A/N: So this arc of the story you can kind of imagine has Solas like a cornered wolf. What does the wolf do when it's cornered? It bites. And so with the chapter preview you can see this will only lead to more trouble.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed last chapter!

Thirty-One

Wolf Among The Vipers

Dragging Lyris deeper into the room disturbed the layer of frost Solas' spell had created over the floor to expose invisible attackers, but he didn't care. When she was inside their room Solas dropped into a crouch and pulled the warrior into his arms. Ellana rushed forward, falling to her knees at his side and digging at Lyris' armor to try and expose her wound, but uncovering it through the gore already on her would be difficult. Solas concentrated on Lyris, feeling the charge of her magic reacting with his own as he reached out with those unseen senses. He felt the snag of magic, a knot where her energies caught in a violent eddy on the wound.

"Her left shoulder," he told Ellana. "Close to the artery."

"Oh no," Ellana breathed and redoubled her efforts to tear off the warrior's armor.

Lyris groaned in his arms, her skin as pale as the snow that'd still littered the ground in the Emerald Graves when they'd left a week ago. She struggled to lift her head, brow knit and coated in sweat. She started speaking in slurred elven."Dirthera ma vhenan ir abelas, na—"

"You will tell him yourself, falon," Solas told her through clenched teeth as he reached for his core, summoning as much magic as he could and pushing it into her as he pressed his palm over the wound. She gasped, groaning, then cursing in elven as her eyelids fluttered closed. Her head fell back, limp.

"Lyris!" Ellana cried, shrill with alarm.

"She merely rests," Solas told her, still focused on the surge of magic flowing through his body and into Lyris. The Veil strangled his mana draw and the effort of continuously fighting it soon had him feeling hot and shaky, sweat lining his brow along the wolf headdress. Yet he could feel the wound stabilizing, flesh knitting together as the bleeding slowed to an ooze that'd undoubtedly stop on its own. It was not as grave a wound as Ellana's had been when Sera accidentally shot her—the rogue assassin's knife had missed the lungs—but with the Veil hampering him and after Lyris' profuse blood loss, the warrior would be weak and vulnerable for a few days. A wound like this would have been merely an inconvenience if they were within the Fade.

Thumping and the clank of armor came through the hall as Orlesian guards rushed into their room. "What's going on here?" one of the men called out in his nasally, accented voice.

Had they delayed purposefully? Solas' blood still pounded through him, his head swimming with the hard, sudden drain of his core. How long had it been since the assassins had struck? It felt like hours though Solas knew only minutes had passed, but regardless, it'd taken these guards far longer than it should have for them to react.

"There's been an attack," Ellana answered, breathless but still authoritative. "Our companion was wounded. You." She gestured at one of the guards. "Fetch us some bandaging and be on alert. There may be more assassins. These were cloaked rogues wielding daggers."

The guard she'd indicated pivoted and rushed away with a steady thumping while the other two men lingered in the doorway, vaguely standing watch. Solas wrestled with the ominous press of rage coiling inside him, choosing to focus on Lyris rather than on the incompetency of the Orlesians. Scooping the warrior up into his arms, he carried her to the bed, heedless of the crimson stains he left behind on his clothing, the carpeting, and the bedspread.

It was only a few minutes later that Matheral arrived, likely expecting to join Lyris in escorting them back from lunch only to find the guards around the doorway and at least one body in the hall. The warrior shouted from outside when the guards ordered him to halt and stand back.

"Let him through," Solas ordered and rose from his spot at Lyris' bedside to make room for Mathrel to take his place. The stricken expression on his face as he registered Lyris and the bloodstains over the room made Solas' chest tighten painfully with sympathy. Soon Mathrel's darker skin tone had paled into an ashen one that was nearly as drawn and sickly as his bondmate's.

"I'm so sorry, Mathrel," Ellana said, her voice choked. She had taken a position sitting on the bed, dexterous despite the pronounced roundness of her belly. Clutching one of Lyris' hands in her own, her lips were set in a hard line while her eyes were misty with unshed tears and worry.

Mathrel laid a hand on Lyris' cheek. "There's nothing you need to apologize for," he told her, voice rough and deep. His eyes stayed riveted to Lyris. "She lives. That is all that matters."

Solas left them with Lyris to investigate the body of the other assassin. The Orlesian guards watched him, their postures stiff and wary, their sword hands resting on their belts, ready to draw their weapons and use them—on him. On some level Solas hoped they would attack, because then he'd have an outlet for the tumultuous fury broiling within. Instead he turned his mind to the hallway, scanning the lush blue carpeting of the guest wing and taking in the blotches and spray left by blood. A body lay crumpled in blood off to his right, the throat slashed by Lyris' spectral blade. A second assassin lay much closer to the door, stabbed through the chest. Scorch marks blackened the gilded paneling on the walls, left behind by Lyris as she cast fire or lightning at her attackers. Servants and a few other guests or palace personnel gawked from down the hallway, whispering and staring.

Solas rolled the nearest body over using his magic, casually raising one hand and maneuvering the assassin onto her back to examine her armor. It was nondescript; carrying no obvious markers to give away who she'd worked for, yet the assassin had worn a leering mask over her face that seemed to be a mockery of the usual Orlesian practice. Solas recalled the House of Repose and the brief skirmish he'd been part of when Ellana had gotten involved in the Montilyet's fortunes and had to save Josephine from their assassins. They'd used cloaked assassins as well.

The hissed whispers from down the hall had increased as he lingered over the body. Solas turned his head and glared down the hallway at them, lips quirking in a scowl and his hands clenching into fists. It was increasingly clear to Solas that the Orlesians didn't share Ellana's naivety in believing peace was possible through negotiation. The empress had invited them here only with the hope of ending their rebellion through assassination.

At least now there is evidence, he thought, sneering down at the bodies in the hall.

Solas returned to the bedroom, finding Ellana chatting in a low voice to Mathrel as she recounted the attack. Lyris lay on the bed between them, pale and unconscious, but breathing deeply as she slept. Sighing, Solas' gaze traveled to the shadow under their enormous bed where he'd stashed the bow he'd commissioned for Ellana as a betrothal gift, as clan Lavellan custom dictated. He'd hoped to present it to her and ask her to become his bondmate weeks ago, but the Emerald Graves campaign had interfered. With the baby fast approaching, Solas was running out of time.

A servant charged through the door, arms laden with bandaging and other supplies. The servant was lean even for an elf, red-faced and shaking as he passed his burden off to Mathrel. The boy kept shooting anxious looks over his shoulder at Solas, lips twitching.

Solas tensed, uncertain what the boy might do, but he needn't have worried. When he'd finished the servant boy whipped around and stared at Solas, jaw clenching and brown eyes wide as he spoke in a hushed whisper, "They say you bring mien'harel."

Solas nodded gravely, his lips curling in a vicious, humorless smile. "Do you grow weary of the shemlen, lethallin?" he asked.

"Every day," the boy growled, though his eyes flicked anxiously toward the door. After a pause he licked his lips and dipped his head, adding, "Hahren."

"Join us in the Emerald Graves," Solas said, letting his voice slide into a deeper octave. "Your ancestors walked this world with power the shemlens cannot even imagine. It will be so again by my hand."

"City elves are welcome?" the boy asked, both eyebrows shooting up into his forehead with obvious surprise.

Solas' smile softened with compassion. "We are all one people, lethallin. The Dalish are no more Elvhen than you and your kin." He knew there were still divisions between the Dalish and the city elves serving him, but Solas had seen those differences cast aside as both groups fought together for a common goal.

The servant boy quickly glanced behind him to the bed where Mathrel and Ellana still tended Lyris. Then, squaring his shoulders, the boy faced Solas again and edged closer, whispering, "The Marquise plays both sides, hahren. She wishes to explore alliance and longs for an elven homeland, but she does not trust the Dalish."

Now Solas smirked. "Then it is a good thing I am not Dalish, lethallin. I am Elvhen." Schooling his reaction to be warm and yet authoritative, he let the silence drag out, hoping to extract more information from the servant regarding Briala. He knew more about the Marquise than anyone would suspect, but he had to be cautious with Briala. She was a trickster in her own right and Solas didn't know what to expect from her.

Nodding, the servant said, "The Marquise wishes you to know that the next attempt on your lives will be poison. It will be in your bedsheets tomorrow night."

"Ma serannas," Solas replied, somber and genuine. He had not thought to suspect poisoning through linens and at this news his mind spun out, considering the preemptive steps he'd need to take to ensure their safety. At the servant's nervous look Solas added, "Your information is safe with me. We will happen upon the poison on our own and take precautions against future attacks."

Relieved, the servant boy dropped into a bow. "Until we meet again, Dread Wolf."

Solas laid a hand over the youth's shoulder and squeezed. "Dareth shiral." As he watched the boy leave, Solas pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting down something like bile rising in his throat. This charade was too visible, too dangerous. Fen'Harel did not see it as worth the risk. Only Solas' desire to keep Ellana placated had forced him to come here. Now, with two assassination attempts in less than twenty-four hours, it seemed increasingly foolish to remain, even with promising tidbits like the meeting with Leliana and the servant's warning on Briala's behalf.

The wolf should know better than to share a den with vipers.

Ellana was surprised to find the baths open despite the biting chill in the air. They'd been renovated from their summertime design with glass inserts that now held in the heat of the baths within. Gold-orange firelight flickered from braziers beyond the foggy glass, wet with condensation. A concierge waited outside the main entrance, smiling as Ellana approached with her new retinue of bodyguards—Abelas and two Dalish, Samhel from her clan and Shila, a First from a clan called Ghilath.

"Lady Lavellan," the concierge greeted her with a thick Orlesian accent. "Welcome. I'm afraid I don't have an appointment down for you, but—"

"Ellana!" a voice exclaimed from the shadows around the corner of the bath. All three bodyguards tensed behind Ellana as everyone turned in that direction in surprise as a small figure emerged into the pale, milky moonlight.

Ellana recognized Scout Lace Harding's tiny form and grinned. "Scout Harding, what a pleasant surprise."

The dwarf shuffled her feet as if bashful. "Wasn't expecting to run across you on my nightly rounds." Her pale, freckled face split with a wide grin as she motioned with her head toward Ellana's abdomen and chuckled. "I see the rumors were true back during the Exalted Council."

"Yes," she agreed, laying a hand over her belly. "True and larger than life now."

Harding cocked her head to one side, smiling warmly as she gestured at the gardens around the baths. "Feel up to a walk so we can catch up?" she asked, then shrugged toward the concierge. "This place is always so hoity-toity they'd never be able to get you in under such short notice, I'm afraid."

The concierge sniffed, thrusting his nose into the air snottily, but he said nothing to refute Harding's comment. Ellana shot him an apologetic smile and then spoke to Harding a little louder than she needed to, "I could use a walk, sure."

Falling in line beside Harding, Ellana walked through the garden and up the short stairs to the fountain that'd been dedicated to the alliance between the Inquisition and Orlais. The musical tinkling of water made Ellana's bladder seem to shrivel. She'd made sure to use the chamber pot before she, Solas, and their retinue of bodyguards exited the palace, but it seemed her bladder had the magical power to conjure water the way Solas could from Fade ether. It never stayed empty for more than a few minutes.

They sat on a bench beside the fountain. Harding had to sit at the edge of the bench to keep her short legs from swinging free. Ellana reclined, trying hard not to slouch. The baby kicked and squirmed, making her wince. Watching her, Harding chuckled. "That looks like it's uncomfortable," she commented.

"He's a fighter," she said, smirking. Like his father…

"A friend of mine let me feel her baby kicking back when I still lived in the Hinterlands," Harding said, nose wrinkling with humor. "It was like her daughter wanted to kick her way out. My friend said she loved it, but it didn't look very fun to me."

"Sometimes he kicks a bit too hard," Ellana conceded, still smiling. "It's reassuring, even if it is uncomfortable." She felt the weight of grief settling within her, like a brick that fought the baby for space inside her. The memory of Lyris' blood, her pale skin and slurred babbling as she asked Solas to tell Mathrel something for her kept leaping into her mind's eye whenever she blinked.

Harding made a sympathetic sound, as if she could read Ellana's mind. "I heard there was another assassination attempt. Leliana keeps me informed."

Samhel and Shila were walking around the fountain, peering over the walls and into the grounds beyond, searching for dangers and eavesdroppers. Abelas, however, stayed close enough that she could have reached out and gripped his forearm. Harding cast a quick glance at the wandering elves, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. If the bodyguards bothered her she didn't reveal it. Leliana had been grooming her as her understudy and eventual replacement. The dwarf's easygoing, friendly nature apparently belied her ability to deceive and uncover others' motives.

"Yes," Ellana murmured, lowering her gaze to her lap. "One of us was injured. A friend." She cleared her throat and met Harding's sympathetic gaze with her own. "I was under the impression Leliana would meet with me."

Harding smiled, tight and closed-lipped. "She wanted to, but the best she could manage was to send me. She can't afford to be seen with you. It would compromise the Inquisition too much. We're supposed to be neutral in all this—as servants of the Chantry and Divine Victoria—and people already don't believe we are. So Leliana couldn't come here."

"Leliana hasn't become Inquisitor?" Ellana asked, arching an eyebrow.

Harding's smile turned sly. "No. She still prefers secrets to leading. If Cassandra wasn't Divine she would step in, I'm sure. And the commander is too busy second-guessing himself because of his past." Her brow knit with sympathy at that last comment and Ellana sighed, staring down into her lap again as her ear tips burned. She could imagine her two advisors arguing amongst themselves with Cassandra pressuring them from outside, insisting one of them must step up to fill the void of Ellana's departure. Josephine would never be a suitable replacement because she was just too good of an ambassador.

"I wish I could've stayed," she murmured, still unable to look at the dwarf woman in the eye. "But Cassandra and Leliana forced the issue when they arrested Solas."

Harding let out a tight chuckle. "I have to be honest—we still don't know what to make of him being some kind of elven god. We still have a lot of unanswered questions."

"And I cannot answer them," Ellana said with a little depressed huff. "I'm sorry. Suffice to say, Solas and I are fighting for our people's long term survival." A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Believe it or not, retaking the Dales is the least destructive option we had." She forced herself to look Harding in the eye, willing the dwarf to take her seriously. "Please, if you could pass that along to Leliana and Cassandra…"

"I will," Harding agreed, also smiling. She gave a shrug. "Can't say I understand exactly, but I'll tell them." As her smile fell away, leaving her features twisting into something somber and grave, Harding scooted closer over the bench, ignoring the way the movement made Abelas shift his stance, alert for danger. The dwarf spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "Leliana wanted to warn you that her spies say both the Antivan Crows and the House of Repose have been contracted by Empress Celene to kill you and Solas. And the word from Tevinter is that they want in on the action too and have sent some assassins as well."

Ellana let out a dry laugh. "It sounds like they're going to have to form a line and have duels over which one gets to kill us." She frowned, a mixture of playfulness and irritation making her skin warm in spite of the chilly air. "Also, your warning's a bit late, Scout Harding. I expected better of you."

Harding laughed, full-throated and loud. After catching her breath, she shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint, ma'am. Honestly, we didn't expect them to move so fast."

"Yes, two assassination attempts per day is a bit overzealous," Ellana muttered, smirking with dark humor. Heaving a sigh, she frowned as all mirth left her. "But it sounds as though we can expect many more." Arching an eyebrow at Harding, she asked, "Did Leliana have any bright ideas for you to share with me?"

The dwarf woman sat silent, her gaze averted. Clouds scudded across the moon, sending the gardens into a gloomier darkness. Samhel gave a little cough as the silence reigned. Finally Harding said, "Nothing that you'd want to hear, your worship."

Thinking of the way Solas had warned her moodily that afternoon that peace wouldn't come through negotiation, Ellana groaned and scrubbed at her face with both hands. "You're going to tell me these talks won't work, aren't you?"

Harding gave a half-shrug. "Basically." She fidgeted and then added, "Actually, it's worse than that. Leliana thinks you'll both wind up dead unless something drastic is done. She wanted me to come here and encourage you to renounce…him, whatever he wants to be called now." Harding cut a narrow-eyed, anxious look to the three elven bodyguards. "The Inquisition would offer you protection. Divine Victoria could work from within the Chantry to arrange the Emerald Graves are returned to the elves in exchange for peace."

"You're bribing me with the Emerald Graves to try and get me to leave Solas?" Ellana asked, deadpan and cold. Her hands bunched into fists, clenching the fabric of her coat on her thighs.

"We're trying to save your life, Inquisitor," Harding said and then stared, eyes widening and one hand slapping over her lips as they both realized what she'd called Ellana.

Closing her eyes and turning her head away, Ellana clenched her jaw, fighting the sudden sting of tears. They really do want me back, she thought.

"I am not Inquisitor any longer," Ellana bit the words out. Her limbs had grown heavy and twitchy, her body suffused with waves of heat that made her sweat. Her bladder seemed to have shrunken again, full to the brim and incessant in reminding her that she needed to empty it. The watery song of the fountain and the mounting tension of the conversation wasn't helping either.

"Whatever you're helping him do with the Fade, with the mark…" Harding went on, a note of pleading in her voice. "It can't be good. Dorian, Sera, Rainier, and Iron Bull have fed Leliana reports of what they learned while with you and it's…terrifying."

"Only because you don't understand it," Ellana muttered. "But my people need the Fade."

"I don't know much about elven history," Harding admitted, still sounding spooked but also emphatic. "But what I do know is Fen'Harel is supposed to be a trickster. Leliana's convinced now he was responsible for Corypheus and the Breach. That means he was never here with us because it was the right thing, he was just after the orb or the Anchor." She sighed, the sound carrying both anger and sadness. "You can't trust him, Ellana."

Ellana had flinched at Harding's comment about the Breach and Corypheus, but she schooled her reaction as she thought, Solas would never do something that horrible again now that he knows this world is as real as Elvhenan. Keeping her words as even as she could, she said, "I appreciate the Inquisition's concern for my wellbeing; however, I'm not going to abandon Solas, no matter his past. Now, if that is all you have to say, I really must reliev—excuse myself." Heat leapt into her cheeks, burning at the slip, but fortunately Harding made no reaction as she hopped to her feet and offered Ellana a quick bow.

"Do keep the offer in mind, Lady Lavellan," she said, slipping back into a friendly but formal tone. A moment later she strode away, trotting in that distinctive short-legged gait of dwarves. Ellana watched her go, still fighting the blush and trying not to think of her bladder.

The wind whipped past Ellana, tugging at her hair and her coat. She shivered and hunkered down further into her coat. The clouds had only thickened over the moon, leaving the gardens gloomy and dark.

Abelas shifted beside her and broke the quiet to speak in a subdued voice, "Sadly the child of the Stone is correct that what we do with the power of the Fade restored to us will be terrifying for the other races."

"Only to those who oppose or threaten us," Ellana retorted scowling as she twisted at the neck to stare up at him. Solas had appointed the sentinel as one of their bodyguards because he was a capable warrior, but Ellana knew the two men felt nothing but animosity and distrust toward one another. Solas contended that Abelas had betrayed him, leaving with his sentinels suddenly before their battle with the Forgotten Ones. The departure of a few dozen talented Elvhen warriors hadn't stopped Solas' army from achieving victory, but like him, Ellana wondered if fewer lives would've been lost had the sentinels remained loyal. But, then again, they'd never been disingenuous about whom they truly served: Mythal.

Except now, oddly enough, she saw Abelas had indeed had his vallaslin removed. His pale forehead was smooth and clearly unmarked despite the darkness and the shadow of his hood. His golden eyes glittered as he stared down at her with an expression that reminded Ellana of one her Keeper would've given her when she said something childish and naïve.

"That will be how it will begin," Abelas said, lips pinching into a hard, firm line. "But once we have drunk of power long enough and our numbers grow, we will find the Dales are not enough. Thedas was not enough for Elvhenan, after all. We fell to civil war, greed, and corruption."

"You're cheery tonight," she grumbled, sagging against the bench. She sighed, frowning, because she knew his assessment on the future was probably accurate. She'd used it with Solas before and even he had had no refute.

"I am named Abelas," he reminded her.

On either side of the fountain stood her other two bodyguards, Samhel bright in his brown and green Dalish warrior armor and Shila in the mage robes of a Keeper. They watched her, waiting for her signal to leave. Despite the danger of assassination and the annoying insistence of her bladder, Ellana found the chilly night air calming—or she had until Abelas spoke, anyway.

Ellana craned her neck again to stare at him, curious at the note of humor she'd thought she heard in his voice. When she saw the slight smile on his lips she let out a snort. "So you are. Care to tell me why? Did you pick it or were parents in Elvhenan fond of naming their children after emotions?"

"I selected it when I entered Mythal's service," he answered.

"Oh?" she crooned, intrigued. "And what was your given name?"

He shot her an unreadable look. "Why?"

Shrugging, she said, "I'm curious. Indulge me. What sorts of names were popular where—and whenever—you were born?"

"Looking for baby names, Lana?" Samhel asked from near the fountain, grinning at her.

"Maybe," she hedged, returning his grin with one of her own. "And before you start, I know you and the rest of the clan have plenty of suggestions, but those are new names." Casting a speculative glance at Abelas, she added, "At least I think they are." Raising her eyebrows and gesturing encouragingly, she said, "So, what was your first name? Your real name?"

"Abelas," he replied, scowling. "That is my real name. It was not chosen lightly."

Tapping the fingers of her right hand against her left bicep, Ellana pinched her lips together. "Why did you ask to have your vallaslin removed?" she asked, all trace of amusement gone.

"I no longer desired to be bound to Mythal," he replied simply. Yet the way his eyes narrowed and he averted his gaze made something prickle inside Ellana with suspicion. There was more to it than that—there had to be.

"But why?" she pressed, shifting on the bench to face him directly. He refused to answer, jaw clenching as he stared off at the fountain. "Solas told me the vallaslin could compel you to obey Mythal. Was that true? Is that why you had them removed?"

He shook his head, but Ellana took the motion as one of reaction to her words and not an actual answer to her question. His lips quirked in a mild frown before his expression returned to a cold neutral. Long seconds passed and it seemed he would remain silent, but then, just as Ellana started to turn away, Abelas said, "I disagreed with Mythal's plans. Therefore, I left her service."

Ellana tensed. "What plans?"

Now Abelas stared straight forward through the dark, silent. Ellana waited, watching him as the clouds finally passed by the moon, bathing the gardens in the milky light again. It was clear he wouldn't answer her this time and Ellana bit back the desire to growl with irritation as she scooted forward over the bench. Rubbing a hand over her belly, she felt again the press of her bladder and heaved herself up to her feet with a grunt. "We should get going."

Samhel and Shila, the Dalish first, strode to take up positions around Ellana as she walked toward the short stairs. Abelas led the way, his tread confident and swift. Ellana waddled behind him, feeling like a splayfooted duck when compared to her companions now with the weight of the baby heavy over her hips. Samhel fell into step at her side as they neared the baths and said, "You know your dwarven friend? The famous writer? Darric?"

"Varric," Ellana corrected him with a laugh. "What's he done now?"

Samhel chuckled at his own error. "He found Lerand and me and others like Shila who came with us from the Graves and asked us to wager on whether you're carrying a boy or a girl. He said the odds were even and he needed to ante up the bets."

Struggling to withhold laughter in favor of her ever-full bladder, Ellana asked, "And did you help him in this quest of his?"

The Dalish warrior—who would have been Ellana's brother-in-law had she not left for the conclave—laid a hand over his chest and flashed an innocent expression. "Me? I would never do such a thing. Of course that was only because Lerand and I didn't have a single coin to our name and the dwarf refused to bet that crossbow of his."

Now she did burst out laughing again, only to groan as she slowed her step, causing all three bodyguards to hesitate as they regarded her. They'd reached the baths again and the concierge still standing watch at the door turned his head also to look at her, his face unreadable with his mask. "Stop making me laugh, Samhel," she scolded him. "I'm in desperate need of a chamber pot."

"Why not use the potted plants?" Samhel asked, smirking. "We are Dalish savages, aren't we?"

She gave him a playful shrug and saw the concierge a few meters away had started studying his shoes as though bored. Behind them Shila sniggered while Abelas showed no reaction at all except for crossing his arms over his chest. Deciding not to do as Samhel suggested, Ellana started walking again, leaving the baths and the gardens. Rounding the wall as they entered the courtyard proper, Ellana recognized Solas' cloaked figure, hood up and leaning casually against a potted plant as he examined his nails. He had not worn the wolf headdress here, much to Ellana's surprise. Lerand and another Dalish First stood nearby as his bodyguards, both appearing stiff and tense. Solas, however, seemed far more at ease as he pushed himself off the potted plant and strode to meet her, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace.

With their foreheads pressed together, Solas spoke in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. "What news, vhenan?"

Licking her lips, she told him what Scout Harding had said. When she reached the bit about Leliana's prediction that they'd be dead and Ellana should just leave Solas to return to the Inquisition, Solas snarled. Pulling away, he glared at the palace behind her. "This is a nest of vipers."

Laying a hand on his forearm, Ellana squeezed. "What do we do, emma lath?"

His nostrils flared as he breathed, not looking at her for a long moment. Then his blue-gray eyes slid to her and narrowed. "We will show them that wolves have fangs."

That night as Solas set the wards around their room, Ellana lay in their bed nestled beneath the covers, talking to him in a voice made rough with fatigue. "What were your parents' names?"

The question took him aback, making him freeze midway through the latest ward—this one located over the windowsill farthest from their bed. Glancing at the bed, he blinked against the gloom. The room was lit by a single veilfire orb he'd cast while preparing the wards, coloring everything in a soft, iridescent green. He could see Ellana propped up in the bed with an assortment of puffy pillows beneath her head and shoulders. The round swell of her belly made a little hill for her hands to rest upon. The sight of it tugged his lips into a warm smile, chasing away the thought of assassins and poison and rebellion for the moment.

Reaching into his mana core, Solas cast the ward, charging it with magic. "You are seeking names for our child."

She chuckled. "And you are avoiding answering my question." The sheets rustled as she shifted in bed in the unceasing quest to find a comfortable position. Solas had found his sleep disrupted by her tossing and turning more than once as the child grew, making it harder for her to get comfortable.

Crossing along the wall farthest from their bed, Solas began another ward. He'd paced the room during the day, tapping the walls as he searched for any signs they might be hollow with secret passages and hadn't been convinced there wasn't something hidden. As he charged this next ward, he said, "My father's name was Sylvun. My mother was called Renan." Even without looking at her, Solas could sense Ellana absorbing the names, assessing their meanings.

Solas kept working along the wall, placing more ice wards to occupy his mind. Considering his parents always brought on the bitter pain of their loss, the cutting guilt and shame at knowing he was responsible for their deaths. The idea of possibly honoring them by naming their child after one of them was both enticing and terrifying. He didn't probe at his emotions around the idea, uncertain of what he'd find.

"Breath of life," Ellana said, defining his father's name aloud. "A beautiful meaning. You said he worked in the Elvhen library. Was he bookish like you? A good storyteller?"

Pausing on his current ward, Solas nodded though he doubted she'd see it. His father had been something akin to their village's lore keeper, a man with an impressive vocabulary and a wealth of stories to share. Some of the tales Solas had shared as his own had actually come from his father. "He was indeed, vhenan."

"And Renan: voice," she said, moving onto his mother. Chuckling, she asked, "You said your mother had a temper?"

"Yes." Oddly, he found he couldn't say anything more. His throat was tight, clamping down on any words he'd wanted to say—not that he had any. Solas finished warding the far wall and returned to the window, having already done the door and the wall adjacent to it. The wards had faded to be nearly invisible after he'd primed them, leaving only a faint bluish hue to mark the ice magic lying in wait.

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "Does it hurt to remember them? I didn't mean to cause you pain."

Sighing heavily, he stared at Ellana on the bed, seeing the glint of her green eyes reflecting the veilfire. Slowly, he let his lips curl in a gentle, sad smile. "The loss will always be mine to bear, vhenan. It will always hurt, but you have nothing to apologize for, and I do them a disservice by locking away the memory of them." Still pausing before setting the next ward on the middle window, his eyes glazed as his long memory supplied the sound of his mother's voice echoing through his mind. "My mother was well named as she possessed a powerful voice and an even greater will."

"I wish I could have met her," Ellana said. "And your father, too." She made a contented noise in her throat, a soft humming. "Sylvun," she said, tasting his father's name and then letting out a little noise of surprise that drew Solas' gaze to her, narrowing with concern.

"Vhenan?"

"He kicked when I said it," she explained, grinning. Her teeth glinted green as they reflected the veilfire. "Well, that settles it. He wants to be named after your father."

Solas chuckled as he finished casting with a flourish of one hand and then sidestepped to stand with his back to Ellana to finish the last ward on the window closest to their sleeping position. "And what if he happens to be born she?"

"It'll still work out," Ellana insisted and he could hear the shrug in her words as well as hear it in the way her shoulders rustled against the pillows behind her. "Sylvun could be a daughter's name as well. But this baby is a boy. I just know it."

"In that case I'm surprised you have not succumbed to Varric's gamble on the matter," Solas commented as he finished the ward and moved to the bed, smiling down at her.

"Maybe I will," she said, smirking as both hands on her belly moved in an idle circle.

The little motion drew Solas' gaze and he felt his own fingers twitch with the need to touch her. Moving the covers aside, he slipped into the bed and nuzzled close to her, resting his forehead against hers and wrapping an arm over her to pull her close. He let out a long breath, relaxing and luxuriating in her closeness, the warmth of her body alive and healthy and whole. Her breath puffed on his cheek as she heaved a long, soft sigh of her own.

He wished he could spend the night teaching her in the Fade, or reaching out to Mahanon in the Emerald Graves, or even just sharing his memories of Elvhenan and Arlathan with Ellana in dreams. But he knew rebellion awaited him, the promise of violence. The humans needed a reminder that their rule over Thedas wasn't absolute. They needed to realize that Fen'Harel didn't require the Fade to cause chaos and that they should have used the peace talks for peace, not plotting assassination. He knew just the Elvhen mage to reach out to for maximum chaos—Zevanni.

She was currently in Tevinter, but with the eluvians she could quickly return to the Emerald Graves and Solas knew he had more than enough willing elves, Dalish and city elf alike, who would leap at the chance to begin clearing out human settlements from the Exalted Plains. Also using the eluvians, Zevanni could attack almost anywhere, harrying and stealing and inciting rebellions. Solas had let the city elves stew quietly for weeks now while he focused on the Emerald Graves, but it was definitely time to stir that pot to an explosive boil. His message would be as clear as he could make it: Give us what we want or we will take it from you and send you straight to the void.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, prodding his arm with one hand.

"Hmm." He nuzzled her ear again, pushing aside his darker thoughts even though he knew Ellana would want him to include her in them. "I was wondering if you would not prefer to name our child after your father, perhaps, as you are so convinced we will have a son."

"No," she said and he knew by the tone of her voice that she frowned as she said it. "Mahanon should be the one to name a son after our father."

He blinked through the darkness at her, startled at the slight bitterness he heard in her tone. Raising the arm stretched out over her to cup her cheek affectionately, Solas asked, "What troubles you?"

Pressing into his palm, she inhaled shakily. "My father always preferred Mahanon over me. He loved me deeply, I know, but Mahanon earned his praise while I was an afterthought." Silence reigned for a moment before she let out a hoarse chuckle. "Mahanon was the talented one, the one gifted with magic. I was the troublemaker, destined to become just another hunter."

"Ir abelas, vhenan," he murmured, pressing close to brush his lips onto her cheek. "I did not realize the suggestion would cause you pain."

"It doesn't cause me pain," she answered, turning her head and shifting onto her side to face him. "I'd just prefer to let Mahanon honor our father whenever he has a son." She lay her hand on his cheek, smiling sleepily. "And you don't need to apologize."

With another humming sound from deep in his throat, Solas took her hand from his cheek and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles. "Give me some time to consider a name," he said. "It is…odd to consider my child bearing my father's name."

Solas couldn't quite shake the instinctual uneasiness that rose within him, like a splinter in his skin, when he considered using his father's name for this new life. He despised superstition, but found the icy grip of fear at his throat—that bone-deep, primal dread that rose in him when he worried that something might happen to Ellana or their child—still stirred it as if to spite his normally rational mind. Yet simultaneously he did long to honor the memory of his parents, to redeem himself in this small, simple way. To overcome his uneasiness with the name he resolved to take his time deliberating until he could come to grips with it.

"Of course," she answered with a small smile, then yawned and grimaced, trying to stifle it. "We don't have to use that one either…"

He squeezed her hand. "It is a good name and I would like to use it." Chuckling, he released her hand and laid his palm over her belly. "How could I deny our child the name it has chosen for itself, after all?"

She laughed, snuggling closer, as much as the roundness of their child allowed. "Careful or you'll spoil him," she teased.

"Oh, I intend to, vhenan," he purred, stroking her hair. Her quiet, affectionate laughter in response filled him with a hazy, comforting warmth as he descended into sleep.

Next Chapter:

"You cannot do this," she said, her voice raw and her throat burning with emotion. "You cannot."

"I will not sit idle while our enemies move in to kill us," Solas growled. "Do not ask me to do that."

"Then we simply ask to end the peace talks," Ellana said, voice quaking. "But you cannot kill Celene. You're better than that, Fen'Harel."