A/N: A little earlier than usual as it's barely Tuesday and I typically don't update until evening or late tomorrow. I read "The Masked Empire" by Patrick Weekes, the head writer of Dragon Age now with BioWare and, I believe, the guy who mainly wrote and handled Solas' character. I really loved Felassan. It's a real shame what happened to him...thanks Solas. :( But the book really changed my perspectives on Gaspard, Celene, and Briala. Very interesting. Sadly, I didn't read it before writing these chapters where Celene and Briala will actually play roles. Hopefully I won't be too far off as I review these chapters before putting them up.
Again, thank you to everyone who's following and especially to those who take the time to review! Thank you KiraChan and dazzleday! I hope to keep entertaining you for some time to come!
Twenty-Nine
Return to Halamshiral
The familiar sight of Inquisition soldiers in full armor, with their Chantry sunburst complete with the sword at its center, tugged Ellana's mouth into a smile despite the strangeness of current events. The soldiers lined the path leading through Halamshiral toward the winter palace, their faces hidden behind gleaming helmets. They all wore swords and shields, armed and armored and alert to danger.
Further in, through the gates, Ellana saw masked Orlesian guards waiting as well. Unlike the Inquisition soldiers, the Orlesians had taken positions not to protect from the elven intruders at the gate, but to keep order among the city elves of Halamshiral. Ellana could hear the city elves shouting behind barricades that kept them separated from the Orlesians guards and nobles, but the more intrepid elves had scaled iron-wrought fences and earthenware walls and now sat or clung to them calling out to Fen'Harel.
Their voices washed over Ellana in waves of hot and cold, awe intermixed with fear. "Mien'harel," they called. "Dread Wolf! Mien'harel!"
Rebellion.
Behind her on the hart they rode, Solas's body was tense, radiating heat and strength, and magic that made her skin tingle—especially the Anchor. Ellana clenched her hand under the gray cloak she wore. They must look quite the pair to the soldiers, guards, city elves, and Orlesian nobles gathered on either side of the gates. Solas wore his glimmering metallic armor and the black wolf headdress while she had the paler cloak keeping her warm and hiding her Dalish scout armor while a fur-lined hood obscured her head and face. The Orlesians would no doubt sneer at them regardless of what they did, said, or wore to these peace negotiations, but to the city elves they and their elven retinue in gleaming armor must look like Arlathan of old.
We are all but shadows of it, she thought and closed her eyes, remembering the memories Solas had crafted for her during her lessons as a Dreamer. She'd seen the floating crystalline spires, the courtyards that glowed with golden magic, fountains and lights that never ceased, and songs that made her cry at their touching beauty. Yet beneath it she'd also glimpsed the darker truth of Elvhenan—an empire that ran on magic and shamelessly collected it from its own enslaved people to keep its wonders functioning.
Staring at the elves on the fences and the walls, still shouting to them, Ellana wished she could still pray to the Creators, to something bigger than herself. I hope we can make a place a homeland more beautiful than Arlathan with none of its abuse.
The sky was overcast, a bitter wind whipping through the air carrying the occasional snowflake. Yet already much of the snow had melted here at the city gates, exposing wet mud beneath. Soon the first yellow-white shoots of grass would sprout, marking the true arrival of spring.
And our child not soon after, she thought, hands curling protectively over her swollen belly. Her bladder was full, again, but she knew she'd have to wait now and tried to ignore it. The baby was motionless, likely sleeping, so that helped at least.
Her back and hips were stiff, aching from the long hours of riding. Wriggling to try and ease the discomfort, she sighed and the hart grunted, stamping one hoof with a sharp clattering against the wet rocky gravel below. Solas inclined his head to speak near her ear. "Are you well, vhenan?"
"I hope they have a chamber pot ready," she said, twisting as much as she could to stare up at his eyes, shadowed beneath the headdress. "Because I'm not sure which is worse—wetting myself in front of everyone or waddling off to—"
A trumpeting horn cut her off and a moment later the clattering of horse hooves clomping and clattering over the stone path into the city. Soon Ellana could see a troupe of armored Templars dressed in gold armor, marking them as the personal bodyguards of the Divine. Dorian, on a horse ahead of their hart, prodded his mount forward a few steps as the Templars and their horses pranced through the gate and encircled their group.
Tension set Ellana's muscles taut, her heart thumping hard on her breastbone and her eyes darting about with trepidation. Behind her, Solas released the hart's reins with one hand and laid it over her shoulder, offering comfort through touch. "Peace, vhenan," he whispered to her. "Whatever comes, I will protect you."
Somehow she wasn't sure if those words were more for her or for himself. Away from the rune circles that restored the Fade, Ellana knew he was significantly weaker. He'd petrified four Templars without breaking a sweat when they fled the winter palace outside Halamshiral in the late summer, but there were twelve of them in Cassandra's entourage and even Ellana could feel the chill press of their magic suppression—despite having no magic currently.
Lyris and Mathrel stood on either side of their hart, stiff and with their stances already low and ready for battle. In addition to the arcane warriors there were dozens of Dalish Firsts and warriors from a variety of clans who'd distinguished themselves over the last five weeks of the campaign to conquer the Emerald Graves. A handful of sentinels had also accompanied them, with Abelas acting as one of their personal bodyguards like the arcane warriors.
Thom Rainier and Iron Bull rounded out their unusual retinue of bodyguards. Dorian, meanwhile, as their spokesperson and semi-ambassador, was the one who'd arrived at the edge of the Emerald Graves just a week ago with Rainier and Iron Bull to plead with Ellana and Solas to come to Halamshiral for peace talks hosted by Divine Victoria. He'd promised them diplomatic immunity and Ellana trusted him wholeheartedly, though Solas hadn't and insisted on taking a force of nearly fifty elves in case of betrayal. Now Ellana's stomach clenched and her bladder seemed to shrink, wondering if Solas would be right and this was a trap after all.
Then, trotting regally through the gates, came three horses bedecked in armor that glittered in silver and gold. Two of them were in silver with the Inquisition symbol set into the metal, gleaming despite the overcast day, but the third horse glimmered with gold and jangled with tassels of amber to resemble flames. Ellana found herself tensing as she recognized all three riders—Leliana and Cullen on the silver mounts, while Cassandra rode the golden steed.
A herald from somewhere still within the gates called out, "Her most holy, Divine Victoria, former Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of Divine Justinia the fifth…"
Cassandra made a groaning noise in her throat, losing her patience at the ongoing barrage of titles. Her armor glimmered as she looked over the elves assembled before her. Leliana was on her left and Cullen on her right, both of them in full ceremonial formalwear. "I am pleased you have come," she said to them in greeting, though her lips were pinched in a tight line. "I hope we can come to a peaceful arrangement that suits all involved."
The chorus of shouting from the city elves grew deafening as they crowed insults aimed at the Divine or simply screeched her name and asked for blessing. As much as they might long for mien'harel and support the mysterious mage who'd donned the ancient mantle of Fen'Harel, most of them were Andrastian and likely supported Divine Victoria. She'd served well as Divine, from everything Ellana had heard and witnessed firsthand…except for when she and Leliana had imprisoned Solas. Did they wish now that they'd tried to kill him?
The thought awoke the hard, cold outrage inside Ellana's chest. Her hands clenched into fists over her belly.
"We wish the same," Dorian said, shouting to be heard over the roar of the city elves. "Perhaps we might continue this elsewhere?"
Cassandra nodded and it was a wonder that the ridiculous oval of her helmet didn't topple off her head. Her eyes found Ellana for a moment, softening at the outer edges a second before she jerked on the reins, turning the horse around. She proceeded down the path into the city's main thoroughfare, which had been blocked off by both Orlesian and Inquisition forces. Leliana and Cullen followed her, then the Templars motioned at Dorian, indicating he and the elven group should enter next.
Ellana felt Solas stiffen behind her, anticipating danger. His hand on the rein of their hart tightened, the leather in his gloved hand and gauntlets flexing with a little wheeze. The other arm wound around her protectively as he urged the hart ahead with a click of his tongue. The great antlered beast let out a sharp cry, high-pitched and piercing, then surged ahead, sharp hooves clapping on the smooth stone. The harness jangled with its rhythmic bouncing stride and Ellana groaned, clenching her jaw and abdominal muscles.
"I can't wait much longer," she muttered under her breath.
Solas chuckled. "Did I not warn you that you should have gone when we passed the—"
"It was a crop field," she grumbled, thumping her head back against his chest. "You really wanted me to squat in full view of everyone with us?"
Despite the tension she could still feel radiating from him as the Templars filed after them into the city's fairly narrow street, Solas leaned his head to speak into her ear through the fabric of her cloak. "I could have used a wall of ice to shield you."
She sighed. "Fine. You're right." Eyeing the gutters lining the streets behind the masked Orlesian guards, she smirked. "Think you could manage that now and not get us all killed by Templars?"
"No," he answered. "However, I will insist on that chamber pot for you as soon as we reach the palace."
She groaned, remembering the fountain. "I'm going to piss myself if I hear that damned fountain."
"Suledin, vhenan," he said, velvety voice making her shiver—though she immediately winced, regretting it as her bladder hurt from the little contraction.
They passed through the city and up through the hilly countryside following the winding road that led to the palace gates. Beyond the gates they found themselves in a wide space with pale stones and grass before the familiar courtyard where they and their companions had lingered during the course of the Exalted Council. Pages emerged to hold the reins of their hart and Solas dismounted smoothly, then reached for Ellana, guiding her down gently. She hissed with the jostling to her bladder and tried to cross one leg over the other, as if she could physically dam off the flow of urine just waiting to be unleashed.
A few of the other elves in their entourage looked at her with knowing smirks as they entered through the gates after them. One of them, a woman astride a large halla buck laden with supplies, quickly leapt from her mount and began fishing through her packs. Solas was already striding to her, ignoring the confused page and bemused expressions of other palace staff. The Dalish woman produced a refuse bucket and passed it quickly to Solas while Ellana stared at them, teeth gnashing as she waited. The sound of the water tinkling in the nearby fountain made her groan.
When Solas returned he took her hand, squeezing, and addressed the page, "May we step away for a moment?" He motioned toward a half-closed gate beyond the courtyard where the tavern and balcony overlook waited. Ellana tried not to squirm, too uncomfortable now to be embarrassed.
The page blinked and then stammered. "Uh…"
"Kaffas," Dorian said with a scoff, coming around from where another page had grabbed the reins of his horse and begun escorting it toward the stables. "The word you're looking for is yes, boy. Unless you want her to piddle in front of you."
The page's cheeks reddened and he averted his gaze. "Yes—I mean, no, sir. The gate's unlocked and you're free to—"
Ellana and Solas had already begun walking for the gate. She kept her head lowered, shoulders hunched, as if she could sink into the ground to hide. Her face burned all the way to her ears. Thankfully she had the cloak and its fur lined hood to hide her mortification. She reached for the empty magic core inside her and winced, missing it. If she'd been able to touch the Fade here she could have surged ahead with Fade step.
"Suledin, vhenan," Solas reassured her with a hum. "Suledin."
On the other side of the gate, with a wall separating them from the Templars, the Inquisition, and their own entourage of elves, Ellana finally had just enough privacy to relieve herself. There were servants and other guards scattered about this area too, but none in the immediate area around the corner from the gate, and Solas stood over her, watchful and protective. When it was finished Ellana let out a breath, shaky with relief, and tried to quash her embarrassment as Solas upended the contents of the bucket into a nearby potted plant.
"I can't believe that just happened," she grumbled, groaning and scrubbing at her face. "I don't think I'll ever be able to stop blushing."
Carrying the now empty bucket, Solas returned to her side, his lips curling in a small, gentle smile. His eyes, barely visible beneath the shadow of the headdress, glinted. Laying a hand over her shoulder, he leaned as close as their differing headgear allowed and said, "Let them lay the blame on me, vhenan." The hand on her shoulder drifted down to rest on her belly. "I am the one responsible for your condition."
"Are you sure?" she asked, grinning at the pride she saw glowing in his features. "It might be safer if we pretend it's Cullen's."
He laughed quickly, then pressed a kiss to her lips, heedless of the mashing of his headdress against her hood. Then, sobering, he straightened and said, "We must return before they grow suspicious."
They reentered the courtyard, moving faster now that Ellana could walk—or waddle rather—at full speed. The servants and other palace staff had removed many of the horses, harts, and halla, as well as escorting away less important personnel. Now only the dedicated bodyguards, political leaders, and ambassadors remained with but a smattering of trusted servants. The Dalish woman who'd given Solas the bucket reclaimed it now without even blushing, much to Ellana's chagrin.
Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra waited at the foot of the grand staircase leading up to the palace proper, the Templars on either side of them. A few steps up Ellana saw Briala staring at her, wearing a black mask that gleamed like lacquer and a thick green cloak similar to Ellana's own. There was a good reason for such a similarity—Ellana's cloak had been stolen from a villa they conquered in the Emerald Graves a few weeks back. Designed for a bulkier human matron, it had more than enough fabric to close over Ellana's burgeoning front.
"Welcome," Briala called to them, raising both hands. "I am here on behalf of her royal majesty, Empress Celene. It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Lavellan." She paused, head turning slightly to take in Solas. "And you must be the one my people name Fen'Harel—but we have met before, have we not?"
"In passing," Solas replied. He did not tip his head to her or show any signs of overt respect other than the even, calm tone he used. "However, we are all one people, Marquise Briala. I would be known to all of them."
The Marquise hesitated, lips parted slightly as if surprised. Then she said, "We hope you have come ready to end this foolish strife in the Emerald Graves."
"And we hope you have minds open to hear us," Solas retorted, a slight edge of annoyance under his voice.
"The Empress remembers she owes Lady Lavellan a great debt," Briala said, deftly ignoring Solas' comment. "As do I." She nodded meaningfully and smiled at Ellana. "But we will have peace, whatever the cost."
Ellana gave a perfunctory bow—only to stop partway as her stomach seemed to crush her lungs. Cringing, she tried to hide the aborted bow and said, "I understand, Lady Marquise."
"Until the ball then," Briala said with a cordial smile as she turned on her heel and strode back up the stairway.
"Another bloody ball," Cullen snarled to himself, glaring down at the ground and Ellana felt herself grinning, suppressing the nervous laughter that threatened to burst from her. She saw both Cassandra and Leliana watching her, wary and sorrowful expressions etched in their faces.
She felt something similar—a longing to cross the social gap between them and embrace her old friends and advisors—but now was not the time. She'd become other to them again, just as she would've been before the conclave. Outside of the winter palace and Halamshiral Ellana suspected there were still wanted posters nailed up in most sizable taverns, calling for their immediate arrest. And aside from that troubling detail she couldn't stop remembering that Cassandra had ordered Solas' arrest and Leliana had threatened to send him off to a Circle.
Three Templars stepped away from their positions and one of them called to Ellana, Solas, and their companions. "Please follow us to the guest wing."
In what Solas realized must be typical for Orlesian peace talks, they soon found themselves relegated to a balcony—the very same one that'd held the seething Gaspard. Lyris and Mathrel accompanied them as bodyguards, lingering near the doors to the balcony with their hands clasped behind their backs and wearing full armor. Ellana sat on the railing lining the balcony, staring out at the Frostbacks, currently blanketed in the white of snow while Solas stood near her, tense and alert for danger. The night was dark, though a bright full moon peeked between the thinner strands of clouds.
A brisk wind whipped at her cloak and at Solas' headdress, which had already made uncountable Orlesians cringe and sneer with revulsion at the savage elf in their midst. It was amusing again to realize that what made him so unpopular in the modern world had only inflamed the passions of Arlathan's nobility, where raw nature was always in fashion.
Early in the evening they had a procession of visitors while the Empress seemed content to make them wait. One of their first surprise visits was Vivienne, who descended on them clad in her usual finery, the horned hat glinting in the light of the brazier that burned on the balcony for warmth as much as light. She went straight to Ellana, studiously ignoring him as she exclaimed, "Darling! Look at you! What a lovely cloak, but…" She tutted as if with concern or disappointment. "You're about to burst, I should think."
Ellana's expression looked more weary than anything else as she eyed the other woman. "Hello, Vivienne."
"Good evening, Enchanter," Solas said, letting his voice stay low, more of a growl than his usual, more friendly timbre. "Have you come to wish us well in the negotiations, or merely to prattle about Ellana's condition? If it is the latter, you should know that we have heard it all before and you do yourself no favors with your lack of originality."
Vivienne pivoted slightly to regard him, one eyebrow arched as she took in his headdress and armor. "Apostate," she said, not even bothering to use his name. "I hear you've been very busy in the Emerald Graves and the elves have given you some sort of new title. Dread Wolf, is it? Sadly the only thing about you that inspires dread, as usual, is your choice of attire."
He flashed his teeth in a quick, hard smile. "Indeed. The wolf rarely appears threatening to those who lack the wisdom to recognize the power of its bite."
Vivienne flashed her own cold, cruel smile. "How fortunate for me then, my dear, that this particular wolf is toothless."
Ellana scoffed, drawing both of them into turning their heads to stare at her as she rolled her eyes. "Really, I've heard enough useless bickering." She puffed, wincing with what Solas took to be pain and immediately his stomach clenched.
Forgetting about Vivienne entirely, Solas knelt to be closer to her. "Vhenan? Are you in pain?"
She gritted her teeth and then heaved a long sigh, shoulders hunching. One hand lay curled over her belly, fingers splayed. "Just a sharp cramp. It's already passing."
"False labor pains, my dear," Vivienne put in, sounding surprisingly genuine. "Probably nothing to be alarmed about."
Solas shot her a look of raw surprise, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as he contemplated the enchanter with renewed interest and…something akin to pity. The softness in Vivienne's eyes and the knowing tone of her voice when she'd spoken all suggested an intimate familiarity with the subject at hand. Solas clenched his jaw, refusing to ask the question burning on his tongue, but Ellana had no such reservations.
"Vivienne," she said, her expression creasing with confusion. "Have you had a child?"
The enchanter's lips puckered a moment before she changed her stance, placing one hand on her hip. "Years ago, my dear. It was quite the scandal, but mostly forgotten now."
"I had no idea you were a mother," Ellana said, a note of shock in her voice. "Do you have a son or daughter?"
"A daughter," Vivienne replied with a sniff, glancing at her nails as if they were more interesting than the conversation. "But it's hardly—"
"Your Circle took your daughter," Solas said, snarling as rage boiled his blood. "You were forbidden to raise her, enslaved in your tower." He growled. "How could you possibly still remain loyal to the Circles after they demanded and carried out such an unforgiveable crime against you?"
Something like pain flashed over Vivienne's eyes before she blinked and shook her head. "I did not have the arrogance to assume I knew what was best in raising her," she answered, icy and aloof. "But she is doing well in her Circle and I am allowed visits to—"
"You truly expect me to believe you did not wish to raise her?" Solas demanded, lip curling with outrage on behalf of every mage, regardless of race, trapped in the Circles, abused and enslaved. "Tell me, do you know her at all? Her favorite color? Her favorite story? What could possibly be dangerous in letting you know your own child?" He paused, breathing hard, struggling to control his own fury. "You have been caged so long you have deluded yourself into seeing the tortures inflicted upon you as gifts. I pity you."
The anger in Vivienne's eyes held something deeper, cutting and raw. "And I loathe you," she snarled and turned on her heel, leaving the balcony. The sound of her heels clopping on the marble floor echoed inside Solas' ears.
"Well," Ellana said, her voice tight. "I certainly wasn't expecting that."
Solas hummed in the back of his throat. "Neither was I." Blinking, he searched over Ellana's form quickly, seeing she had relaxed again. "Are you feeling better?"
She smiled at him, her gaze soft and warm with affection. "I'm fine, emma lath." Then her eyes slid from him and simultaneously Solas heard the thump of footsteps approaching through the open balcony doors. The tread struck a familiar chord within him and although he sensed Lyris and Mathrel tense, he already felt a small smile curling his lips as he faced their new visitor, craning his neck downward as Varric Tethras appeared.
"Ellana!" the dwarf said, throwing his arms out wide in greeting. "Chuckles!"
"Varric," Ellana returned, grinning.
She started to stand up but Varric immediately gestured for her to stop. "Don't get up on my account, I'm serious." Shooting Solas a glance that was equal parts censure and playfulness, he said, "Chuckles, didn't anyone ever tell you expectant mothers are supposed to relax when they're this far along?"
Ellana rolled her eyes. "I still have months to go," she said. Solas exchanged a knowing look with her, a half-smile tugging one corner of his lips. All of their visitors had been convinced Ellana was about to go into labor any second. It was true that on her otherwise dainty frame the pregnancy was startlingly obvious now that she was nearing the final weeks, but the Dalish healers who'd examined her in the Emerald Graves had pronounced the pregnancy healthy and weeks yet from delivery.
"Sorry," Varric said, rubbing at the back of his neck, sheepish. "I'm guessing you get that a lot, don't you?"
"Constantly," Solas said with a sigh.
Varric frowned at him a second and then cocked his head, whistling. "That's some getup you've got there. I heard fur's in fashion in Val Royeaux, but somehow I don't think that's what they had in mind." He grunted, brushing at the scruff on his chin with one hand. "So…Dread Wolf, huh? I always knew there was something more to you, but I'd have never guessed that."
Solas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the reminder of how long he'd carried on the deception but unable to escape it. He tucked his hands behind his back and tried to be lighthearted. "If you would prefer, you can continue calling me chuckles."
The dwarf guffawed. "That was never going to change. Tethras nicknames are for life, you know."
"Did you come for the peace talks?" Ellana asked, scooting slightly on the railing to be closer. "Or…"
Varric laughed. "I'm here because Empress Celene and her court are all fans of Hard In Hightown. I make more money here peddling that book than I ever did letting my publisher do the work for me." He crossed his beefy arms over his equally broad chest. Even here at court he'd worn a shirt with a V-neck collar to expose some of his chest hair. "Bastards must've been conning me for years. Laughing all the way to the bank, too, I'd bet."
The moment the word bet crossed Varric's lips, Solas knew exactly what the dwarf would say next and immediately felt his ears begin burning with humiliation under his headdress. Varric was inevitably here to try and make them place wagers on their own child's gender. Yet there was nothing he could do or say to stop it and, seeing the way Ellana grinned, bright with affection and amusement, he resolved to tolerate whatever came next.
"Speaking of betting," Varric exclaimed, clapping his enormous hands together and rubbing them. "The odds are even again on that baby of yours. Neck and neck." He waggled his eyebrows, looking between them. "I heard a rumor from Dorian that the mother-to-be thinks it's a boy. Care to put your money where your mouth is, Lady Lavellan?"
She chuckled but said, "No, Varric. I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to break the tie."
"Damn," Varric muttered with a disappointed shake of his head. "Are you sure I can't convince you? I mean, I only gave you a key to the city and an estate." He grinned at her frown. "It's not like you owe me or anything."
Solas crossed his arms over his chest, glaring. "She does not, in fact, owe you."
Varric raised both hands in a placating motion aimed at Solas. "Fine, fine. You're right. Sheesh, Chuckles." Sighing, Varric's expression softened, growing wistful with a touch of dark melancholy in his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at the steady tread of another approaching visitor to the balcony. "Looks like I'm about to be chased off, but it was good to catch up with you, Ellana." He nodded at her and then, more somberly, to Solas. "I don't know what you're up to, Chuckles, but I hope you keep it out of Kirkwall. We've got enough troubles of our own."
Solas pinched his lips together, staying silent as the dwarf turned away, walking in his usual confident swagger. He paused to give a deep bow from the waist with a sweeping motion of one arm as he crossed paths with Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana stepping in from the ballroom. "Holiness," he said, addressing Cassandra with a sly smile. "Always a pleasure. Did you enjoy the latest chapter of Swords and Shields?"
Caught in the doorway, Cassandra hesitated, eyes flicking toward Solas and Ellana and then to Varric as her cheeks reddened. "Yes, Varric, but…" She huffed with frustration, stammering. "Perhaps we can speak later?"
"Of course," the dwarf said, beaming. "Anything for a fan."
The Inquisition power trio strode onto the balcony then, all clothed in formalwear. For Cassandra that meant the robes of the Divine, including the ridiculous hat, but though she dressed like a Chantry sister she still moved with the militant bearing of a warrior. Solas thought of Lyris and glanced briefly across the balcony to where his warriors stood, eyes following these newcomers with tension riding in their shoulders. Solas noted the sword at Cullen's waist and, feeling his own spine stiffen, he reached inward for his magic, finding it abundant and energetic despite the Veil.
"Ellana," Cassandra said, the name emerging a little strangled on her lips. "It is good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."
Seeing the storm of emotions on Ellana's face as the silence dragged on, Solas sidestepped to be within arm's reach of her and laid a hand over her shoulder. Reaching up to grip his hand in hers, Ellana returned the gesture, seeming to draw strength from it as he'd hoped. She sighed. "It is good to see you all as well."
All three sets of eyes shifted then toward Solas, each with varying degrees of hostility. It was Cassandra, as Solas expected, who spoke for them. "And you—what exactly do we call you now?"
He smiled, hard and dry, settling into the persona of the conqueror and rebel and quashing any regrets the gentler Solas carried. "For the sake of these negotiations," he told them, letting his voice drop lower, more menacing but still natural. "I am Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf."
Leliana wore a half-smile on her lips and Cullen scowled his disapproval. Cassandra's eyes narrowed and her brow knit as she fought back a full-fledged snarl. "So we have heard," she said.
Additional movement and the steady tread of more people drew Solas' gaze to the entrance of the balcony. Briala, Dorian, and Empress Celene herself appeared, their clothing rustling and shoes tapping over the marbled floor.
"Ah," Dorian said, smirking as he looked over the assembled group and casually twisted his mustache with one hand. "Everyone's finally here. Now we can get going with some coy insults and thinly veiled threats. Excellent." He clapped his hands together. "Who wants to start?"
Negotiations ended without progress, exactly as Solas had expected. Celene had let Briala do most of the talking for her, and Cassandra had chimed in with the occasional comment that stopped just short of pleading with him and Ellana to "see reason." They sought clarification and confirmation of stories they'd heard about the Emerald Graves—that the Fade had been somehow overlaid upon reality, that elven mages had come out of the wilds wielding terrifyingly powerful magic, led by an elven trickster god who could reshape the very earth itself with a wave of his hands.
Solas and Ellana offered little hard facts, choosing to hide how they'd restored the Fade and why. When the Orlesians, the Divine, and the Inquisition all dismissed the threat of the "elven uprising," Solas declared the talks over for the night. He'd learned from his time serving as a general for Mythal that negotiations like these were a dance, a game as much as anything else in politics. Stalling and taking charge weakened an opponent's confidence, so that was what he did. Let the Empress and Cassandra and Leliana all stew over how little they knew and how confident he was. They'd remember that in five weeks Solas had claimed miles of forest for the People, nearly the entirety of the Emerald Graves in fact. They'd reexamine the wild stories from human refugees who'd witnessed Solas conjure water from the air or raise stone walls out of mud. Tomorrow they may suddenly be more amenable to making concessions.
But Solas doubted it. This was a charade—a farce that he played only to make Ellana happy. The humans would either turn on them in the hopes of killing them in Halamshiral, or they'd adjourn the negotiations unconcluded. The humans would hope to convince Solas into signing a nonaggression treaty at best, but he would refuse because he had no plans of honoring such a thing. If they did not give him what he sought, Solas would simply take it. He knew Ellana hoped for peace through the talks, through diplomacy, but to Solas that was about as useful as trying to calm a rage demon.
The room they'd been provided was sumptuous and enormous, beautiful with its gold trim and gilded paneling. After countless weeks in the cold and wilderness, even Solas could appreciate the sight of the tub their room included. They'd taken several small villages, as well as numerous Orlesian villas as they swept through the Emerald Graves, mostly without casualties on either side. Of course, when they had taken casualties it was gruesome and ended poorly for the humans. Yet they could never stay more than a night or even a few hours in one spot before venturing back out, expanding the Fade-restored areas, plotting their next move, scouting forward positions, or simply teaching newly arrived elven rogues and warriors who required some rudimentary magical training to be safe.
But unlike those villas and the wilds of the Emerald Graves, Solas knew they weren't free here. It was more than the lack of the Fade, which he'd begun to miss with a physical longing akin to hunger; it was the constant oppressiveness of hostility and disapproval in the air. The tension and fear of the humans who'd heard terrified tales from fleeing natives of the Emerald Graves left Solas twitchy with anxiety, certain of an impending attack from somewhere.
One of the biggest reasons he'd not considered this plan of Ellana's—or Mythal's more likely—was because of how visible it was. Solas knew from long experience that working from the shadows was the best and safest way to accomplish anything. Let the world see the puppets and their strings as they dance, but never the puppeteer controlling them. Retaking the Dales, forcibly carving out an elven homeland to leave space for humans and the other races of Thedas to remain existing with the Veil in place, was foolhardy because everyone would see the masterminds behind it.
Well, they'd see Fen'Harel and Ellana, anyway—not Mythal.
Well played again, he thought as he watched servants haul in buckets of water so hot it was still steaming inside the wooden buckets. Ellana had called immediately for a bath after the ball, determined to enjoy this chance to be clean with hot water. Solas had every bucket tested by a city elf apothecary he'd brought with them from the Emerald Graves. He watched as she tested each bucket by pipetting a sample into her glass vial and dropping in a blue reagent to search for taint.
When the water passed the apothecary's tests, Solas dismissed her and the maids and finally let Ellana bathe. Although her moan of enjoyment as she slid into the clean, hot water made the heat of desire uncurl and spread through his belly, Solas refused to let his guard down and join her. When it was his turn he bathed quickly and didn't linger, refusing to be vulnerable should an attack come.
Ellana was already dozing, exhausted by the long day and the stress of the negotiations and the ball. Solas laid out wards around the room at every window, along the walls, and on the door itself. In the hall outside he knew there were four Templars standing watch on the area while he had Lyris, Mathrel, and several Dalish Firsts alternate on guard duty over the supplies and people they'd brought. He worked as quietly as he could to secure the room, always checking on Ellana to make sure the magic he used wasn't disturbing her slumber.
When a rap on the door came Solas snarled, his heart suddenly pounding with the loudness of the sound. The palace had settled into near-silence except for the ever-present padding of servants traipsing past in the hallway outside and overhead somewhere. It was late for a visitor and Solas was tense as he went to the door, hesitating before he deactivated the ward he'd set there with a wave of his hand.
"Who is it?" he called, his voice quiet. He stared at the bed, watching for any signs of wakefulness in Ellana, but he saw none.
"It's Lyris," a deep but still feminine voice replied. "I must speak with you."
Scowling, Solas opened the door and found Lyris dressed in only a thick brocade shift. Blinking with surprise, Solas raised both eyebrows. "What is it?" Then, aware of the Templars positioned around the hallway that were out of sight but undoubtedly listening to them, he switched to elven. "Dirthera." Tell.
"Abelas asked me to remove his vallaslin," Lyris told him, hushed despite the fact she used elven.
Solas' brow knit a moment and then, failing to comprehend her, he shook his head. "What?"
"After the peace talks. He came to me and asked that I remove his vallaslin. I could see no reason not to do so. When I asked why he desired this…" She shrugged. "He would not explain."
It must be a trick, Solas thought as he stared, baffled by Lyris' news. Abelas must have been ordered to do this by Mythal, to claim he'd grown tired of being her puppet and wanted to switch allegiance. Solas considered the possibility a moment and then snorted, curling his lip with disgust. "Felasil,"he muttered and then, at Lyris' speculative look he clarified. "Abelas. If he and Mythal hope to deceive us this way they are both felasilen." Pausing a moment, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. "Ma serannas, falon."
She clasped his hand with her own and smiled. "Fen'Harel enansal." Stepping backward, she smiled. "Sleep well, falon, while you can. Soon your nights will be ringing with your little one's cries." She smirked. "Da'Fen." Little Wolf.
He chuckled. "Goodnight, Lyris."
He closed the door as the sound of her footsteps, so light they were almost imperceptible now that she was out of her armor, faded away. Several long minutes passed as he stared unseeingly, his thoughts slow and boggled by Lyris' news. Why would Abelas remove his vallaslin? The only answer he could believe was that the sentinel hoped to gain his trust to fulfill Mythal's machinations. Yet surely they'd know he wouldn't be so easily deceived…
Shrugging off the thoughts for now, Solas locked the door and warded it against intrusion, then finally went to bed.
Elven used: Felasil/Felasilen: slow-witted, idiot. (Taken from FenXShiral's Project Elvhen)
Next Chapter:
She had just finished when she heard Lyris speak outside in a threatening growl. "What are you doing here?"
A second later a familiar female voice replied, "Her majesty invited me. She seeks to learn more of her latest opponent in the great Game. Why wouldn't I attend at her summons?"
Morrigan.