A/N: I hope no one thinks Solas is too ruthless in these chapters. But let's all not forget that this is the same guy who plans to destroy the world, including Lavellan in the usual canon. So...yeah. We're rapidly heading toward some high-drama, high-action and...*gasp* angst. Ir abelas, friends. Bear with me and we'll ride it out!

Thank you again to everyone following, reading, and especially to my reviewers!

Thirty-Two

Roamer of the Beyond

The heavy boughs of the massive trees in the Emerald Graves were covered in pinkish buds that made Ellana think of ripening fruit. Fiddlehead ferns had begun sprouting from the fertile black earth, the intricate yellow-green spirals making her mouth water at the memory of their succulent taste. Though the forest around her was empty and seemed real, Ellana could feel the subtle song underlying it and knew this was a dream and she wasn't alone—her brother was here somewhere.

She strode around the massive tree to her right, touching it with one hand to feel the rough bark. Green Fade ether rose like mist, curling around her legs as she walked. With just a thought Ellana imagined it becoming flower blossoms and the ether immediately formed the pink-white flower petals, fluttering like feathers in the wind, stirred up by her every footstep.

"Creators damn it," a familiar male voice grumbled.

Grinning, she circled the tree further until she saw Mahanon standing in the clearing ahead. Sunlight streaked in through the bare branches overhead, catching his brown hair and highlighting the reddish strands, setting them alight. Sensing her presence, Mahanon whipped around to stare at her, eyes wide before he relaxed with recognition.

"Asamalin," he greeted her with a nod and a warm smile. Sister.

She returned the nod. "Isamalin." Brother.

"Did you find me or did I draw you here?" he asked, spreading his hands to indicate the forest around them, though Ellana knew he didn't mean the Emerald Graves. None of the scenery around them was real, though Ellana knew she hadn't been the one to shape it. Mahanon had done that, carving the Fade subconsciously with his surroundings as he slept.

"To be honest I'm not sure," she said, smiling sheepishly, one hand still on the rough bark of the tree to her right. "I was thinking about you as I drifted off to sleep and next thing I knew I was here." She shrugged. Dreaming had proven surprisingly easy for her since touching the Fade and having lessons with Solas on how to shape it. Yet she'd assumed she wouldn't be able to reach out to Mahanon. Outside of the rune circles where they'd restored the Fade, Ellana was still just a rogue archer, sensitive to magic but unable to cast.

Then again, she'd been able to share dreams with Solas in Skyhold years before they restored the Fade. Yet Ellana had always assumed that was the Anchor at work, along with Solas' own impressive abilities as a Dreamer.

"I was hoping to mesh minds with Rinaya," Mahanon admitted with a lascivious grin. "Solas told me sharing with a lover might make it easier."

Ellana laughed, breathless as she asked, "He said that?"

Mahanon's hazel eyes crinkled with amusement, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. "Something like that."

Striding closer, her jaw dropped as she saw all trace of his vallaslin—he'd chosen Dirthamen, god of secrets—had been removed. "You're barefaced."

With an almost embarrassed shrug, Mahanon averted his gaze and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah…Deshanna removed it for me."

"Solas taught our Keeper the spell to remove vallaslin?" Ellana asked, surprised. "When did he have a chance to do that?" They'd been so busy expanding the rune circles, restoring the Fade in the Emerald Graves; Ellana didn't think Solas had had a chance to revisit the glade deep in the forest near the ruins housing the eluvian where clan Lavellan had camped. Clearly she'd been wrong to think that, unless Solas had done it in a dream of course.

Mahanon looked at her with a quizzical expression that warped into one of amusement. "Back when he first visited the clan in the fall."

Ellana raised both eyebrows, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes," her brother replied, smirking in the way she recognized meant he knew something she didn't. Usually that particular glimmer in his hazel eyes meant he'd painted a rune onto her bow that'd give her a shock, or he'd cast a freezing spell on her hot dinner while she wasn't looking. Of course Ellana had returned the favor plenty of times. Pranking with Sera had been second nature to her after growing up in the clan.

But how could he be about to prank her in the Fade?

With a huff, she crossed her arms over her chest. "All right, Maha—what are you up to?"

He grimaced at the moniker, just as she'd intended. "If you're going to use a nickname, Lana, call me Han."

She rolled her eyes, though her lips curled in a playful smile. "Anything for you, Han," she teased, batting her eyes the way she'd often done to imitate Rinaya when her friend flirted with Mahanon when they'd been teens. "As long as you come clean."

"Come clean about what? I don't know what you're talking about!" He smirked, smug and self-satisfied. Pivoting on one foot, he twirled his staff, sending loose bolts of lightning crackling through the air. Ellana felt the magic prickling her skin and knew her brother was stalling for time just to annoy her.

She wished with a brief spurt of irritation like hot pins and needles over her, that she could pay him back in kind. Curious, she focused outward for a moment and felt the incorporeal grip of the Fade in the back of her mind. Her stomach flip-flopped with excitement at the discovery. Apparently she didn't truly need the Fade to be restored to the waking world for her to manipulate dreams.

Concentrating, Ellana waved a hand casually at the Fade ether, imagining it solidifying out of the air as water. Then, clenching her fist, she jerked it back toward herself. The green ether rose up around Mahanon in a little vortex, ruffling his clothes and hair. Then it condensed and became water, splattering over him in a cascade, as if an invisible giant had poured a bucket of water onto him.

Mahanon spluttered, spitting and shaking his head, baffled for half a second before he shot her an annoyed look. "Cute, Lana."

She shrugged, examining her fingernails innocently. "I did ask you to come clean, didn't I? The shower would help, I thought."

He shook his head, sending water flying around him like a dog shaking out its fur. "What in the great beyond did I do to you to earn such mistreatment?" he asked with mock-outrage, clucking his tongue. "You are a terrible sister!"

Snickering, Ellana gestured again at the air, summoning a wind to form from the Fade. The trees rustled, whispering as it blew through the branches and stirred the underbrush as it tugged on Mahanon's clothing and hair. "Here," she teased. "Let me help you dry off."

With a grunt, Mahanon cringed against the wind and raised one hand. A mild whump sound cut through the air and the wind Ellana had summoned broke against the greenish shield Mahanon held. He grinned at her look of astonishment. "I've been practicing."

Snorting, Ellana used her other hand to will Fade ether to fly at him from the opposite direction, transforming into water as it crashed against his skin. Mahanon spluttered again, losing focus and letting the greenish shield he'd willed into existence dissipate into mist. He growled under his breath and shot her a real glare now. "Fenedhis," he grumbled. "I don't know how Solas puts up with you for five minutes, let alone an eternity bound as—" Cutting himself off, he stammered. "Uh…sorry."

Ellana stared at him, her muscles stiff with shock as his only half-uttered meaning sank in. "What?"

Mahanon groaned, turning his head up to the sky and wincing against the sunbeams striking his face. "Me and my big mouth." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "I take it he hasn't asked you to become his bondmate yet?"

"No," Ellana said, her heart suddenly lurching into her throat, each pulse sending something warm and pleasant shooting through her. "We've been a bit distracted by the peace talks. Though it's been more like a death trap so far."

Her brother snorted, scowling. "Yeah, I heard. Solas touched my dreams last night and told me he killed three assassins." Snarling, he flashed his teeth with outrage. "Filthy shem bastards." Then, releasing a breath that seemed to make him shrink a bit, Mahanon softened as he said, "I'm glad you are both unharmed."

"As am I," she murmured, resting a hand over her belly before abruptly grinning and willing her dream self to be lean. A moment later she smoothed her palm over her flat abdomen and laughed.

"Neat trick," Mahanon commented. "Let me try." Tilting his head down, he stared at his own flat navel and his brow furrowed with concentration. Ellana watched as long seconds passed before her brother finally muttered under his breath with frustration and shrugged. "Okay, so this whole reshaping the Fade thing doesn't come naturally to me, yet."

Ellana snickered at his expense for a moment before she felt the flutter in her abdomen as the baby kicked at her stomach. Her bladder seemed to tighten, making her grimace. Tracing her palm over her flat front, she said, "It is just a trick. He's still in there raising a ruckus, just like his father."

"Speaking of his father," Mahanon said with a sheepish look. "Can you not tell him I let his plans slip?"

She laughed. "My lips are sealed, isamalin."

The edges of Briala's dream were blurry where it melded into the raw Fade. Solas lingered at the boundary, sensing the Marquise's presence in the scene ahead of him. An unfamiliar Orlesian mansion stood before him, encircled by iron-wrought bars and earthenware walls painted in rich white. Wooden trellises lined the walls in some spots, allowing ivy and morning glory vines to crawl up the structures. Brilliant blue-purple morning glory flowers had opened in the dimness of the early dawn, true to the plant's name.

Greenish wisps moved through the yard ahead, unformed and vague, drifting toward him. They were spirits, intrigued by Briala's mind and memories, mimicking what they'd seen of her life in this dream. Yet now they sensed him, like moths drawn to light, and had begun floating toward the boundary of the dream to investigate him, leaving Briala deeper within. Alone.

Solas kept his mind closed to these spirits, giving them nothing to mimic just yet. He had chosen to present himself as he did in life, wearing the full headdress of the Dread Wolf. Yet, unlike in reality, he'd opted to wear the vestments of Elvhenan—a flowing, colorful silk woven with silvery strands that shimmered like water. The real robes Solas remembered had been imbued with magic, resistant to all the traditional schools of magic and able to throw up a barrier around him when it sensed hostile magic. Sadly the ones he wore in the waking world were a pale substitute.

"You shine," the nearest wisp whispered to him, speaking in elven. "Your thoughts bend the world, curling, twisting, and new. Why can we not taste your mind?"

"I have come to watch, da'len," he answered, addressing the wisp the same way he would an elven child, a smile curving his lips. "I am curious."

He often had to reassure spirits such as these that he held the same interests as they did and only hoped to observe rather than shape or change the Fade. These wisps, though simple in consciousness, recognized him as a Dreamer and, more importantly, a being who didn't fear them or wish to get rid of them. He was friendly, therefore they were friendly, but as with most harmless wisps these spirits were mainly motivated by curiosity.

Once they understood his intent they drifted away, as if losing interest in him. In truth, Solas knew they had merely returned to the drama of dreamscape they'd shaped for Briala. Much like Cole, they'd returned to their original purpose, which was sating curiosity. If Solas had been cagey with them these wisps would've continued investigating him, driven by their very nature to learn more about him.

Wisdom had been a spirit of curiosity once, in her distant "youth." Or so she had told Solas. Thinking of her again made something tighten in Solas' chest, but he pushed it aside, knowing the wisps would react if he felt anything too strongly here.

Stepping into the yard, Solas felt lush grass underfoot, cool and damp with summertime dew. He made his way along the wall, aware of two wisps that had shaped themselves into lithe, shadowy elves. When he snuck glances at them out of the corner of his eye Solas saw them in great detail—they wore green breeches and white tunics with gray vests. In their hands they carried gardening implements: shears, spades, and a bucket for collecting food or flowers out of the garden. But when Solas looked at the elven gardeners directly their colors and shapes seemed to run into each other, losing definition.

This was the mark of wisps creating a dream rather than reenacting a powerful moment of history. Briala's own memories provided the inspiration, but because she was but one woman the wisps had less material to influence them. They could sense his attention when he did stare at them and reacted by losing definition, trying to read him for his input. Spirits on a battlefield or in a ruin were always harder to influence, becoming more like a force of nature that could readily ignore Solas. But with sleeping dreamers the wisps were like clay, ready and eager for the sculptor's hands.

And they knew he was a sculptor like none they had seen for millennia.

Solas brushed his finger along a morning glory, smiling at the delicate beauty of its color, the fragility of its satiny flesh. "A most exquisite replica," he praised the wisps. They flashed, glimmering in his peripheral vision. Though they weren't spirits of pride, they did experience happiness at such praise, much as Cole was joyful when he eased others' pain.

Walking along the iron-wrought fence, past ivy damp with morning dew, Solas circled around the mansion, ignoring the wisps posing as servants or nobles scattered about the garden. Briala's consciousness was a heavy shadow in his mind, a distortion in the Fade that buzzed with the distinct energy of a physical, living being's presence. In the back of the mansion, beside a crystalline pool with brightly colored fish—more wisps, actually—Solas spotted Briala.

She was sitting on the grass, her form vague and shadowy, poorly defined. With little natural connection to the Fade as a non-mage due to the Veil's strangling influence, Briala could never touch it as completely as Solas could. Yet the wisps could still draw her here to pierce her memories and thoughts, reproducing her view of the world.

Solas stopped about five meters from her, staring for a time. Briala leaned forward over the pool slightly, moving to dip a blurry finger into the water. The fish, wisps with flowing fins in a rainbow kaleidoscope of impossible colors, swarmed to her, nibbling toothlessly at her finger just as real fish would.

"Marquise Briala," Solas finally said, speaking in a low voice.

The hazy figure lifted her head, gazing at him. Because she was so loosely connected to the Fade, Solas couldn't make out her features clearly enough to discern whether she recognized him. He could force her deeper into the Fade with but a thought, gripping her spirit and dragging her dangerously from her body. Dreamer mages could kill inside the Fade, after all. It was a skill he'd employed on countless occasions, when the need arose.

"Dread Wolf?" she asked, pronouncing his name slowly. Her finger stayed dipped in the pool. "I should have known." Now she withdrew her hand from the water, flicking her fingers. The fish fluttered in the water, as if flying or floating rather than swimming. "This is an especially vivid dream. Is this your doing?"

It wasn't, really. Most sleepers forgot their dreams quickly after waking. Briala might not even remember this later, unless Solas wove a little magic over her to enhance her memory of it. Still, there was no harm in letting her think anything and everything she deemed out of the ordinary—even if it wasn't truly unusual—was actually his doing.

With a deep chuckle in his throat, Solas strode a few steps closer, letting himself enjoy the way she shot to her feet and backed away. "Are you frightened, da'len?" he asked her, keeping his voice faintly teasing. "I had hoped you above the superstitions of the Dalish."

She remained motionless, her face cloudy and too blurry to read. "Are you a demon?"

Flashing a grin, he said, "If I told you no, would you believe me?"

"Fen'Harel stalks the land of dreams," Briala said, shifting her stance between one leg and the other. Solas noticed that when he turned his head slightly, gazing at her using his peripheral vision, the Marquise was dressed in the same breeches and humble tunic as the gardeners. He noted that unconscious representation, filing it away as interesting and…hopeful.

She gestured to the pool with the impossibly beautiful wisp-fish. "Those fish are…too much. They can't be real. So, I know this must be a dream. That means you are either a demon or Fen'Harel." Falling silent a moment, Solas heard her breathe in deeply. "Since I am no mage, I find it hard to believe I have suddenly attracted a demon's attention."

It was true that demons rarely found mortals without magic to be interesting. Demons could be lured to possess anyone, even a Tranquil, but a sleeper like Briala was normally immune to demon interest.

Solas spread his hands. "Then you have your answer, Marquise. I am Fen'Harel." Clasping his hands behind his back, Solas raised his chin, staring at her from under the shadow of his headdress. "And I have come to extend my gratitude to you for your warnings regarding the poison."

"Is that all?" she asked.

Solas inclined his head in appreciation. "It is not. It has not escaped my notice that these so-called peace talks with Orlais were never intended to achieve peace. Empress Celene and her fellow Orlesians have no intention of elevating the People. Would you agree?"

"Celene has made concessions," Briala hedged, her voice hesitant.

"But she has not allowed you to rule as you will," Solas said, smiling humorlessly.

"No," Briala admitted, the single word rough with frustration. "Many of my attempts to protect my people have been pushed aside as politically disadvantageous. Celene's throne is no longer in peril, thanks to Lady Lavellan, but elevating me to Marquise has done little to change the hearts or minds of the Orlesians."

"And therein lies your greatest problem," Solas said, letting his tone darken and his lips twist slightly. "Despite the power you have been granted, you have been unable to achieve significant change because the humans will never allow it." Squaring his shoulders, Solas began to pace, slow and deliberate, alongside the pool with his hands tucked behind his back. "The difficulty you face now is one I have confronted before. I learned it is impossible to affect substantial change while acting from a position of power. Those who share power with you will always oppose you and undo your work. True change occurs only when rebellion has undermined those who oppose you."

Pausing, Solas stared obliquely at Briala, trying to read her expression. Unfortunately he found her face was still blurry, obscured by her poor connection to the Fade. Her body language was tense and alert, wary perhaps but not yet hostile.

Keeping his voice even, Solas told her, "And the greatest change comes only when those in power have been removed. Permanently."

Briala edged backward a step, one hand rising as if to ward him away though he'd come no closer to her. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Smiling tightly, Solas asked, "What do you believe I am suggesting, da'len?"

"Celene is a good woman," Briala hissed, shaking her head. "She has brought stability to Orlais. The Inquisitor put her in power, personally. You cannot mean to…" She broke off, sucking in a deep breath.

Her reaction confirmed for Solas that the empress and the Marquise were still lovers and he fought off the scowl of frustration—and the bitter bite of regret. He'd hoped that their ardor had cooled and that Briala would place her emotional entanglements behind her in favor of the People. She had done so before. Turning his head to stare off at the mansion, Solas admired the wisps walking about in the guise of elven servants, stooping to trim rose bushes and weed around garden beds. He didn't let any of his emotions rankle too greatly, knowing that if he did the wisps would change the dream and could alarm Briala enough to wake her.

"What was it you said to ma vhenan and I when we arrived at the winter palace for these peace talks, Marquise?" he asked softly, a grim note underlying the words as he quoted her, "'We will have peace whatever the cost.'"

"Killing Celene would only cause chaos in Orlais," Briala blurted, shaking her head vehemently. She fell silent for a moment, her breath loud and whistling. Then she said, "You're bluffing. This is a trick. You hope to manipulate me into coercing Celene into giving you land from the Dales." Scoffing, she took a step closer to him, one hand rising and jabbing a finger toward him accusingly. "You are surrounded on all sides by loyal Orlesians. Celene can call for your arrest at any time. You're as good as already trapped, Fen'Harel."

"Is that so?" he asked, amused.

The pool beside them had changed from its beautiful, crystalline blue to a deep, oily black that began to froth as the wisp-fish inside became tentacles. Briala looked down at it and made a little noise in her throat—fear. Solas hadn't been the one to inspire the change in the spirits creating this scene. Briala had only herself and her own fear to thank for it, but she naturally assumed it was his doing.

"I will not be frightened by your toothless threats," Briala said, snarling. "Celene is under threat of assassination all day, every day. Your assassins would never get anywhere near her."

Solas flashed a hard, cold grin. "Then it is a very fortunate thing for the empress that I am lying, no? Except, you do not truly believe that. You are of the People. You know I am far from toothless. It is why you told me of the poison. You hope to achieve peace, but Celene has decided these negotiations can only end in death. If she does not begin treating these negotiations seriously, I will be forced to ensure she receives the end she always expected."

He paused, looking to the black, bubbling pool with the reddish tentacles curling out of it. Waving a hand at it, he willed the Fade and the wisps with it to return to the tranquil pool. He let himself feel admiration for its beauty, wishing to see it again. The wisps and the Fade leapt at his input. The water cleared, the brilliant cerulean returning, brighter than before and shining iridescently.

Briala had withdrawn a step at his action, gasping. Now she stared at the pool, and though her blurry face obscured the emotion she felt, Solas could see her form shaking. The Fade reacted to her as well—clouds formed in the sky overhead, the morning light darkening with the promise of a violent storm. A moment later Solas heard the first patter of raindrops on the grass.

With a little hum from his throat, Solas said, "Should the empress fail to see that she must treat ma vhenan and I seriously, I can see no outcome other than chaos for Orlais. Should such events come to pass, I would hope a certain elven Marquise would react favorably and perhaps find herself in a position of even greater power."

The rain fell around them, a thousand tiny impacts. The air filled with a heady scent of wet earth and growing things. Silence stretched out as Briala stood before him, stiff and motionless. Finally she murmured, "Give me some time…hahren."

"Of course," Solas said with a nod. "I will expect some sign of concession from the empress within three days. If she will not see reason, then ask her to end this farce and send us back to the Graves. We will simply take what she will not give us." He hesitated a moment and then lowered his voice into a growl. "And if assassins come for us in that three days I will be forced to return the favor. Our agreement will be dissolved."

Now the Marquise reached out as if to stop him, but thought better of it as she withdrew her hand. It clenched into a fist at her side. "There will be more assassins. Will you allow the three days to continue if I provide warning?"

Solas hesitated, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "You risk exposing yourself, da'len. The empress will suspect duplicity."

Briala snorted. "She already did. But when one of your bodyguards was wounded…"

Now Solas felt heat spring to his face, scalding his blood. He quashed the reaction, refusing to let the Fade or the wisps sense it. Lyris being wounded in the attack had convinced Celene that Briala hadn't completely turned against her. He said nothing, his thoughts stormy and his mind clouded as he wrestled with the desire to simply cut corners in this game of deception and intrigue. He could leave Briala's dream and find Celene's consciousness in the Fade, assuming the empress was sleeping. It'd be easy to kill her or destroy her mind…

But he had to make contingency plans first. If the empress "died" suddenly in her sleep Halamshiral would descend into chaos and Solas needed to be certain he and his entourage could escape it. Such was the downside of being visible. He wanted to sigh, thinking, The things I do for ma vhenan.

"I expect warnings for all assassination attempts over the next three days," Solas told her, firm and authoritative. " I will do my best to ensure we appear unprepared for them."

"Thank you," Briala said and dipped her head in an exaggerated nod that served as a bow. Then, under her breath, she added, "Fen'Harel enansal." Dread Wolf's blessing. It was the passphrase she'd used for the eluvians long ago, though it'd also become a formalized goodbye that his agents used.

"Three days," he reminded her and then, with his right hand, he flicked a bit of bluish magic toward her.

The Marquise flinched as the light swirled over her. "What are you—"

"A memory aid," Solas told her, his hand returning to his side as the light faded over her, harmless. "Nothing more." Pivoting on one heel, he strode toward the nearest wall enclosing the mansion's land. Without even bothering to motion at it, Solas willed it away. The section of earthenware wall in front of him disappeared, revealing the raw Fade on the far side. Solas walked through it, knowing that to Briala he'd seem to just dissolve from her awareness.

In the raw Fade, he drew in a deep breath and thought of Zevanni: her cinnamon skin and brown hair, the sound of her voice. The Fade responded, as it always did for him even with the Veil strangling his magic, and when he opened his eyes he saw her standing in an open meadow with a circle of eight Tevinter magisters surrounding her. Sensing him, she whipped to stare at him, a grin curving over her mouth. "Fen'Harel. I was just practicing my favorite game: shemlen slaughter. Care to join?"

The magisters she'd summoned out of Fade ether all wore snarls of hatred over their faces. Blood dripped from the fingers of their right hands while the left ones glowed with red magic. Solas had met her performing the same exercise in her dreams before, taking out excess rage on Fade constructs while wisps and spirits watched her curiously, drawn by her bloodlust. The demons were never far behind, but they'd sense from far away that they had no hope of taking control of her.

"I have a little time to spare," Solas admitted with a hard smile. "But perhaps you'd prefer a change in scenery. I imagine you must tire of Tevinter."

She rose from her battle ready stance, eyebrows raised with interest. "You have my attention, Fen'Harel. Where exactly did you have in mind?"

Smirking, Solas said, "That will depend on what happens in Halamshiral, in this charade of peace talks I am currently ensnared within. But, for now, I cannot help but think the Exalted Plains have too many shemlen infesting them. Would you agree?"

Her grin was wide and eager. "I think the rebellion in Tevinter can do without me for a few weeks."

"Excellent," Solas purred, the cold smile never leaving his lips. He would have to instill some restraints on Zevanni's bloodlust before he set her loose on the Exalted Plains, but the Orlesians needed to feel his teeth. They needed to see they'd made a mistake assuming they could stop him. They'd pay the price in blood as he showed them what the People could do as a united force with an Evanuris to lead them.

"When do I begin?" Zevanni asked, slashing a hand through the air and making the circle of angry magisters dissolve into green mist.

"As soon as you waken," Solas replied.

Mathrel rejoined their bodyguard retinue that morning at breakfast, positioning himself inside their room as Ellana and Solas waited for their apothecary and taster to deem their breakfast safe to eat. They'd been transferred to another room within the guest wing while their first room was cleaned of bloodstains. Yet, despite that, Ellana couldn't relax and kept glancing to the floor and the closed door where she knew she'd have seen Lyris' blood if they were in their old room.

Sun streaked in through the closed windows and Ellana could still sense the crackle of ice wards that Solas had cast the night before and left active now, though he'd had to deactivate the ones along the door and the wall. It should have been a cheery setting, but Ellana found her spine was stiff, as much from the ever-increasing weight of her baby and from tension. The food on its tray, an assortment of pastries, fruits, and spicy sausage, smelled appetizing and made her mouth water, but remembering that it could be poisoned made her stomach clench.

"How is Lyris?" Ellana asked Mathrel. She knew from Solas that Lyris had awoken the previous day in the evening, groggy and weak. Mathrel had stayed at her side in their much simpler chambers, doting on her.

"Still weak," he replied in a rough voice, scowling. "Without the Fade to enhance healing she remains vulnerable."

Ellana nodded somberly, remembering at how quickly and thoroughly she'd recovered her own strength after being shot with Sera's arrow. Casting a sideways glance to where Solas stood, staring out the window at the courtyard below, she tried to read his mood. He'd been quiet since they'd woken, distracted by some inner turmoil. Without the wolf headdress on she could admire the smooth roundness of his head, the strong profile and jaw. Though it made her heart drop to think it, she knew he was holding back, plotting something. Getting him to come forward with it was like trying to convince a dragon to become a vegetarian.

The apothecary and taster both deemed the breakfast safe to consume. Despite that reassurance Ellana and Solas ate sparingly. She watched Solas as he sampled slices of cantaloupe, grapes, and apples, but avoided the pastries and only ate a few bites of sausage. Her dream with Mahanon kept leaping into her mind, wondering at how Solas could plot rebellions and consider formalizing their relationship at the same time.

She tried to find the right words to say to force him to talk about whatever was going on in his mind, but eventually Solas shot her a look of concern, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Something troubles you, vhenan?"

She sighed, leaning back into her seat as much as she could and resting her hands on the shelf of her rounded abdomen. "You're up to something, Fen'Harel," she said, deliberately putting emphasis on his Evanuris name. "I'd appreciate it if you'd clue me in."

He frowned down into his plate, holding a grape clasped between his thumb and forefinger. Lips twisting, eyes narrowing, Ellana could see the struggle over his expression and knew he was weighing his decision right in front of her. She held her breath and waited.

Solas had worked with her closely in the Emerald Graves as they expanded and restored the Fade to the forest. After their rocky start with the first group of hostile human bandits, Solas had kept her informed. Ellana had even been part of the retinue of elves sent to encourage humans in a villa or small settlement to leave. It had fallen to violence more than once, leaving Solas no choice but to kill those who resisted, and Ellana didn't begrudge him that. The humans had a phrase for just such scenarios: You cannot make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

Finally Solas cut her a sharp gaze, his blue eyes piercing and cold with his formidable intelligence and cunning. "I have made a pact with the Marquise. If she honors it we will see the peace talks end before that time or progress toward a favorable resolution." He popped the grape into his mouth, chewing at a relaxed pace and swallowing before he spoke again. "The Marquise also promised to alert us of any other assassination attempts."

Ellana blinked, a smile leaping onto her lips. "That's excellent news," she said, breathily. Yet she couldn't quite dismiss the darkness couched inside her, that heavy suspicion that saw the hesitation and grimness in Solas' clenched jaw and inability to meet her gaze for more than a few moments at a time. He'd resumed eating, though his expression showed no sign that he took enjoyment from the food. It was an autonomous action, done to fuel his body, lacking gusto.

"Yes," Solas murmured without looking to her. "But she may not honor it. We could be arrested at any moment."

Now Ellana froze, her heart suddenly in her throat. "Oh."

He glanced at her, a small smirk over his mouth. "There is more to tell you, but I do not wish to speak of it outside of the Fade."

"And if we're arrested?" Ellana asked, one hand dropping lower to wrap around her abdomen protectively. She wondered if the Orlesians would execute her while she was pregnant or if they'd wait for her to give birth and then order her death. She wasn't sure which thought was worse and felt suddenly queasy considering it.

He answered her in a low voice, "If they were foolish enough to make such a move I would show them why the People believed the Evanuris to be gods."

With a little shudder, Ellana nodded. Even without the Fade she reminded herself that Solas had easily fled the winter palace's prison and the control of four Templars. And she'd seen him petrify two of the three assassins that'd come for them on the first night of the pace talks—all without breaking a sweat as far as she could tell.

Solas reached for her hand where it still rested over her belly. The heat of his palm jolted Ellana out of her reverie, making her meet his stare. "Whatever comes," he said quietly, his eyes dark and somber, "I will protect you."

She clutched his hand in her own and squeezed. "I know."

Smiling tenderly, Solas reached with his other hand, laying it over her neck and brushing her cheek with his thumb. Ellana leaned closer to him and he took the initiative, crossing the gap to kiss her. His hot breath puffed over her cheek, his lips soft and sensual against her own, and suddenly her heart was pounding out of something very different than the fear of before.

Then a knock came at the door, the distinct sound of knuckles against the wood. They ignored it for several seconds, still engrossed in the abrupt but passionate kiss. But when a second knock came and Mathrel cleared his throat in an unsubtle reminder that they weren't alone, Solas pulled back from her. They stayed together for a few more heartbeats, sharing the same air, feeling the heat of the other's skin radiating outward.

With a sigh, Solas withdrew and called to the door, "You may enter."

Abelas, one of three bodyguards standing watch outside, swung the door open and stepped inside. With a little dip of his head he said, "A servant has arrived to take away your meal."

"That's fine," Solas replied curtly. Ellana didn't miss the note of irritation in his voice. The animosity between her lover and the sentinel wasn't getting any better with the passage of time or with the fact that Abelas had asked for his vallaslin to be removed.

Abelas left the doorway to admit a lean young servant girl with wide, owlish eyes. She advanced at a tentative pace as Solas and Ellana rose from the small table to allow her to take the food tray. Anticipating that they'd soon be on their way to the drafty pavilion, Ellana crossed to the bed and grabbed up her coat. Behind her she heard the serving girl whisper in elven: "Fen'Harel enansal."

"Do you speak for the Marquise?" Solas asked in a quiet voice, deep and rough.

"Yes," the girl replied as Ellana turned round to watch the interaction, still buttoning up her coat. The girl's owlish eyes blinked at Solas, awed by him even without the headdress.

"Dirthera," Solas commanded her. Tell.

"The bathwater tonight will be poisoned," she said, her small voice trembling. "And the Crows will come for Lady Lavellan during the talks today."

"For me?" Ellana asked, mouth ajar with surprise. "During the talks?"

The serving girl stared at Ellana's belly a moment and then dropped her gaze to the floor, her cheeks flushing red. "They will wait in the garden for you, near the privy. They hope to take you alive."

"Ma serannas," Solas thanked her, sounding calm and cold, but Ellana saw his hands had curled into fists at his side. "Take the trays and be gone."

"Fen'Harel," she said with a curtsy and scrambled to grab the trays.

Solas glowered as she scurried out of the room. Then, to Abelas, he said, "Get out and close the door." Once the sentinel had done as he asked, Solas groaned angrily and scrubbed at his face with both hands. Ellana saw the slight tremor in them and moved immediately to his side.

"It will be fine," she said, laying a hand over his bicep. "Briala has honored her pact with you. She's warned us."

"This cannot continue," he spat, snarling at the floor.

"What choice do we have?" Ellana asked, shaking her head. "I have been a target for years now, ever since I became Inquisitor. We just need to endure. I won't be alone. I can bring my bow and I have the Anchor if—"

"No," he growled, shaking his head. "After today the empress will know Briala has turned and cannot be trusted. She will find a way to keep the Marquise ignorant of the next attacks." A wrinkle formed at the bridge of his nose. "I have tried to do this as you wish, vhenan, but I cannot risk you."

"I've always been at risk," Ellana protested, frowning.

He turned his head, staring at her as if she'd suddenly started speaking in Qunlat. "This is not Skyhold. You are not the Inquisitor. You are a pawn to them and they will use you to get to me."

A spurt of brash anger stabbed through Ellana, making her brow knit and her body snap taut. "I'm really tired of everyone telling me I'm a pawn." She couldn't stop her own dark thoughts from reminding her that she was Solas' pawn too. Her left hand tingled, the mark still sleeping but undeniable in its power. If the Crows were to capture Ellana it wouldn't just be an emotional trauma for Solas, it'd permanently disrupt their campaign in the Dales.

Solas shot her a look of misery. "You will like what I'm about to suggest even less, vhenan."

She arched an eyebrow. "And that is…?"

His blue eyes cast around the room quickly, as if to verify that the only one who'd overhear them was indeed Mathrel. The stoic warrior stood beside the door, unfazed by the news of the coming assassination attempts. Solas licked his lips and turned to face, her, laying his hands over her shoulders and whispering, "Unless the empress ends these talks and allows us to leave peacefully, I will kill her and take Halamshiral."

"What?" Ellana asked, gawking. She let out a brittle laugh when he merely stared at her, silent and somber. "You cannot be serious. There are only a few dozen of us—fifty at most. We cannot possibly—"

Solas interrupted her, "Have you forgotten that Halamshiral is populated almost exclusively by city elves? Even now they call to me for mien'harel." His expression was grim as he squeezed her shoulders, but beneath that darkness Ellana thought she saw something eager, as if the revolution and violence he spoke of were a delicious meal he'd longed to try. "Between the city elves and those we brought with us—and myself—we could quickly overcome the Orlesians here."

"If Celene is dead," Ellana murmured, frowning. Orlais would fall into chaos, with the empress not having named an official heir yet. Her cousins and other relatives would squabble and the country might devolve into another bitter civil war. In the resulting madness the Dales would be considerably easier to claim.

Ellana could see the cruel logic behind Solas' thoughts and sighed, her eyes stinging with the thought of the man she'd fallen in love with as a gentle, wandering apostate being remembered by humanity as a monster. The People might revise their opinion of him for the better, but Ellana thought of Cassandra, Dorian, Cullen, Leliana, Rainier, and all the other humans she'd called friend over the years and felt as if she'd vomit. Her body started to tremble though she tried to control and suppress it.

"Vhenan?" Solas asked, one hand going to her cheek and then brushing through her hair. "Please…"

"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."

He winced at her use of his Evanuris name. Eyes dropping to the floor off to Ellana's left, Solas scowled. "You have far too high an opinion of me, vhenan." His eyes drifted shut. "Let us forget we discussed this, for now. Briala may come through for us. We may yet walk free and return to the Dales unhindered to resume our work there."

"This will have been a huge waste of time," Ellana muttered with a frown of her own, shoulders slumping. "I truly thought we could achieve peace. I thought with all I did as Inquisitor they would listen and give us the Dales, keep their promise…" Staring up into his blue eyes, she squeezed his arms where she held him, willing him to understand. "We have to give this a chance. We have to give it everything we've got to be sure it won't work."

Solas' blue eyes were dark with sorrow as he pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "Ir abelas, vhenan," he murmured, pinching his lips together as he spoke. "But I see no hope of it working." He gripped her right hand in his. "Come, we must be on our way."

Ellana let him tug her toward the door. "You promise we will discuss this further? You won't take any action without consulting me first?"

He shot her a sideways glance and then quickly faced forward again as Mathrel moved to open the door. "Of course."

Maybe it was just because he wasn't looking her in the eye when he answered, or perhaps it was the slight hesitation underlying the words, but Ellana realized she didn't believe him.

Next Chapter:

The door whined on its hinges as Dorian stepped through with Mathrel glowering just behind him. Dorian held a large laundry basket out before him, his lips curled in a sneer. "Some palace servant just dropped by with this. I thought you'd want to know it positively reeks with the stench of deathroot distillate." He dropped the basket on their floor unceremoniously and twined his mustache with one thumb and forefinger idly as he smirked. "Someone did a rather half-assed job of trying to cover up the deathroot stink with a bit of lavender."

"You know your poisons," Ellana said, unable to hide her surprise. They'd been expecting this attempt on their lives, but it was reassuring to see they had another ally to ferret out foul play.

Dorian scoffed. "I'm Tevinter, old girl. If I didn't know poisons, I'd be dead. It's always a toss-up which way someone will try to kill you back home. Poison in your wine, or blood magic in the bedroom? Odd that you Southerners only think we use the latter."