A/N: A BIG Thank You to my reviewers! (Guest and afeleon276, glad you got caught up!). We've got some funnier moments in this chapter as we begin a smaller arc within that "Elven Rebellion/Revolution" plot where Solas and Ellana are separated. Solas is playing cleanup for the past while Ellana is basically surging forward. And Dorian brings the snark.

Twenty-two

The Black Mirror

For nearly half a day Solas marched his army deeper into the Crossroads, leading the way by Fade stepping smaller gaps and teleporting in a flurry of purple-black flames over the largest expanses. When they encountered islands that had no bridges, no visible way forward at all, Solas crossed the gaps and created a path, willing it into existence with nothing but his own mana and strength. The modern elves close enough to witness this gawked, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Abelas' group was first behind him and for the first two hours of the journey through the Crossroads Solas found the leader of the sentinels behind him, grim and focused. As the army progressed forward Solas and Abelas would stand watch in silence, observing the mages. Then, knowing the way ahead was clear, Solas parted ways with Abelas and checked in with the next group of one hundred, led by Zevanni.

As the most powerful mage in his forces—second only to himself—Zevanni had been the one to carry the foci. Standing near her made Solas' skin prickle, alive with the nearness of the ancient magic. He hoped not to have to use any of its power against the Forgotten Ones, but couldn't risk failure by leaving it behind. Her brown eyes were feral, alight with the promise of the battle to come.

"Fen'Harel," she greeted him from where she stood atop a small hillock on the island her troupe was currently walking across. "Have you come for the foci?" she asked and then, lascivious, grinned at him. "Or did you need release before the fight?"

Solas knew her question was as serious as it was playful. He'd sought her out in Elvhenan before dangerous battles before, eager to lose himself momentarily in the pleasure of another's body, but now the idea made him scowl with disapproval. "No," he told her, blank and to the point. "Give me the foci."

Unfazed by his blunt rejection, Zevanni reached one armored hand into the large pouch at her waist. She grimaced as she produced the foci. It sparked, yellowish magic dancing along her fingers for a moment as she proffered it to him.

Taking it, Solas felt the magical caress and heard whispered words in elven echoing inside his mind. The foci ceased its sparking at his touch, going dormant. It recognized something in him, knowing he was an Evanuris, and at once became obedient.

Staring at it for a beat, Solas wondered for the thousandth time how Ellana had managed to destroy his own orb. Even with the magic mostly discharged from it after not one but two breaches, the orb should have been impossible for her or anyone other than a very powerful mage to destroy. Instead it'd crumbled when she dropped it in the battle after using its magic to close the tear in the breach.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Solas tucked the foci into a hidden pocket inside the wolf headdress he still wore. "Thank you, falon," he said to Zevanni with a nod.

"Why have you been so reluctant to hold it?" Zevanni asked quietly. "You're the only one who can use the damned thing without it scalding you." As if to emphasize she shook out the hand she'd used to hold the orb, discomfort twisting her mouth. When he remained silent she filled in the answer for him. "It's the Inquisitor, isn't it? The foci's magic is like a bad smell and lingers on you." She smirked. "You can't very well climb inside her reeking of the very magic that will slowly kill her through the Anchor."

He shot her a glare, though with the wolf headdress obscuring much of his face in shadow she wouldn't see it. Still, she sensed it well enough and grinned.

Then, abruptly, Zevanni sobered. Her brow knit and her brown eyes hardened. "The sentinels move against us, Fen'Harel. You cannot trust them. The shem-elves are far more trustworthy and lead well when educated. You should kill the sentinels before they can betray us. We don't need them."

"Should they betray us I will end them," Solas promised, letting a cruel, tightlipped smile curl over his lips. "But until then they are a valuable tool when I have little at my disposal."

Zevanni arched an eyebrow and motioned at the mages still filing past on the rock island below their hillock. "So little? Fen'Harel, your shadow grows ever broader over Thedas. Slaves of all races come to my agents in the Imperium. They plead to join us. They beg to fight for you, in your name." The admiration gleaming in her eyes was hot and fierce, a stark reminder of why Solas had so often given into temptation and joined her for sex.

But seeing it in her gaze now only made him look away, his thoughts turning at once to Ellana, remembering the pain in her eyes. Didn't she see that he was protecting her? He wished he could see the same admiration glowing in Ellana's eyes, but knew he never would. Ellana was a beautiful spirit, courageous and idealistic and brimming with hope. It was why he adored her. She would never approve of his darker methods.

"I admire your spirit, falon," he told her, though he knew his voice emerged too stiff. "Hunt well." He meant it as a goodbye, turning on his heel to stride down the short uneven stairs in the naked rock to surge ahead through the void and rejoin Abelas. Yet Zevanni called to him, making him hesitate though he didn't look back at her.

"My second—the sentinel woman, Darae—she's squirrely. If I didn't know better I'd say she was a coward."

"I will check on her," Solas promised and then made his way down to the edge of the rock island and, with a surge of magic that caressed his skin in thousands of needle prick sensations, teleported over the gap. As he reappeared with a flourish, arms spread for stability on the slick black rock of the new island, he heard some of the mages across the expanse gasp and utter oaths to the Maker. He paused for a time on that island, watching as the mages in Zevanni's group continued filing past, searching for Darae.

When he saw Zevanni leave her perch as the last of her troupe passed by, walking over the rock bridge to the next island ahead, Solas frowned to himself. Where is Darae? Fade stepping and teleporting across the gaps, he moved parallel with Zevanni's mages for several minutes, pausing to search. He didn't see her—and, alarmingly, he saw none of the sentinels amidst the mages.

And then, before Zevanni's group had entirely filed past him in this new location, the entire army came to a stop. They stood in clumps and queues, baffled or anxious looks on their faces. Although Solas could guess that far ahead, out of sight around the floating islands in the distance, the front of the army must've come upon a bridgeless gap, his heart started pounding with trepidation. Something's wrong.

Hurrying now, he surged ahead, teleporting as far as his reduced abilities under the Veil would allow—which was still hundreds of meters depending on how much mana he expended. The mages in Zevanni's group blurred past him and the song of the Crossroads changed from a groan to a hum as he streaked forward, blinking in and out of existence at will. When he reappeared near the very front of the army he found Abelas' group of one hundred standing around idly, crammed onto a large island that had three bridges connected to it. A cold sensation started in the pit of his stomach. They had not come to a bridgeless gap as he'd expected. Instead he realized they'd stopped because they didn't know which way to go when faced with two different rock bridges.

But that shouldn't have stopped them. Abelas, like all of Solas' lieutenants, knew the way to the eluvian. Solas had shown them the night before in a dream and escorted them each individually to the eluvian while awake as time allowed over the previous two weeks of preparation. When he saw Var, Abelas' second in command, walking along one of the two bridges leading away from their current island, Solas wreathed himself in purple flames and reappeared on the spit of rock behind the rogue.

He heard gasps and cries from the mages back on the island—which he'd just teleported over in a heartbeat—and saw Var whip around to stare at him, wide-eyed. "Fen'Harel," he said and dropped to one knee, his head bowed. "Ir abelas, hahren. We do not know the way. Abelas directed us to this island and said he had to find you further down the line."

"When?" Solas asked, the single word strangled.

Var raised his head, the worry etched into his features obvious. "Perhaps half an hour ago. He did not find you?"

Clenching his jaw, Solas didn't answer Var's question. Instead he motioned to the other bridge, heading off to the left, deeper into the Crossroads. "Travel along that bridge. We are near the eluvian."

"Yes," Var said and shot upright, scrambling to obey as though he sensed the seething, pressurized mixture of emotions roiling inside Solas.

This close to the mirror Solas couldn't spare the proper time to uncover whatever Abelas was up to, but the dread and rage rising up from his stomach to his chest, making his heart pound, was undeniable. He drew several deep breaths, emptying his mind and idly summoning a faint veilfire flame into his right hand. Staring at it as the mages began walking again, taking the bridge he'd indicated, Solas concentrated on making the delicate tendril of veilfire curl around his fingers, dancing.

Where would Abelas go? What would he do? Why would he do this now? How many sentinels went with him? Was it only Darae and Abelas who'd gone or had all of the sentinels chosen this moment to betray him?

Closing his fist to extinguish the veilfire, he banished the questions as unimportant. He had only a handful of sentinels in this fight. Their absence would not impact the outcome overmuch. As to where they'd gone and what they were up to…

He slammed those questions and worries into a dark space inside his mind, locking them away. The Forgotten Ones would be quick to seize such concerns and use them against him. He'd be vulnerable to their mind tricks and then their dark, twisted magic could infect him physically. After so long cut off from their natural food source—physical suffering and death—in the waking world, the Forgotten Ones would be desperately hungry.

Squaring his shoulders, Solas shot forward over the island Abelas—now Var's mages, actually—were still crossing, teleporting back down the line. Moving in parallel again to the army, he took stock from afar, searching for the sentinels. He found none of them. All of them had apparently managed to slip away. Fury scalded his blood while fear tried to freeze it, making his stomach churn and clench.

This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought as he gnashed his teeth, grinding them together so hard his jaw ached.

But when the line halted again he knew that Var's group in the lead had reached the eluvian now. He had no time to uncover whatever treachery the sentinels had committed, though he could not stop the idea from popping obsessively into his head that this was all about Ellana. Mythal had been communicating with her, with the Dalish, and almost certainly with the sentinels as well. She had opposed his plans when he'd sought her out in dreams after waking from uthenera, but she'd aided Ellana through Morrigan in defeating Corypheus and had been instrumental in convincing so many Dalish clans to join them. Now he suspected the hidden strike had come, right when he could least afford it. This was, after all, just a continuation of Arlathan's courtly Game. Even physically dead, Mythal knew how to pin him as she always had. She'd offered something irresistible with one hand—recruiting the Dalish clans—and with the other she took something away…

Sucking in several long, deep breaths, Solas again made the veilfire flame dance over his hand, concentrating on its delicate beauty. Shaping and controlling it emptied his mind, cooled the fire of rage and eased the icy grip of horror clutching at his throat. He knew the mages could see the odd behavior as they waited, confused as to why they'd halted and now stood in line with nowhere to go and no direction, but he didn't care. He couldn't spare the mental energy as he locked down his thoughts and emotions, stuffing them all into that dark little box in the back of his mind.

After a few minutes he extinguished the veilfire and raised his head, eyes narrowed as he drew on the magic to teleport forward to the max of his abilities. Vanishing with a streak of purple flames, he reappeared several islands away and then Fade stepped over another gap. The mages who could see him gawked and pointed, though after several hours they had to have seen him display such tricks before.

Soon he saw the small, isolated island in the orange-gray void of the Crossroads, the eluvian mounted in the center of it so dark it was black. Var and a handful of other mages stood beside it while the rest of the group waited in a long line on the narrow bridge that connected the island with the next nearest spit of rock. In a mist of purple and black, Solas materialized at Var's side, startling the modern mages nearby into gasping and flinching from his unexpected arrival. Var, however, only blinked with surprise for a moment before bowing his head again.

"Fen'Harel, have you found Abelas?" he asked.

"I sent Abelas and the other sentinels back to Hellathen Hamin," he lied. "I fear the ancient magic in their vallaslin may make them vulnerable now."

Var's brow knit, likely sensing that was a lie. To his credit, however, he nodded in obedience. "As you say, Fen'Harel." He motioned to the mirror. "The eluvian is sealed?"

"Only for the moment," Solas replied and then drew a small blade from another hidden pocket in his headdress. Without hesitation he made a slice over his palm, barely feeling it through the numbness that'd settled on him since calming himself with the veilfire exercise. As his blood, rich and red, began to pool from the wound, he clenched his fist and threw it onto the black glass of the mirror. The glass flickered, the blackness somehow darkening further as the blood spatter soaked into it, disappearing.

An elven mage behind Solas hissed with disapproval. "Blood magic. Maker preserve us."

"A seal only," Solas explained. It was barely blood magic, but even this little trick made his skin prickle as he felt the weight of the Veil strangling his connection to the Fade more acutely. Yet he could not escape the necessity of it. Millennia ago he'd lured the Forgotten Ones to this eluvian and then hurriedly left them inside it, using the seal to trap them and keep anyone else out. Only his blood could open the way now.

The blackness in the mirror swirled, like smoke trapped behind the glass. Solas wove a mild healing spell over his palm, closing the cut almost entirely until only a slight ooze of his blood remained. Using that, he raised his palm to the eluvian and sent a spurt of bluish magic twining into it. The mixture of his magic and his blood, combined with the passphrase that he murmured aloud now in elven, reactivated the eluvian completely.

With a crackling noise the eluvian glowed blue, glimmering just as any other mirror would. Solas stared at it, struggling to feel nothing, think nothing as he completed the healing spell over his cut palm and burned away the blood with a flicker of green veilfire.

"I will enter first," he said, aiming the words at Var though he didn't look away from the mirror. "Follow after me and do not stop." Without Abelas here Solas had no choice but to plunge headfirst into the prison construct with these first one hundred mages. With Var not a mage with the Veil in place he'd be unable to seal the eluvian with a spell from either side of the mirror and the modern elves would almost certainly cringe from the thought of casting a blood magic seal. That meant Solas had to rely on Zevanni or Mathrel to do it when they arrived with their groups.

Pray you have not underestimated them, he thought and then, magic suffusing his body in a warm glow as he reached for his mana core and stroked it for reassurance, he stepped into the mirror.

An acrid scent burned through Ellana's nostrils. Cringing from it, she rolled her head from side to side, moaning. A warm touch lay over her cheek a moment, then started tapping it gently. "Come on, darling, come out of it," a male voice said, soft and affectionate.

She blinked, seeing double for a moment before Dorian's face swam into view. The tension left her body at once, seeing his friendly smile and warm, brown eyes. "Dorian…" She tried to shift, sitting up, but he laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Take it easy, love," he cautioned.

"Love?" she repeated, chuckling hoarsely. "What's gotten into you, Dorian?"

"Well, my concern might have something to do with the fact that when I came through that blasted mirror the first thing I saw was that tattooed cretin attacking you—or so I thought." He sighed and transferred his grip from her shoulder to her left hand, squeezing. "Do you remember what happened?"

Rolling her head against the soft lump under her head, Ellana took in her surroundings with a frown of confusion. She remembered the dark room they'd emerged into, smelling of mildew and stagnant moisture and earth, but she'd woken into the diffuse orange of twilight. Directly overhead she saw the grayish branches of a massive tree, its leaves gray-brown in the gathering gloom. "Where are we?" she asked.

"Outside some charming ruins in the middle of what I think are the Emerald Graves." He shrugged. "Or possibly the Arbor Wilds. Really, all I can see are trees and hungry wild animals out to kill us and eat us."

The weight of the baby in her abdomen pressed uncomfortably against her spine and despite Dorian's disapproving cluck of the tongue she rolled onto her side and sat up. Her head spun, making her shut her eyes until the vertigo passed. "We made it, then," she murmured with a sigh. "Good."

"Your sentinel friends are less than enthused that you apparently told that lackey of Solas' exactly where you planned to go," Dorian said with a smirk. "They also don't seem to like Iron Bull, Rainier, and I. They might like Sera if she'd just stop yapping about how all of this magic offends her so. Then again, we always knew making nice with other elves was never her specialty."

While Dorian spoke, Ellana took in the rest of her surroundings and saw the other enormous trees growing nearby, their branches tangling high above her in the canopy that still had most of its leaves despite the nearness of winter. The air was moist and fragrant with the scent of green growing things and recent rains. Hellathen Hamin had been frozen already, but the Emerald Graves apparently hadn't yet tilted into full-blown winter yet. Even so, the air held a chill and Ellana shivered.

"Here," Dorian said, reaching behind her and unrolling the soft lump that'd been her pillow to reveal a halla skin. "One of the Dalish men with us insisted you have this." He smiled as he wrapped it around her like a doting father caring for a sick child.

Ellana gripped the pelt around her shoulders, offering him a trembling smile. "I should be cross with you for coddling me like this," she mumbled. "I can barely stand it when Solas does it."

Dorian scoffed. "Let's make a new rule while we're here, shall we?" He laid a hand on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze, staring into her eyes with a mixture of somberness and his usual witty amusement. "We don't talk about a certain bald elf and his abysmal lack of fashion sense and dubious status as an actual elven god. Because every time you mention him I see the hurt in your face and it makes me want to punch him—for both of us, you understand. My homeland is in chaos and I have him to thank for all of it." He let out a long breath and withdrew his hand, turning his head to stare out into the gloom of the forest. "So, let's focus on this, whatever this is."

Swallowing the ache in her throat, Ellana forced the wavering smile on her lips to stay there as she nodded. "I can try to honor that," she said. "But I'm afraid you'll find it hard not to run into elven gods while you're with us." She hesitated a second as he frowned, then added, "You and the others don't need to stay with us. What we're planning here will seem like madness to you all and it won't win you any favors politically or with Cassandra."

"Yes," he murmured with a glint of amusement in his eye. "I've heard the elves whispering that word homeland a lot. Scandalous. Lucky for you, old girl, I adore scandal." He twisted his mustache with one hand as he smirked.

Laughing, Ellana reached for his forearm. "Help me up."

He obliged, grunting as he stood, dragging her with him. "There you are." He watched as she dusted herself off, slapping at her backsides, middle, and legs with one hand while the other kept the halla skin wrapped over her shoulders. When she straightened again he cleared his throat, a look of awkwardness flitting over his features. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about expectant mothers but, ah, how long until the little one arrives?"

"You can relax," she said, chuckling at his anxious tone. "He won't come until spring."

"So it's a he now, is it?" Dorian laughed. "I may just lose that wager with Varric after all."

Ellana smiled, wanting to laugh or react with embarrassment, but her chest constricted and her throat burned with more than just the ongoing annoyance of heartburn. Her first thought had been that aside from her own instinct that the child was a boy she now couldn't help but imagine her baby as a little, innocent version of Solas. After all, she'd just encountered the child's consciousness in the Fade that very morning. But she'd promised not to mention Solas—too bad she couldn't stop herself from thinking of him incessantly too.

Feeling over her abdomen idly, she took a few unsteady steps away from the mossy ground beneath the tree where she'd been resting. Dorian shadowed her, one arm extended out to offer support. Ellana didn't take it, finding her limbs bore her weight easily. Through the brush she saw pale stones scattered over the uneven, lumpy earth. A crumbling wall had a veilfire sconce set into it, burning green. Standing beside it Ellana recognized Abelas' tall, armored frame, glittering green from the veilfire torch. A few other sentinels lingered nearby, conversing in quiet voices using elven.

When Abelas noticed her he made a slight motion with one hand, silencing the others, and strode toward her and Dorian authoritatively. "Ellana," he said with a tight smile. "It is good to see you awake."

"How long was I out?" she asked, shaking her head in consternation.

"About an hour, maybe two," Dorian answered. "Just long enough for me to convince your kinsmen that hovering over you wasn't helping."

"Where are they?" Ellana asked, searching the forest around them and seeing no sign of any others.

"I have sent them to scout the area," Abelas replied. "There are no better scouts than the Dalish, after all." His smile was softer now, his voice carried a note of humor.

"Sera and Rainier went with them," Dorian added. "I suspect the five of them are getting on splendidly as they try not to get eaten by bears. That was my favorite bonding experience while we were here fighting Corypheus."

Abelas shot Dorian an irritated look and ignored him as Ellana chuckled. "Oh come on now, Dorian," she teased. "You know we ran into a lot more bears in the Hinterlands."

The Tevinter mage snorted. "Yes, but those bears were little ones. It takes a lot more little bears to impress me. We put Iron Bull on guard duty precisely for that reason. He's far more impressive to everything out here that wants to kill us."

"Lethallan," Abelas said to her, all trace of amusement gone now from his face. "We are short on time. Fen'Harel will not allow us to remain here long uncontested. I have my people guarding the eluvian, but should he come through it himself they will be no match for him."

"Then don't fight him," Ellana retorted with a shake of her head. "There's no sense in us fighting each other. We want the same things or—" She frowned. "Nearly the same things."

His golden eyes flicking to Dorian with a wary expression, Abelas said, "I fear you do not quite understand Fen'Harel's ruthlessness. He may not leave us any choice. We have betrayed him and he does not tolerate failure well."

"Hold on a minute," Dorian said, raising a hand, index finger pointing up. "Can someone explain to me exactly how Solas survived thousands of years since—"

"He slept," Ellana supplied quickly. "The ancients were immortal and sometimes lapsed into prolonged sleep while their spirits wandered the Fade."

"Ah," Dorian said with a meaningful nod. "That does sound like something he'd do." Gesturing at Abelas, he said, "Much like your lot did within the Temple of Mythal."

"No," Abelas said with a frown but didn't elaborate when Dorian arched an eyebrow expectantly. Instead he focused on Ellana again. "We may only have a matter of hours, lethallan. I regret that I must ask you to use the Anchor so soon, but if we do not make our move we will lose our chance."

"You cannot be serious," Dorian growled, abruptly angry. "Did you not just see the trauma she endured? How can you possibly think—"

"He's right, Dorian," Ellana interrupted him, her left hand opening and closing at her side as she straightened her spine. The baby kicked against her stomach as if it could sense her growing tension. "I have to have something to show Solas when he arrives."

"You should not have told Lyris where we were headed," Abelas muttered with disapproval.

"She saw the mirror we passed through. He would have just followed us anyway," Ellana shot back, feeling her face heat. "The eluvian would—"

"My people could have redirected it," Abelas cut her off with a slash of his hand. "They could have sealed it. But now it does not matter, does it? These lands are filled with hidden ruins with intact eluvians and Fen'Harel would have no trouble activating another with his magic. Regardless of what we do it will only delay him. Like all Elvhenan's devices the eluvians will bow to his will as an Evanuris and send him where he wishes to go."

Her ear tips burned at his reprimand. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then let's quit bickering and do what we came here to do."

"And what was that exactly?" Dorian asked, gazing between them.

"That is none of your affair, shemlen," Abelas muttered, scowling.

"I'm sorry," Dorian said with a sniff. "Perhaps I missed something, but as I seem to be standing right here helping Ellana, it seems to me it is my affair, you stuffy tattooed buffoon." He jerked a finger at Abelas' chest. "I understand this is some kind of elves-only club, but I'm not about to let you or anyone else get Ellana killed without—"

"Dorian," Ellana shouted over him. When he turned and gazed at her, eyes crinkled with emotion, she let her voice soften. "I appreciate your concern, but Abelas is right and I am the one who gets to decide what I will and will not do. Do you understand?"

His features warped, wounded. "Of course I understand that." His shoulders slumped and he rubbed at his face with an exasperated sigh. "I apologize. I'm just concerned for you."

Despite the weight of fatigue beginning to grow on her, Ellana smirked. "Well, you're not going to be happy with me when you hear what we have planned." Raising her left hand, Ellana flexed it, feeling the anticipatory tingling already in her skin. "How would you like to walk physically in the Fade?"

Dorian stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. Then he swore. "Vishante kaffas. You're serious aren't you?"

"Yes." Glancing to the sentinels watching from behind Abelas, lit green by veilfire, Ellana asked, "The Veil is thin here?"

"Indeed," Abelas said. "You intend to do it here." It wasn't a question.

"Do what?" Dorian asked, still gawking. "Tear open a rift so we can have a nice romantic stroll with some rage demons? That sounds like a lovely end to a very exciting day. Just wait here a moment and I'll fetch Iron Bull so we can enjoy it together." He broke off, scoffing with a snarl. "Have you gone mad, Ellana?"

"We don't have time to explain," she shot back before speaking to Abelas again. "Is this place remote enough? Can we defend it against whatever comes out?"

"Your clansmen have yet to return with news of the area," Abelas explained. "But there are no obvious signs of shemlen settlements." Pausing, he motioned over his shoulder and the three other sentinels lingering near the veilfire sconce stepped forward, their gait militant and their faces stoic. "With your Qunari I suspect the demons will be easily thwarted. It will only take a few minutes to stabilize it, lethallan."

"He's Tal-Vashoth," Dorian snapped at the sentinel before reaching for Ellana, clasping her left hand in both of his. "Please, Ellana, do you remember my advice to you after Adamant? You cannot seriously be considering this insanity. Walking physically in the Fade once was enough but—"

"Twice, actually," she corrected him blankly. "And yes, I am in fact considering this insanity." Hesitating, she shrugged out of the halla blanket and passed it to him with her right hand. "Dorian…the Fade and the waking world were one in the time of Arlathan."

"What?" The single word emerged as barely more than a breath. The shock on his face would've been funny if not for the seriousness of the topic. He had yet to take the halla skin blanket back from her.

"Solas sundered our people from the Fade to lock away the other Evanuris." Speaking the words aloud to someone else made her feel nauseous. Her chest tightened and she struggled to swallow and continue. "He created the Veil. He…inadvertently destroyed our people. The Imperium wasn't responsible, Solas was. Now he hopes to set it right." She tugged her left hand from his grip without breaking eye contact with him. "I hope to set it right."

"I…" Dorian shook his head as if dizzy, his eyes fluttering closed. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand. "I'm starting to think you shouldn't tell me anymore until I've had something strong to drink. Brandy, maybe. Lots and lots of brandy."

"We have no time," Abelas reminded them. "Fen'Harel will—"

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian cut him off. "I know, I know. Maker's breath, what a killjoy." He took the halla skin from Ellana, folding it while glaring at the sentinels. "This is what I get for listening to Morrigan, I suppose."

Abelas scowled. "Lethallan, please. If you are going to act, I am ready."

In the gathering gloom Ellana pivoted around and strode into the space between the two massive trees she'd woken near. Night insects had begun to sing, their voices calm and beautiful, a mark of the tranquility of this forest that she was about to shatter. Facing the last lingering sunlight through the trees, Ellana drew in several deep breaths and closed her eyes, steeling herself against the pain she knew was about to come. The baby squirmed inside her and she wondered again if it was possible for it—him—to sense her emotions.

Hang on, little one, this will be rough.

Gritting her teeth, Ellana reached inward the way she'd learned to do during her time fighting Corypheus, feeling the tingle of magic in her palm and tweaking it. Pain erupted along the crease in her palm and she hunched at the sharp, stabbing sensation. The green light glowed, crackling and sparking as it grew, sensing her intention. She swallowed the cry of pain building in her throat as she extended her palm out, aiming low, and flexed her hand.

Green light shot out, zapping the air and making it erupt with a spurt of ether, as if she'd tossed a stone into water, making it splash. She felt resistance, a tugging against the fine bones in her left hand. The pain increased, white-hot and burning. She powered through it, clenching her hand and pulling on that green light, that thread of resistance. With a little boom and a crackle, the air rent in a way she had not seen for at least a year now, not since she'd closed the last Fade rifts. Shimmering and gleaming like an emerald, the Fade's ether dribbled from it like slime.

Behind her Ellana heard Dorian curse and spring for the base of the tree where she'd woken. She watched him in her peripheral vision as he grabbed up a simple wooden staff of a Dalish design—another weapon made by her own clan. And suddenly Ellana realized with a jolt that she had no weapon, no way to fight at all…

"I need a bow," she yelled, backing away from the rift as it began flickering, shooting off tendrils that bubbled, growing as the spirits that'd slipped through materialized and warped into demons. The first wisp appeared, popping up from the earth and strafing left and right. A terror demon hauled itself upright a few meters to Ellana's left, shrieking in a way that seemed to liquefy her guts. Yet, long years of practice made pushing away that primal fear easy as she hurried to fall behind the sentinels.

"I need a bow," she pleaded with them, but they only shot her apologetic or confused looks before charging to engage the terror demon.

Dorian was at her side then, teeth gritted as he cast a barrier over them both. "You opened it without having a weapon?" he asked. "I'm starting to question your judgment, my dear."

She laughed, dry and humorless. "You can scold me for being stupid later. Just find me a bow and a quiver of arrows."

But already the sentinels had taken down the two terror demons that'd spawned. As a rage demon manifested and spat fire at Abelas, the sentinel effortless blocked it with a wall of ice. Then, twisting acrobatically to miss a wisp's hurled spirit energy attack, he lobbed a massive ice spike at the rage demon, skewering it. Ellana felt something like envy curdle her stomach at the sight of the sentinels destroying their foes, graceful and sleek and fast, their armor glittering green under the light of the rift.

Beside her Dorian hurled fireballs and cast his necromancy spells, always maintaining a barrier over them both. The magic made Ellana's skin tingle, prickling. The Anchor continued to burn, but through the chaos and danger of the battle it was easy to ignore.

After two waves of demons had slipped through the rift shrank into itself slightly, going dormant. The sentinels relaxed for the moment, taking up readied positions around it. The rift was low to the earth as Ellana had intended, easy to step into from the ground.

"This is the part where you'd close it if you had sense," Dorian quipped at her side.

She shot him a half-smile and motioned at the shimmering tear. "Care to take that romantic demon-infested walk through the Fade now?"

He let out a sigh and shook his head in the negative even as he replied, "How could I say no, old girl?"

From across the clearing Ellana heard footsteps and saw a massive figure approach. She recognized Iron Bull with a smile. "Well, it looks like I'll have to play third wheel."

The sentinels tensed, watching the warrior charging toward them, but as he drew nearer he slowed and motioned with his axe at the rift. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

Next Chapter:

"Is this really what it looked like at Adamant?" Dorian asked Ellana while they walked, the sneer of disgust in his voice palpable.

"Just about," she answered, scowling as she noticed how winded she felt trying to breathe the thick, humid air. They skirted around the stalagmite and its dripping, slimy water. "Maybe a little less slime. And no elven archer statues or ivy, either. But otherwise, yes."

"Charming," Dorian muttered. "And your pet apostate with the affinity for wolves wants to bring this into our world?" He made a noise of disgust in his throat. "I'm trying to be supportive, darling, really I am—but I'm having trouble seeing how that would be an improvement. Nature is already filthy enough. I'm not sure how you look at this place and think 'Why, wouldn't that floating rock dribbling slime just add so much to the Dales?'"