Abelas went on behind Solas. Green veilfire lit the room, hanging suspended without braziers, cast by Solas' own magic. The room remembered him, as so much did in Revasan.
"You recommend retreat?" Solas asked without turning to look at the sentinel.
Abelas sucked in a quick breath and Solas knew the other man would be squaring his shoulders, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say—something Solas wouldn't apparently like. "It is either retreat or duplicity, Fen'Haral. You excel at the latter. I do not understand why we have not yet enlisted the help of the Inquisition."
Solas closed his eyes for a second before a small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth and he pivoted to face the sentinel. "I cannot expose my connection to this place."
The other elf shot him a look of disapproval. "You have let your connection to the Inquisitor hamper you and it would destroy us."
"The inquisition cannot be trusted," Solas shot back hotly. "It is already infected with Quanri spies. We could not trust them to fight the Quanri here. It would lead to disaster."
"Do you not hear yourself?" Abelas asked with a shake of his head. "The Qunari have seen you fighting here. We could not have killed every one we encountered. Word will have reached them and the Qunari inside the Inquisition will make the connection if they haven't already. That has already compromised your identity within the Inquisition. The truth will come out. It is only a matter of time. A short amount of time."
Abelas paused, his glare cruel and cold and everything Solas had dreaded—because it carried the weight of truth. "You should not have returned to her this time. You have only yourself to blame for putting her in danger."
"The Qunari reached the Crossroads on their own," Solas said, losing his temper enough to raise his voice. "Halamshiral is the seat of power in Orlais and all of Southern Thedas. And the Qunari fear the Inquisition's power and the Inquisitor's Anchor. They would have targeted both regardless of my presence."
"Then you have no choice, regardless. She is already involved." Abelas' stare was full of challenge. His forehead still carried the vallaslin of Mythal. He'd rejected Solas' offer to remove it. He and the other sentinel elves who'd woken in the temple of Mythal had almost all joined Solas, hoping to restore the glory of the People's past. However, Solas held no illusions as to whom they really served: Mythal. But in his day Solas had been her closest ally before she was murdered.
Of course the primary reason the Evanuris had turned on Mythal was for her close association with the Dread Wolf. He suspected Abelas and the other sentinels understood that, but they also knew Fen'Haral had been in contact with Mythal since waking and they likely assumed he had her support, a belief Solas was happy to foster. Yet none of that guaranteed trust or even friendship from the sentinels.
"I have no desire to bring more death than is necessary to this world," Solas said, speaking slow and in a wary tone. "We have not exhausted our options yet."
A muscle in Abelas' jaw feathered, snapping taut, but he stayed silent. The two Elvhen mages stared one another down, waiting to see who would flinch first. Long, tense seconds passed as Solas felt his magic rumbling inside his core, ready to strike Abelas down if the sentinel made any sudden moves. He'd killed ruthlessly before, despite the preciousness of each Elvhen who'd woken from uthenera and joined his cause. To keep control of his own forces Solas knew he'd kill again without hesitation—but the thought still pained him like a knife into the chest.
Finally Abelas sighed and lowered his gaze. "I must be honest, Fen'Haral. It is a mistake not to use the tools at your disposal."
Solas had lost count of the number of times he'd cursed himself for sharing his thought of somehow using the Inquisition against the Qunari infesting the Crossroads. During his three months away from Skyhold he'd thought of contacting Ellana through dreams, claiming he'd been investigating eluvians on his own and had discovered the Qunari plot. But it seemed farfetched and, worse, he'd realized the ancient magic scattered about Revasan and the Crossroads would constantly react with and charge the Anchor. It'd enter meltdown and kill Ellana. He'd obtained and enchanted the stormheart arrowhead to test that and discovered the Anchor was incredibly sensitive, even to minute amounts of Elvhen magic. The only way to save her life would be to reclaim the Anchor himself and that would naturally bring on some…unavoidable questions about who he really was.
Not to mention Ellana might not believe his story. Once she started down that road of doubting him it wouldn't be long until she discovered the truth. And the Qunari had to know he was "an agent of Fen'Haral" by now. They'd never believe he was the actual elf who'd inspired the legends, but they recognized a leader when they saw one.
"The Inquisitor is not a tool to be used and discarded," Solas said, his voice cold and hard. "She is my ally, just as Mythal was. Would you suggest I endanger Mythal if she still lived?"
"That shem elf is not Mythal," Abelas countered with a growl. "Do not debase my goddess."
"She was no goddess and it is not an insult," Solas murmured, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He gnashed his teeth. The memory of the loss still cut him, sharp as needles stabbing into him. "And I should not have to remind you that we are all shem now."
"We will be restored," Abelas said, unbothered by Solas' reminder that he was mortal now too. "The world will be remade anew. Is this no longer your goal, Fen'Haral?"
"I would see it restored," Solas affirmed, his voice deep and grating with his subdued rage at Abelas' earlier impertinence. He wouldn't fight with the sentinel over Ellana's virtues, as much as he wanted to. Abelas was a reflection of himself three years ago, before he'd joined the Inquisition. Abelas didn't interact with the waking world's humans or modern elves and dismissed their value, disregarded their sentience. Until the sentinel saw otherwise on his own there was nothing Solas could do to convince him of the truth.
"Yet you hesitate," Abelas challenged him.
"I have seen the cost of my actions before. I would not repeat the same mistake without being certain of the outcome." Turning away from Abelas, Solas flicked a hand toward the short stair leading up to the magic mural that hid the room they were in. A green lash of his magic crackled, dissolving the mural when it made contact. Golden sunlight lit the stairs from the setting sun outside and crisp air rolled in. "We are finished with this discussion," Solas said. "I will aid you and the others in escaping. I know of a safe hold in the wilderness. And I will visit you in the Fade tonight."
"But you will not join us at the safe hold?" Abelas asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"My absence will have already been noted at Halamshiral," Solas admitted with a slight frown.
"Will you leave the eluvian to Halamshiral active?" Abelas asked as he walked for the stairs, the armor on his legs making a clinking sound as he moved. "I may need to send someone to you if the Qunari—"
"No," Solas cut him off. "I will not leave Halamshiral so easily accessible. The Qunari could invade through the eluvian and kill the Empress." They ascended the stairs and paused at the railing, staring out over the green, forested hills. If the sun was setting here in Revasan, the freed slave sanctuary, Solas knew it'd be well after nightfall at Halamshiral.
"And if we encounter an unforeseen danger or require your guidance?" Abelas asked. "We cannot spare you in this time, Fen'Haral."
"I will be in the Fade and Halamshiral has dozens of our spies," Solas said, dismissing Abelas' concerns with an impatient wave of one hand. "With the eluvian I will never be far away, physically."
Abelas sighed and frowned, clearly displeased. "As you say, Fen'Haral." He started to turn away, heading for the stairway circling further up the tower, but Solas reached out and caught his elbow.
"Abelas," he said, his voice quiet and low with threat. "Do not test my patience." He hoped the warning and his accompanying glare carried his deeper meaning: Do not make me kill you.
The sentinel dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "Fen'Haral enansal."
They climbed the watchtower, passing ancient murals painted by freed slaves and willing servants of the Dread Wolf. At the top, standing beside an active eluvian, five other Elvhen mages and sentinels stood in shining armor in shades of silver, gray, and black. Solas stood out as the humblest dressed, lacking any outward armor. Three of the five waiting beside the eluvian were sentinels from Mythal's temple in the Arbor Wilds. The other two were arcane warriors, mages who'd served Solas before uthenera.
"Mathrel, Lyris," he called to the arcane warriors. "Do you recall the way to Hellathen Hamin?"
Lyris, the more talkative of the warriors, answered, "Yes." Her voice was deep for any woman, brooding with the promise of destruction to any who stood in her way. She and Mathrel had trained like siblings from an early age, always fighting in a cohesive unit. "Is the eluvian active?" she asked.
"Unlikely," Solas replied, tucking his hands behind his back like the commander he was and had been in ages past. "I will activate it when we reach it. You should be safe there from the Qunari."
One of the sentinel elves, a nimble and lithe rogue with brown hair, said, "I will not flee before these fools. I wish to fight. They cannot take the Crossroads. They cannot despoil Elvhenan."
The other sentinels shifted on their feet and Solas didn't miss the fire in their eyes. He stayed stiff and stern, watching them with narrowed eyes. The problem with Mythal's sentinels was their willingness to die for the cause. They were courageous and determined, honorable to a fault, but they'd never win against the Qunari or the waking world with their current attitude. They'd just die, accomplishing nothing. Even over two years mingling with his own Elvhen—and a few of the more talented modern elves he'd taken in—had yet to temper their enthusiasm for self-sacrifice.
"Arina," he said, addressing the rogue. "There is no honor in fighting a battle you cannot win. The Qunari are ants and their blades are unworthy of your blood. Save your life—and your death—for something greater. The world we remake must have Elvhen to populate it."
"I am the weakest," Arina said, jutting her chin out with pride despite her words. "If there must be death, it should be mine." Solas knew she wasn't referring to physical strength when she called herself weak. She was the only rogue in this group, but had the Veil not hampered her connection to the Fade she would've been a mage. Still she possessed enough magical talent to Fade step, making her valuable and unique enough to convince Solas to keep her here.
"I ask no sacrifices," Solas told her, his expression stern but his voice soft. "The Elvhen have sacrificed enough. Fight if you must, but you are not defending the temple any longer. This is a not a war, but a hunt. We are not an army, but a wolf pack. Each individual lost is a great wound and weakens the whole."
He sensed rather than saw Abelas nodding nearby with approval. Of all the sentinels Abelas had been the one to most easily grasp Solas' teachings. Freethinkers were always the best lieutenants…and also the most dangerous.
"Fen'Haral enansal," Arina said, bowing.
"Come, we must—"
An explosion cut through the air, the shockwave hitting them from somewhere below. The ancient stones of the watchtower quivered under Solas' feet and the world started to tip hard to the left.
"Through the eluvian," he yelled.
"We are under siege," Abelas shouted. "They fire from on the lake!"
"Go," Solas ordered, gesturing for the eluvian. The tower groaned from the impact of the explosion that'd hit somewhere below them, tilting further to the left and knocking the elves from their feet as they scrambled for the mirror. Solas hesitated, letting the sentinels and the warriors spring for the eluvian first.
Abelas was the last through and he paused a moment to look over his shoulder, a panicked expression in his eyes. "Solas!"
How amusing that he uses my true name now, Solas thought as time slowed with his own mind and body's reaction to the explosion and the inevitable fall of the watchtower. He used Fade step to surge forward, bumping into Abelas and pushing him through the mirror and careening in after the sentinel.
He spilled out on the other side, white dust over his robes, catching himself like a cat landing on its feet as the song of the Crossroads once more sang into his ears. His breathing slowed and his heartbeat gradually stopped drumming in his ears. All of his people had made it through onto the black rock of the island in the Crossroads and now stood about, eyes wide and faces flushed with their near death.
Finally Mathrel spat off the edge of the island into the void. "Fuck those Qunari shem."
Lyris laughed at him, slugging him in the shoulder.
Taking a breath, Solas spoke, "Enough." The other elves, including the warriors, sobered and stared at him, waiting and tense. Solas reached one hand to the eluvian behind him and with a green glow from his fingers it went dark. "It would appear the situation is…volatile." He felt shaky, as if he might collapse, and his stomach clenched at the realization that he couldn't return to Halamshiral just yet. "We cannot allow the Qunari to gain a foothold in Revasan."
"The Crossroads should be our main concern," Abelas disagreed. "The Deep Roads lyrium mine is of a greater threat as well. Revasan is not worth our lives."
"Agreed," Solas said with a nod. "But the Qunari now have three nests. We will never eradicate them at this rate and we are too few." He scowled, thinking hard.
"We cannot lose control of the eluvians," Abelas said, the words a growl.
Solas shot him a glare. "We will not lose them. I will die before I allow the Qun to enslave Southern Thedas."
Abelas nodded, approving again, and Solas knew what the sentinel would suggest before he spoke. "The Inquisition."
Feeling their eyes on him, Solas nodded slowly. "But it must be done carefully. I must think on how to accomplish it."
"We don't have much time," Lyris reminded him.
"You are correct," Solas told her. "Lead on."
"Where?" she asked. "Hellathen Hamin? But the Qunari will probably just follow us there too. They followed us to Revasan."
"Yes," Solas admitted with a mild frown. "After four months. I will see to it they are wiped out before they have a chance to follow."
"You intend to summon a greater force?" Abelas asked, his expression wary.
"In time," Solas said, deliberately vague. He kept his full plans hidden from different factions so that none of them could betray each other fully, allowing the network to survive such calamities. Abelas didn't know what Solas had set in motion in Tevinter, and his lieutenants in the Imperium likewise knew little of the struggle in the Crossroads.
He motioned across the void to a nearby, unconnected island. "For now, we must move."
The Ferelden ambassador had a pockmarked complexion and a gaunt face that only contributed to his weasel-like look. He'd spent the last twenty minutes with a group of Orlesians, chatting as they sipped wine from elegant glasses. Ellana and Sera had taken up position behind a corner, tucked into an alleyway between a blacksmith and a small marketplace. Here they were just out of earshot and sight, but they knew eventually the Ferelden ambassador would have to pass this way to return to his chambers in the guest wing of the palace.
And when he did, Ellana had a crème pie with his name on it.
Ellana wore the servant garb of the winter palace while Sera held a large round tray loaded with tins of crème pies and a few spare bottles of wine and glasses. That way they could appease thirsty nobility who wandered by seeking refreshment or refills. So far none of them had asked about the crème pies, thankfully.
"The little people here are weird," Sera said after they'd caught up. "Everyone's…happy."
Ellana reclined against the wall in a position where she would be able to see and hear movement on the path from the balcony overlook. "That's a bad thing?" she asked.
"Oh stuff it," Sera grumbled with a wave of her hand. "You know what I mean. No one's asking for a Jenny. The bigwigs are still punching down like always, but no one wants to stick it back to them." She shook her head, her straw-colored hair flowing with the motion. "It's not right. It's like down is up. White is black. Not the way the world works."
Ellana recalled the proud gait of the servant who'd unpacked her saddlebags and nodded. "I think I know what you mean."
She crossed her arms under her breasts and winced, suddenly realizing they were tender. Of course they are, she thought and resisted the desire to roll her eyes at herself. She'd bounced between shock and denial over the last few hours since Josephine had spoken with her about Vivienne's suspicions, which had since become her own suspicions as well. As much as she hated Vivienne's arrogance and shallowness, Ellana realized she was going to have to thank the Enchanter—assuming the other woman did keep her mouth shut.
And she still hadn't been able to find Solas. Elgar'nan's breath, where are you?
"You're doing that thing again, Herald," Sera reprimanded her with a sidelong grin. Then she mimicked Ellana's sour expression with an exaggerated frown. "We're supposed to be having fun! Can't be all gloom, all the time, always. Else you'll turn into droopy ears."
Ellana chuckled under her breath. "Funny you should mention him."
"Innit?" Sera asked, suddenly stepping forward, moving the tray of pies, glasses, and wine from her lap so she could edge close to Ellana to speak conspiratorially. Her brownish eyes glinted in the dim light cast from a nearby lantern outside the tavern. "Saw him out here earlier. Skulking round. Some servant, another elfy-elf like him, came by to see him."
Ellana stared at her. "What?"
"You heard. Could be droopy ears doesn't want to be found." Her expression was angry but as Ellana simply stared at her, confused and stricken, Sera backed off a step and gave a nervous giggle. "Or could be he's in the palace waiting on you, same as you are with him. You know, what do I know? Shite is what."
"What…happened?" Ellana asked, trying to swallow the sudden painful lump that'd formed in her throat. "What did you see exactly, Sera?"
"Nothing, really," Sera said quickly, hands raised palms up. "Just the same elf stopped and said hello. Just for a minute."
"Did he leave with her?" Ellana asked and cringed at how tiny and frail her voice sounded.
"I didn't see him leave," Sera said with a shake of her head. "And I saw her still round here after you got out from your fancy-pants dinner. So…no."
Ellana let out a relieved breath and then frowned, reaching into her neckline to play with the arrowhead again. Of course Solas hadn't run off with some stranger. But where had he gone then?
"He's probably sleeping," Sera said as if she could read Ellana's mind, her nose wrinkling. When she spoke again it was clearly meant to be mocking Solas. "Spirits are people, save the demons, the Fade is awesome—all that shite."
Despite the weight of worry still pressing on her, Ellana let out a long, loud laugh at Sera's imitation. When she'd caught her breath she said, "I wouldn't be surprised if he is somewhere causing trouble like that. He didn't want to come here."
"But you made him?" Sera asked, eyebrows arching as she grinned. "Go you. We should crème pie him when we see him for making you worry."
Ellana laughed again before averting her eyes and staring at her shoes. "More than you know."
"Oh yeah?" Sera asked, moving closer, invading Ellana's personal space. "So tell me."
Ellana hesitated, staring into Sera's brown eyes as her heart suddenly seemed to be thundering in her ears and pressure building in her throat. She wanted to unload the weight of it to someone—anyone—but she knew that person should be Solas first. Yet, maybe she wasn't pregnant. Maybe she'd made a mistake with the timing. If she'd been with the clan she could have consulted them for guidance, seeing one of their healers. But here she could trust no one outside of her Inquisition and of her inner circle Sera was the crudest and she was another woman and an elf. That made Sera the most likely one to talk to about this…
Chewing her lip for a second, Ellana took the plunge. "I'm—well, I might be…" She drifted off, choosing a gentler way of saying it other than pregnant. "…with child."
"Get off," Sera said, reacting immediately. She took a step back, her mouth hanging open as she stared at Ellana. "Droopy ears? I didn't think he had it in him." She flashed a goofy grin and giggled for a moment before sobering at the sight of Ellana's uncomfortable frown.
The Dread Wolf take me and my big mouth, she thought, grimacing and fighting the urge to cover her face with one hand, as if she could hide from Sera and what she'd just done.
"It's all right," Sera said, reaching out to touch her shoulder with a reassuring little squeeze. "This is a good thing—unless you think it's not. Then it isn't, I guess. Is that arse biscuit hiding from you? Cause of this?" She poked a finger at Ellana's flat abdomen.
"He doesn't know," Ellana murmured, trying to smile. Her face was still aflame.
Sera squeezed her shoulder again, trying to cheer her up. "You watch. He'll show. And when he does? We have a pie just for him." She mimed throwing one of the tins and made a noise with her tongue between her lips. "Splat." She laughed and Ellana found herself able to chuckle too at the mental image.
"Thank you, Sera. I needed that laugh." She searched with her eyes quickly around their little alley and the empty corridor and outside the tavern beyond it. The night air was humid and warm, full of the promise of plenty from high summer. Drawing in a breath, Ellana gripped Sera's hand on her shoulder and said, "Can you keep this just between us for now?"
Sera's lips curled in a crooked grin. "Right, yeah. Not a word."
At that moment they both heard the crunch of grit beneath an approaching person's feet and Sera hissed through her teeth, stifling a laugh. Ellana leaned out and recognized the Ferelden ambassador's skulking frame drawing closer.
"It's him," she whispered and Sera scrambled to pass her a pie.
Ellana hefted it, feeling the uneven, lumpy distribution of crème in the tin and edged further out as she prepared to aim and fire. The ambassador walked with his head down, watching his feet. Ellana whistled to make him lift his head and then launched the pie. It smacked onto his face and he stumbled back with a comical yelp, fists flailing as he lost his balance and fell over.
"Run!" Sera said, grabbing the tray.
Laughing so hard her cheeks hurt, Ellana charged after her out the other side of the alley and into the darkened courtyard beyond. They heard a mixture of shouts and laughter behind them as the other nobility reacted to the ambassador's hilarious misfortune.
"That was good, yeah?" Sera asked, still breathing fast after their sprint. They crossed the courtyard, moving to the gardens to shelter in the dark behind a wall. "Eat it, you snobby cod."
"I think we should pie him again tomorrow night," Ellana said, grinning. "And every night of the summit."
"Frigging yeah!" Sera pumped the air with a fist, grinning. "He'll be pissing himself thinking there's a pie round every corner." Then, giggling harder, she asked, "Wait, do you mean Fereldy guy or daddy droopy ears?"
Ellana snorted and elbowed Sera in the ribs. "You know who I meant, Sera."
"Right, daddy it is then," Sera quipped and sniggered, dodging Ellana's next playful swing. The pies, glasses, and wine bottles on her tray slid off onto the concrete with a clatter and splat. A voice called out with alarm and Sera hissed through her teeth, "Run!"
In every scenario Solas considered, he lost. It was an unwinnable game, a quagmire. He'd faced a decision like that before—when he created the Veil.
He watched the moon rising into the summer sky, above the cracked and crumbling walls of Hellathen Hamin. It was almost full, bright and milky and beautiful, making him think of Ellana's skin. He heard the others behind him murmuring around the crackling campfire they'd lit and smelled the remnants of the rabbit they'd caught and prepared, seasoning it with wild herbs. They'd passed around mushrooms and a few other vegetables they'd harvested in the hours since arriving as well. The food rejuvenated Solas and he'd hoped for a clearer mind as he withdrew from the others to stare at the sky and consider his predicament—but no easy answers came.
He needed to sleep to access the Fade and communicate with his people in Tevinter, but though his body was heavy with fatigue his mind wouldn't stop spinning with possibilities. All of them ran into nasty roadblocks. He approached the Inquisition for help and Ellana discovered who he was and hated him. He did nothing and lost control of the Crossroads and eluvians. He wound up being unmasked as Fen'Haral and made an enemy out of the Inquisition, or Orlais, or Ferelden, or all of them and found himself fighting the entirety of Thedas head on. And then there was the most likely scenario—Ellana died when the Anchor overpowered.
He knew he could save her life, but it wouldn't be pretty. She wouldn't thank him for it if she knew the Anchor might remain stable the rest of her natural life, assuming she avoided ancient Elvhen magic. But Abelas was right that he needed to bring in help if they were to regain control of the Crossroads.
"Fenedhis," he cursed, scrubbing at his face in frustration. There had to be a path with an acceptable solution.
A small rustle behind him made Solas tense, twisting to glare over his shoulder. When he saw it was Lyris he relaxed, letting his guard ease slightly. "Lyris," he greeted her with a gentle smile and a dip of his chin.
"Dread Wolf," she answered, also smiling. She had a thicker frame than Ellana, made muscular with centuries of intense training, though she was leaner now than she'd been before uthenera. Fortunately the long sleep had not claimed her white-silver hair. She moved with the grace of a cat, but with greater force and speed. Cassandra had often reminded him of Lyris after he'd joined the Inquisition.
He looked to the moon again, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, smelling the rich, earthy scent of the overgrown ruins. "Have you come to advise me, falon?" he asked.
"Would you listen if I did?" she asked.
"Nothing is certain," he replied, turning his head just enough to make eye contact, smiling at her. "But you will never know unless you try."
Lyris sighed. "Two beings cannot inhabit a single body."
"What of demonic possession?" Solas quipped, smirking over his shoulder.
"One being's will always overpowers the other," Lyris said. "You suggested I advise you. Will you not even hear it without mocking?"
Solas sighed, scowling. "You are saying nothing that has not already occurred to me a thousand times."
"Are you Fen'Haral or Solas?" Lyris asked, edging closer.
"I'm unsure that I have a say in the matter," Solas answered, continuing to stare forward at the moon. His chest ached with pressure growing from within. He wished he could release it with a keening howl like a real wolf, calling to his missing heart and cursing the harshness of the world he'd created that threatened to separate them.
"The Dread Wolf doesn't have a choice?" Lyris repeated and scoffed. "Fen'Haral of Revasan. Rebel and slave-freer. You have always fought to free the People, because it was what was right and it was your choice to fight. When did you become trapped? When did you submit? The wolf I know would chew off his own leg first."
Solas gnashed his teeth together. "You do not understand," he said, his voice rough with anger. "The elves of this time remember Fen'Haral as a monster. They do not remember Solas, but a trickster, a traitor who sundered them from the Fade so completely they no longer remember the world is incomplete. They remember the Evanuris as gods despite everything I fought for. The Dalish have taught me I cannot control how I—or my actions—will be remembered. None can."
"So you will give in?" Lyris asked, the words full of her disbelief. "What was the meaning of it all if you give up now? What was the point of surviving, of remembering Elvhenan?" By the time she fell silent Solas could hear the thickness of tears in her throat, though he knew she would never shed them.
Solas pivoted to glare at her. "I have not given up," he snarled, glaring daggers at her. "I will never give up." He hesitated, taking a moment to breathe, calming himself. "I merely mourn for what must come next."
Lyris narrowed her eyes, searching over him for a moment before she said, "If the Inquisitor truly cares for you she will love Fen'Haral as much as Solas. And if she does, she might ally with us. She might be a shem-elf, but she's still one of the People. So why do you hold back?" When he averted his gaze and turned back to the moon, Lyris grunted. "There's something else, isn't there?"
"Leave me," he ordered. "I must think."
With a sigh, Lyris walked away from him, the grasses rustling as she retreated to the fire. Her words stayed with Solas, echoing in his mind: So why do you hold back?
Because I cannot bear to betray her and risk losing her.
The morning of the first day of the Exalted Council found Ellana lying sprawled on her enormous bed, drooling on her luxurious silken pillows. Then the knock at the door came as knuckles rapped against the paneled wood. She groaned and sat up, her hair askew and loose in its braid. The room spun a little when she tried to sit up, so she relaxed again and grimaced at the foul taste in her mouth as she closed her eyes again.
The knock came once more, making her remember why she'd woken in the first place. Tugging the covers up over herself—she slept in just her breast band and underthings—she called out groggily, "Who is it?"
"I've brought you tea, your worship." It was Josephine's voice.
Ellana crawled out of bed, grabbing the robe she'd hung up on one of the bedposts, and wrapped it over herself. "Come in, Josie."
The ambassador hurried into the room, fully dressed and balancing a tray with a small teakettle and teacups. She set it down on a little end table near the entrance and then knocked the door shut quickly as she turned to regard Ellana with a tight, worried expression. "How are you feeling, Inquisitor?"
"Tired," Ellana grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "And like I really want that tea. And a bath. And breakfast." She shuffled to the tray and poured a cup. The ginger smell made her sigh with enjoyment. Sipping it made her eyes flutter shut with pleasure. "This is delicious."
"I'm glad to hear that," Josephine said and cleared her throat. Ellana finally noticed the way the ambassador seemed to anxiously shift her weight from one foot to another, wringing her hands.
"What's wrong?" she asked after she'd downed the tea. She moved to refill it, shivering as the heat in her belly spread out.
"Leliana reported to me very early this morning," Josephine said and winced. Her face seemed to be stuck that way, as if she was in pain. "She said there are rampant rumors in the servant quarters about your…condition."
Ellana almost choked on her next sip. With suddenly shaking hands, she set the teacup onto the tray and turned to gawk at the ambassador. "What?"
"I don't understand," Josephine blurted, her eyes wide with barely restrained horror. "We've only been here a day. The servants shouldn't be able to guess anything handling your laundry or personal belongings, and other than feeling faint yesterday…" Her eyes roved over Ellana, silently questioning her.
Ellana laid a hand over her stomach and hunched over, groaning. "I'm going to kill that girl."
"Oh," Josephine said, almost squeaking. "So…you told someone…?"
"Fen'Haral's balls," Ellana cursed. "Fenedhis. Dammit." The tea seemed to be climbing up her throat. She breathed, trying to soothe it. Everything will be okay…
"Well," Josephine said, sounding calmer. "This is somewhat of a relief. I had feared this meant Madame Vivienne had turned against us. Now it would seem it is…merely your own indiscretion working against us."
"I am so sorry, Josephine," Ellana said, covering her face with both hands and groaning. "I was just so desperate to talk to someone and Sera seemed like…"
"Sera?" Josephine repeated. "Oh, no. Maker help us."
"I just…" Ellana's eyes started burning with emotion and she sniffed, struggling to hold them back. She pressed her thumbs to her eyes and then fanned her face, still trying not to vomit at the same time as she tried holding back her tears. "I couldn't find Solas. He's just gone and I needed to confide in someone."
"You couldn't find Solas?" Josephine repeated, appearing surprised.
"No," Ellana cried and suddenly the first tears were falling. She gritted her teeth and flicked them away. "He was just…gone." She sucked in a wet, thick breath, recomposing herself.
"I will put all of our people on alert looking for him," Josephine said, reaching out and gripping Ellana's shoulders. "We will find him. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's well. Everything will be fine, Inquisitor."
Ellana nodded, squaring her jaw and swallowing the last lump of stubborn tea and bile down her throat. "Okay…I can do this." She offered Josephine a wan smile, returning her grip with one hand. "Do you have any advice for me?"
Josephine bit her lip a moment and then said, "Don't tell anyone else. Don't confirm the rumor. Remember you are above it and this does not affect the summit. If any of the politicians try to use it against you personally, I will try and deflect it. Distraction, deflection, and humor. Remember those and you will do fine."
Distraction. Deflection. Humor. Ellana repeated it in a mantra as she washed and dressed for the council. Her breakfast was an assortment of fruits and pastries that she ate with gusto only to lose her appetite halfway through and reject the rest of her plate. Her abdomen felt heavy and tight now that she was aware that she might be pregnant.
Might be? Mythal's mercy, denial much?
She listened to the birds chirping and the distant sound of conversation and laughter from the courtyard, willing herself to be strong when she walked through the halls and sat on the council to listen to Divine Victoria and the ambassadors argue about the Inquisition's future. And as soon as they took a break she swore she was going to find Sera and flay her alive.
A masked herald escorted her to the council chambers where she sat next to Josephine, who smiled pleasantly at her. Ellana didn't miss the steaming teapot at her table with a teacup waiting. The smell of ginger tickled her nose.
Right, can't have me getting sick in front of the politicians.
"Inquisitor Lavellan," the Orlesian ambassador greeted her with what she hoped was a genuine smile. With his mask on it was impossible to tell, but his voice seemed warm. "How good of you to join us. How are you feeling?"
Ellana stared at him, her lips curling into a feigned smile as she scanned Cassandra and that weasel Arl Teagan, the Ferelden ambassador, sitting next to her. Had all of them heard the rumor by now or was he reacting to old news of her feeling faint yesterday? Cassandra had an innocent, blank look on her face and Ellana guessed the former Seeker had no clue. She'd never been one to listen to gossip—unless it came from Varric of course. The Ferelden ambassador looked like he'd bitten into a sour grape, but was that because he was judging her or because he'd caught a glimpse of who'd thrown the pie at him last night?
"Very well," she replied to the Orlesian ambassador. "And you?"
"Very good," he replied and glanced to Cassandra. "Shall we begin, your holiness?"
Distraction. Deflection, Humor. I can do this.
Next Chapter:
"I'd much rather continue this at a later time," Solas protested. In truth he had plenty of time, but he didn't want to spend any of it dealing with Dorian and his bizarre quest to force him and Ellana into matrimony.
"No such luck, I'm afraid," Dorian answered, teasing his mustache with one hand for a moment as he grinned. "Now, you simply must tell me. Are the rumors true?"
"What rumors?" Solas asked, terse and unconcerned.
Dorian, oddly, froze at Solas' innocent question. Staring at Solas, his lips pinched and his eyes narrowed, he was speechless for several long heartbeats. Finally he let out a quick, high-pitched guffaw. "You haven't heard?"