A/N: Before I forget, a quick shout out to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral. I try to define the elven I use in text as much as possible but I'm always forgetting to credit FenxShiral so I'm doing it now. For whatever reason, FFnet (or my computer/Internet connection) kept failing while I proofread and edited this. As a result a lot of my changes and corrections may have been lost.

Thirty-Three

When Crows Attack

"It was like any other winter night," the teenaged girl said from the small podium off to the right of Ellana and Solas' table. She stared into her lap, idly fingering the buttons on her thick silk brocade bodice. "Papa was away until the spring on business. Mama was left to tend to our estate over the winter. I was reading by the fire in the main hall when Bernard, the head of our guards, came to me asking that I waken Mama." She swallowed almost audibly, her lips trembling. "He said there were elves at the gates and they demanded—demanded—that we leave."

Ellana stared off into space, focusing on the white sheet laid over the table she and Solas sat at. It was soft, smooth, and thick, likely a rich silk similar to the teenager's bodice. The human girl had blond hair put up in an elaborate style of braids, ringlets, and curls that must've taken hours of work by some elven servant's dexterous fingers.

This teenager was one of dozens of witnesses who'd been forced to flee the Emerald Graves over the previous six weeks. The empress had called out a seemingly endless supply of such witnesses to testify against them and demand that they make recompenses. It was a stalling tactic, a way for the "negotiations" to continue without actually getting anywhere. Beside her, Ellana could feel Solas seething with impatience, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table where no one else could see them. Yet his face, shadowed by the headdress so only part of his nose and lips were visible, was impassive and revealed nothing.

"I woke Mama and we received a dozen of the savages inside, even though I thought such pleasantries with them wasted," she spat, shooting a sidelong glare at Ellana and Solas. The teenager stabbed a finger in their direction. "She was one of them. Mama said she was the Inquisitor, the woman who saved us from the Breach." Her lips drew back in a snarl. "But she's just a filthy knife ear."

Ellana managed to keep herself from frowning or rolling her eyes—just barely. She had a vague memory of meeting with this girl and her mother, explaining as patiently and politely as she could that the Emerald Graves belonged to the People and they must leave. She'd also advised them that the following afternoon they would be removing the Veil in the local area, restoring the Fade to it. Most humans reacted with horror at such news, though few choose to flee based on Ellana's words. It usually took the sight of a few hundred elves swarming over their villa to convince them their lives would be in danger if they didn't obey.

"Lady Lavellan was the one responsible for closing the Breach," Cassandra put in with a scowl. "She is the former Inquisitor and you would do well to remember all she has done."

Ellana cast a small smile toward the Divine in gratitude and saw Cassandra return it with a subtle tug at the corners of her lips. At least not everyone was set against them here.

"She made us flee through the cold and the snow," the teenager cried. "Made us leave our home! Now all my nice things are spoilt by those filthy savages."

"Funny," Ellana blurted with a snarl. "I seem to recall humans doing the same to my people a few centuries back when they took the Dales—not just our homes, but our homeland."

The teenager scoffed, sneering at her. "The Dales belong to Orlais!"

"Not for much longer," Ellana retorted.

"Silence," the empress shouted in her deep, nasally voice. "We will have silence for the testimony."

"We grow weary of this, Empress," Solas said, speaking in a cool, clear voice that carried only a hint of irritation. "Your endless tirade of witnesses is a pointless waste of time. We do not deny that we claimed the Emerald Graves, or that in doing so we have forced many out of their homes. Such hardships are inevitable during times of strife, but we have come here to ease the transition." His tone dropped, becoming low and dangerous, promising blood. "You would do well to take us seriously. We will have peace no matter the cost."

The words were the same ones Briala had spoken to them on the day of their arrival and the Marquise flinched hearing them repeated back to her. All morning Briala had seemed ashen and tense, her gaze straying and lingering on Solas or darting away and glazing over as she turned her mind inward. Ellana wondered at what had transpired between Solas and the Marquise. Inevitably Solas hadn't told her everything.

With the pressure in her bladder mounting after a little more than an hour—which was a remarkably long time and possibly a personal best—Ellana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Solas looked to her, his jaw clenched with tension. They both knew every bathroom break she took today would put her at risk.

"I agree that these endless witnesses are a waste of time," Cassandra said, a groan underlying her words. "We should begin discussions as to the fate of the Emerald Graves and the Dales."

"I second that," Briala added with a stiff nod.

"We disagree," the empress said, tilting her head back and glaring down her nose at Ellana and Solas. "The people of Orlais have suffered unspeakable affronts on their persons and properties in the Emerald Graves. They must be acknowledged before we can go forward."

Ellana rose out of her seat as gracefully as she could. Although the motion drew everyone's attention immediately none of them appeared surprised or alarmed. By now her frequent bathroom breaks were little more than a source of sniggering gossip from the gallery audience behind them. Ellana heard them whispering and snickering now.

"Perhaps we might pause a moment," she said in as patient a voice as she could manage.

"Of course, my lady," Briala said. The other two women around her nodded in agreement.

Then, unexpectedly, Solas rose from his chair as well. Baffled looks followed him as he tailed Ellana, as close as her shadow and just as wordless. Ellana thought she saw a tense glance from the empress before the pale monarch seemed to turn her attention to picking at her nails. Doubtless, she'd expected Ellana to head to the privy with only one or two bodyguards. A Dalish first, Shila, was indeed leading the way to the doorway leading out into the garden, but now Solas had joined their entourage and Mathrel with him. The empress had to know the assassins lying in wait stood little chance against them after two foiled attempts.

Outside the air held a touch of warmth in it, radiant with sunlight and hinting at the first real touch of spring. At her back she felt Solas' magic prickling her skin, making the Anchor tingle. They crossed the small section of open grass to the tent that served as the privy. Shila checked inside, one hand elevated to cast and the other clasping her staff in a defensive posture. Apparently finding nothing, she withdrew, leaving the way open for Ellana.

Pausing, Ellana scanned the gardens, taking in the potted plants and bushes lining the smooth, pale walls. Most of them had begun to bud by now, the first fragile flowers now visible in varying colors: red, pink, white, and even some in purple. The wall of the pavilion lay to their far left, curling away in the massive shape of an octagon. The grass looked a little lumpy beside the privy tent, as if the gardeners had been preparing to do some additional landscaping. There seemed to be no danger, no sign of assassins at all. Yet Ellana's heart still thundered inside her ears.

With a gentle nudge on the small of her back, Solas encouraged her to step into the tent to relieve herself. Ellana sucked in a breath to steady her nerves and ducked inside it, pulling the tent flap closed behind her and fighting back to inevitable blush of humiliation as she imagined the other elves overhearing. Just as she'd finished and secured her pants again, she heard a strange noise—a high-pitched whistle that was similar to the birdcalls her clan used. She had just enough time to freeze, considering the sound, when a clattering, clinking noise came and her companions erupted into shouts.

Ellana pushed open the tent flap, her hands flying to where she kept a dagger up her sleeve. Outside she saw three assassins had dropped from the pavilion roof. The sound she'd heard had been the noise of the terracotta shingles under the assassins' feet and hands as they slid down it.

Then there was a rustling sound and the scream of fabric tearing under a blade to her right from inside the tent. Ellana whipped to face it, the dagger clutched tightly in her hand. A figure in black and coated in dirt lunged for her through a gap he'd cut into the tent. In the confined space, and with her pronounced pregnancy, Ellana couldn't quite evade him or thrust with the knife. In a few moments he'd gripped her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to drop the blade. She cried out with pain through gnashed teeth and felt his hand clap over her lips to stifle the sound. He smelled of sewage, nauseating her instantly.

Outside she heard the buzz of Mathrel's spectral blade and the icy hiss of Shila's ice stave. She kicked and thrashed as her assailant wrapped a tight arm around her middle and began dragging her toward the ragged hole he'd cut in the tent wall. As the full sunshine hit her again, Ellana's eyes streamed and she tasted bile in her throat at the putrid scent from the man's skin. She soon saw why he smelled as he did—the disturbed earth she'd seen beside the tent had actually been used to hide a manhole leading to the sewers under Halamshiral.

An impact shook her, carried through her assailant and into her. The world spun and she felt hard rock fragments graze her skin. She caught the glimmer of green in the sunlight and knew Solas had hurled a Fade rock with great precision, hitting her captor but not her. They fell in a heap, arms and legs tangled. She had a moment to brace for impact, fearing what it might do to her baby as much as herself. But then she saw a bluish streak and felt a waft of freezing air. Arms caught her around the shoulders and knees before she hit the ground.

Breathing fast, she clung to her savior, already knowing who she'd find when she tilted her head up to look—Solas. His blue eyes had focused beyond her and downward. They flashed a pale purple and she heard the gravelly rasp behind and below her that she now knew meant he'd petrified the man who'd tried to take her.

As the unnatural light left his eyes, Solas focused on her. "Vhenan, are you—"

Before he finished speaking pain streaked through her left hand, hot and sharp. Simultaneously she heard the crackling hiss-pop of the Anchor flaring to life. She released him and cried out, curling against his chest as much as her belly allowed, gritting her teeth. Voices called out around her, but she couldn't make any sense of them through the haze of pain.

The world shifted and she dimly realized Solas had settled her on the grass and disturbed dirt beside the open manhole. Clutching her left hand in her right, she tried to breathe through the pain and regain some semblance of composure. Solas pried her left hand out of her frantic grasp and held it in his own. Magic prickled her skin and searing pain tore through her palm. Vertigo and pinpricks of phantom light obscured her vision for a few moments before the pain receded.

She found herself propped up against Solas' knee and one arm, panting and coated in sweat. Solas still gripped her hand, green light spilling through his fingers, but the pain had diminished into little more than a faint ache in the fine bones of her palm. She sagged against him, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion seemed to transmute her limbs into lead.

"Ma serannas," she thanked him breathily before darkness swept over her.

In the aftermath of the attack six assassins lay dead, scattered around the privy tent. Three had dropped on Shila, Solas, and Mathrel from the roof. Two more had leapt over the low wall beside the tent that separated these gardens from the palace courtyard beyond. The sixth and final assassin had burst through the sod that'd been used to hide the manhole nearby and made straight for Ellana. Solas had petrified the three dropping from the pavilion roof and then left the remaining three to Mathrel and Shila, stalking the man who'd come after Ellana instead.

Now she was cradled in his arms, limp and unconscious, sweat beading around her hairline. He shot a glare to the assassin who'd tried to take her. The man had been frozen in his spot on the ground where he'd fallen, memorialized as a warning to others. If only the empress and Orlais would start heeding it.

A few elven servants and a pair of Orlesian guards had come running around the sides of the pavilion and now stood several meters away, gawking. Solas felt his face burning with rage at the attack, though a quick survey showed him Mathrel and Shila were unharmed. Still, he'd used stronger magic around Ellana one too many times and set off the Anchor again. She'd been able to use it well enough in the Emerald Graves, but how much longer did they have before it destabilized? Once it did destabilize they'd be unable to access the Fade outside of the areas they'd restored to draw new runes.

They'd need to find a new way to restore the Fade to Thedas…or tear down the Veil entirely as he'd originally planned. Even if it caused his death and required him to kill the sleeping Evanuris in the Black City…

This sham was a waste of both his and Ellana's time. They should be spending every waking moment restoring the Fade, reclaiming the Dales from Orlais. Alliances would come after the rest of Thedas saw they had little choice in the matter. The People would have a homeland again, whether the humans approved or not.

Three days, he cautioned himself, trying to calm the furious pounding of his heart that pulsated through his temples at the sight of his beloved, ashen and weak. But new plans were already spinning inside his head. In only two days Zevanni would be at his disposal, no doubt aching for blood…

Shifting Ellana into his arms, Solas stood up and spoke to Mathrel and Shila in a low voice. "Let us return through the pavilion and alert everyone that these mock negotiations have ended for today." He snarled to himself, flashing his teeth. "I'm sure the empress will want to know how her latest assassination attempt has gone."

Shila led the way, opening the door to the pavilion. Solas walked up the short stairs and into the area, glowering as he felt the weight of everyone's stares land on him. Cassandra's jaw dropped and she shot to her feet. "What has happened? Is she all right?"

Ignoring her, Solas stopped in front of the panel where the empress, the Marquise, and Divine Victoria were all seated, Ellana still curled in his arms. "Empress," he said with a cold growl. "I believe you may want to investigate the security in your gardens. I've just dispensed with six assassins and this time you'll find plenty of evidence. Now, if you'd be so kind as to excuse me, I believe I've had enough of this charade for one day."

Celene stared at him, her jaw hanging open even as her eyes narrowed with disdain. Without waiting for her to dismiss him or officially declare the council ended for the day, Solas turned on his heel and strode for the exit, cutting through the center aisle of the audience. Nobles and other distinguished guests gossiped and glared, their words hissing but often still audible.

"Assassins? Truly?"

"More likely Lady Lavellan fainted. My brother's elven serving girl died carrying an elf-blooded child."

"Have you seen the belly on her? There's no way the child isn't part human."

"Of course, it's the Inquisition commander's child, you know."

Scowling, Solas strode through the pavilion doorway, ignoring the thumping tread of footsteps hurrying up behind him until he'd crossed the threshold into the hallway and heard Mathrel call out, "Stop right there."

"I most certainly will not," Dorian's familiar voice rejoined hotly.

"Stop or I cut you down, shem," Mathrel snarled.

Solas pivoted to face the Tevinter mage. "Atisha, Mathrel," he said as he met Dorian's concerned gaze. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Dorian snorted. "Do you really need to ask what I want?" He gestured at Ellana. "Is she all right? Just tell me that much."

"She is unharmed," Solas replied, the downward twist of his lips easing slightly at the tenderness and worry he saw in Dorian's face. This was one of the few humans Solas knew would never harm Ellana, even if doing so would allow Dorian to stop him.

"The Anchor," Dorian guessed, his brown eyes darting over her limp form in Solas' arms. "It was the Anchor, wasn't it? She used it to protect herself from this latest batch of charlatans, yes?"

No, my magic caused this—I caused this, Solas thought but nodded in confirmation of Dorian's more innocent assumption. "Now," he said quietly, letting his shoulders slump slightly. "If you're quite satisfied, I'd like to return to our rooms so she can rest properly."

Dorian edged a step closer but Mathrel raised an arm, blocking him. The Tevinter sneered at him before entreating Solas again. "Please, let me join you. Just until she wakens. You could use another bodyguard, no?"

"We do not need a Tevinter shem spy," Mathrel snarled.

"Well," Dorian said with a sniff. "It's a good thing I spy for no one but myself, isn't it?"

Solas hesitated, recalling the almost-friendship he and Dorian had once shared while also considering the usefulness of his fear-based necromancy spells. Assassins who succumbed to such spells would lose their nerve and flee, making them easy to kill and eliminating the chance that Solas would have to use stronger magic around Ellana. It'd also mean Solas' people suffered fewer injuries, and while Lyris was still weak Solas was out a valuable bodyguard.

"Let him accompany us," Solas said and almost smirked at the way Dorian's eyes bugged out with shock.

Mathrel also twisted around to shoot Solas an incredulous stare. "Fen'Harel?"

"Dorian is trustworthy," Solas explained. "And possesses useful talents."

"Well now," Dorian stammered with an almost sheepish expression. "That's the most sensible thing I've ever heard you say, Solas." Blinking as if surprised by himself, he scowled. "Or Fen'Harel or whatever it is you want to be called."

"I do not care what you call me," Solas shot back with a frown of his own. "I am merely concerned for Ellana." He turned, seeing Shila ahead of him in the hall, tense and alert. "Let us be on our way."

Ellana came awake in a haze of dull, aching pain that cut across her abdomen. Hissing through her teeth, she curled onto her side only to stop short as she felt a hot, sweaty hand clasping her own. Peeking through bleary eyes, she saw Solas lift his head, lips parted and his expression dark with concern.

"Vhenan," he said, his voice hoarse. "Are you in pain?" Shifting in the seat he'd apparently pulled up to the bedside to watch over her, Solas brushed at the hair that'd fallen onto her forehead and cheeks.

The aching cramp continued, like scalding fingers worming through her innards. Her toes curled and uncurled, writhing as she wanted to. She wanted to answer him but her throat was too tight with the sudden cold grip of fear. Releasing his hand, she fumbled with both of her own, feeling over her belly, pressing against the cramp and gritting her teeth.

"I'd say that's a yes," Dorian's voice spoke from the foot of her bed. "Definitely in pain by the look of it. Perhaps someone should send for a healer?"

Despite the ongoing pain, Ellana raised her head, gawking with surprise. Sure enough she saw the Tevinter standing at the foot of the bed, still dressed in his usual silken, fashionable finery as he wrung his hands together and shifted his weight from side to side. "Dorian?" she asked, gasping his name.

Solas let out a small huffing breath and Ellana saw the glare he'd aimed at Dorian. It would've been comical if not for the fact her body distracted her so.

Dorian flashed a sheepish smile toward Solas. "Ah, I see. Perhaps I should find the healer, no?" Looking to Ellana again, he nodded as his features softened with sympathy. "Hold on, darling, I'll only be a moment."

As he whipped around and strode for the door, Ellana let her head fall back to her pillow, heaving a long breath out. Solas rose from his chair and sat at the edge of the bed, his hands moving with the confidence and professionalism of a healer himself. Dexterous fingers unbuttoned her coat and felt over and around the surcoat of her armor beneath to reach the chainmail, which she'd had to adjust and let out repeatedly as the child grew.

Ellana thought hazily that he must've done a fair amount of healing on battlefields and in the wilderness—he certainly had during their years in the Inquisition—but he'd professed to having no experience with expectant mothers, so she held little hope that he'd be able to do much for her now other than provide comfort. She stared up at him, trying to swallow her fear and find her voice. It was too soon for this to be real labor and they both knew it. She was still weeks away, despite everyone's comments about how large she'd grown.

A faint tingle of cooling magic spread out from his hand on her navel, easing the aching cramp. She shuddered, sighing with relief. "Thank you," she whispered, rasping.

"Are you bleeding?" he asked quietly, brow knitting and eyes pinched with worry.

"I don't know," she admitted, still languishing in the lack of pain, the comfort of his healing magic as it soothed her. "I don't think so."

She rolled her head to one side, taking in the room and observing the hue of the light coming in through the windows. It was a rich gold, indicating the sun was high in the sky—afternoon, then. The last she remembered it'd been morning. As if to confirm her suspicions that she'd been unconscious for several hours, she realized her bladder was full, though that was little surprise. It seemed to never stay empty these days.

"False labor, perhaps?" Solas suggested, arching both eyebrows.

"I hope so." She managed a wan smile and fumbled for his hand when he withdrew it from her abdomen. "What is Dorian doing here?"

His lips curled with tenderness. "He was concerned for you and considering the number of assassins determined to kill us or capture you, I saw little point in turning him away." Ellana snorted, chuckling shallowly with her surprise and Solas cast her a stormy look, as if she'd offended him. "I am hardly unreasonable, vhenan. I may dislike him but—"

She gasped, the sound silencing him as she felt the baby give a fierce kick inside her. Solas reached again for her belly, magic glowing against his palm and fingers, but Ellana caught his hand, shaking her head against the pillow. "He just kicked hard, that's all. The pain is much better for the moment."

Relief spread over his features, becoming the wonder she'd often seen when he tried to feel their child moving. She guided his palm to where she'd felt the baby kick and they waited a few moments before a look of concentration narrowed Solas' blue eyes and Ellana felt the tickle of magic wash over her skin.

"What are you up to?" she asked.

He flashed a warm smile. "Saying hello."

As if on cue the baby squirmed, kicking against its father's hand. Ellana let out a little gasp and Solas' smile widened into a grin. He pulled his hand back, the glow of magic fading and spoke in a tone of mock-astonishment, "I do believe our child is sensitive to magic. Who would've ever suspected such a thing?"

She chuckled, though she winced as it tightened her abdominal muscles, jostling her bladder. "Yes, it's not as if his father is some kind of mage. Quite the opposite in fact."

"Yes," Solas agreed with a laugh of his own. "Since everyone knows this child is actually Commander Cullen's."

Wrapping an arm around her belly for support, Ellana began bracing to sit up. "Everyone's going to be shocked when this baby's born with enormous pointed ears and as bald as Fen'Harel, not to mention casting veilfire from his cradle." Grunting, she heaved herself upright only to groan, holding her head as the room spun.

Solas laid a steadying hand on her shoulder, helping her rise from the bed. The cramp came again, cutting through her, and Ellana hissed as she tried to double over. Solas pulled her arm over his shoulders with one hand while the other slid beneath her surcoat again, the cooling touch of his magic dulling the pain immediately. She shuddered, breathing hard with relief.

"To the privy, I assume?" he asked.

She shot him a sidelong look, smirking. "You know me so well."

With Solas' help she made it to the privy and relieved her overfull bladder, thankfully discovering no sign of bleeding. By the time she'd finished Dorian had returned with a familiar face: Inan, the healer Josephine had procured for Ellana months ago during the Exalted Council.

"So good to see you again, my lady," the healer greeted her, though her gaze kept flicking to Solas, who sat once more at her bedside. "You are her partner?" she asked him, though her tone of voice suggested she already knew the answer.

Solas gave a nod but remained silent. It was Dorian who answered verbally, sighing behind the healer and drawing everyone's stares with surprise. "Yes, sadly, he is. I'm afraid palace rumors are just that—rumors. And no, before you ask, I don't know what she sees in him."

"Dorian," Ellana scolded, scowling.

Solas frowned. "I'm beginning to regret my decision to let you stay, Tevinter."

"I must examine her," the healer said, giving little reaction to the banter between her patient and the two mages. She motioned at Dorian. "It would be best if you stepped outside, magister."

Dorian scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It's ambassador, really."

"You are a magister now," Ellana reminded him.

"Yes," Dorian huffed, indignant. "That may be true, but she doesn't know it, she's merely assuming it because I'm Tevinter." He clucked his tongue as he turned and headed for the door. "You Southerners…"

When they were alone, the door closing with a gentle thump and clack, Inan bowed and said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Ellana laughed, shaking her head as her eyes flicked between Solas and the healer. "Of course you recruited her."

"I am elven, Lady Lavellan," Inan said, her voice sharp with something akin to irritation. "When the news of our people reclaiming the Graves with the Dread Wolf's aid came to Halamshiral, I leapt at the chance for mien'harel." Her eyes flashed, fierce and vibrant with devotion as she looked at Solas. "It has been a very long time in coming."

"Indeed it has," Solas replied, somber and yet smiling. "And I welcome your service, lethallan. I have every intention of bringing the People the freedom they have long deserved—and much sooner than any expect." The ominous note that crept into his words made Ellana stare at him, a cold chill passing through her.

"I am glad to hear it, hahren," Inan replied before turning her attention to Ellana. "Ir abelas, lethallan, but I must examine you, if you would allow it." She shot Solas a look, seeking his permission as well. He granted it with a slight dip of his head.

For the next few minutes Ellana answered Inan's questions and submitted to her ministrations, letting the healer feel over and press on her belly to measure it. Finally, when Inan was satisfied, she withdrew and let Ellana don the clothing she'd shed for the examination. The healer wore a reassuring smile as she announced her findings to both expectant parents.

"He's a bit bigger than I'd have expected," she said. "But everything seems normal. I suspect your pain is false labor—your body is practicing for the real one, which I believe will come in less than a month."

Ellana blinked, surprised to hear the estimate she'd heard a few weeks back from a healer in the Emerald Graves was apparently off. "I thought I had longer to wait," she commented, shooting Solas an anxious glance.

"You have led a busy life throughout your pregnancy, Lady Lavellan," Inan said, her tone soothing. "That often speeds the process. Also, this is your first child. He will likely come faster than any other children you bear."

"Do you have any advice for me?" Ellana asked, hands over her belly protectively.

Inan nodded. "You should be resting more often. Save your strength for the delivery. Avoid strenuous activity and stress. We do not want your body to rush him out too quickly, after all."

"I can't just lounge around here," Ellana protested and then sighed, rubbing her face and grimacing at the grimy sensation that came back on her fingers. "And with all the assassination attempts it seems avoiding stress is about as likely as Empress Celene agreeing to just hand over the Dales right now." She gave Solas a lopsided smile. "Do you think we can ask the countless assassins after us to cut us a break?"

Solas' expression was dark with anger, his brow knitted and his lips pinched unhappily. "I fear not, vhenan."

The rumble of menace in his voice made Ellana tense, sending a faint echo of her previous cramping pain through her abdomen. She rubbed at it, wincing as she wondered how this affected Solas' plans. Yet she suspected she already knew and it wasn't good. He'd been constantly protective of her, worried for her and their child, and it'd made him ready to take extreme action to try and safeguard her. She wanted to dismiss the twitchy, cold grip of fear inside her that suggested no matter what Celene or Briala or Cassandra did from this moment forward, Solas would kill the empress and claim Halamshiral in a violent revolution. He'd proven himself more than capable of making ruthless decisions in the past and carrying them out when pressed…

Mythal—through Morrigan—had even warned Ellana of things spiraling out of control this way. Too bad Ellana had no idea how to regain control over the situation and Mythal, as usual, had offered no concrete advice. Other than insisting Solas not do anything drastic, what could she do when she could no longer run or fight properly, as heavy with their child as she was?

A knock rapped on the door then, drawing their attention toward it. Solas was the one who reacted, rising out of his chair and clearing his throat as he called, "Who is there?"

"Me," Dorian's voice answered, dryly humorous, "I just thought I'd inquire as to whether you wanted these poisoned bedsheets they're trying to deliver."

Inan paled, looking to them with alarm as Solas said to Dorian, "Come in and we will discuss it."

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."

Smirking at Solas, Ellana said, "Still regretting letting him stay, emma lath?"

As evening settled in Solas thwarted another poisoning attempt by refusing bathwater drawn for Ellana by the palace servants. Instead, the Dalish and city elves he'd brought with him from the Emerald Graves oversaw the work, acting in the palace servants' stead and then, for extra security, he let the apothecary test it anyway. Dorian examined it as well and pronounced it untainted before leaving them for the evening and promising to return to visit the following morning.

While Ellana bathed Solas accepted a draught of sedative Inan recommended for her, to help her sleep should more false labor pangs waken her during the night. He pocketed the mixture of herbs, knowing he'd suggest she add in a dose to her usual serving of tea before bed.

Seeing Inan out, Solas visited briefly with Mathrel and Abelas, his daytime guards outside the room—though he did little more than acknowledge the now barefaced sentinel with a nod. He still didn't know how to interpret the other elf's behavior, but he assumed it was merely part of some ploy by Mythal. Unfortunately he couldn't spare a talented warrior like Abelas right now. In the Graves he could assign the sentinels elsewhere, sending them on raids or into skirmishes as they claimed new land, but in the winter palace he needed everyone he could find who he knew wouldn't stab him or Ellana in the back or try to poison them. For all Mythal's scheming, he knew she wasn't out to kill him.

At night three Dalish replaced Mathrel and Abelas as bodyguards: Lerand, Samhel, and Shila. Combined with the powerful wards Solas set every night, he was confident they wouldn't be attacked without some warning. After their sparse evening meal—they always ate little from the bountiful amounts of food the Orlesians provided out of the lingering fear that the apothecary and tasters would miss something eventually—Solas showed Ellana the dosage for the sedative Inan had provided.

"Just a pinch, hmm?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as he stirred it with a finger, foregoing the fancy golden spoon on the tea tray.

"I am familiar with these herbs," he admitted with a soft smile. "I have used them often myself. A pinch is more than sufficient, yes."

She chuckled as she accepted the cup from him, settling back on the pillows. "And when have you ever needed to take sedatives? You're the soundest sleeper I've ever known. Even Mahanon doesn't sleep as deeply as you do, and he once slept through lightning striking the tree our aravel was camped beside."

Solas laughed at her description as he moved about the room, dousing the candles by casually waving a hand at them to snuff them out with a breath of spirit or ice magic. "I am sorry I must disappoint you, vhenan, but I have required these herbs many times, in fact. I seem to recall many nights at Skyhold when I found myself too restless to slip into sleep, let alone the Fade."

"And why were you so restless?" she asked teasingly as she took the first sip of tea.

"I think it had something to do with this very distracting Dalish woman who had the audacity to kiss me in the Fade when I was least expecting it." After extinguishing the last candle, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint blue glow of his wards and the milky moonlight through the windows, Solas returned to the bed.

"How very rude of this impudent shem-elf, making Fen'Harel uncomfortable in the Fade of all places." Her eyes glittered as she gazed up at him from her side of the bed, still sipping from her teacup.

"Ah," he said in his animated scholar's tone. "But it was not merely the Fade. She chased me in the physical realm as well. There was no way I could escape." Drawing back the sheets, he slipped under them as she twisted and set the teacup back on the nightstand beside the bed.

"Poor Dread Wolf," she crooned, chuckling as she scooted as close to him as her belly allowed, laying her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest. "How did you ever cope?"

Solas made a satisfied humming noise in the back of his throat as the fingers of one hand laced through her hair and traced her ear. "I gave in, of course." He rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing deeply as he smelled the fragrance of chamomile and vanilla from the soaps and oils she'd used in the bath—all of them supplies they'd brought with them rather than risk the Orlesians poisoning them.

Sighing and frowning to himself at that reminder of the danger they were still in, he regretfully switched topics. "After today's attacks I see no way the empress will trust Briala any longer. Going forward we will not receive such thorough warnings, if we receive them at all." His hand continued to tangle in her hair, feeling the silken tresses twining between his fingers.

Her breath puffed as she breathed, always a little faster than seemed normal as a result of the ever-increasing size of their child. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that if I were Varric I would place coin on our deaths due to poison or assassination." His voice was dark and rough but also cold and aloof. Considering their situation and the danger of it distantly let him see the inevitability of what must come. Detached from the emotional fallout that would inevitably follow from their former companions and allies, he didn't have to imagine the way any of them would react or how, in the chaos that'd follow Celene's untimely death and an elven uprising in the city, some of them might wind up dead.

"We survived multiple attempts without Briala's help," Ellana protested, the words strained. "I don't see how—"

"Lyris was almost killed," Solas reminded her hotly, his hand stilling in its progress through her hair. "She is still very weak. And the attack today would have succeeded, vhenan. If you had gone with Shila alone she would have been overwhelmed and killed. You would have been taken and held hostage, tortured or worse." The thought of it made his heart tighten with an agonizing pain. His eyes burned and he closed them, sucking in a breath to bolster himself and refocus.

Ellana stayed silent for a time before murmuring, "You're right, but we can be better prepared from now on. We won't be caught like that again."

"The only way to be certain of such a thing is if we act preemptively," Solas said emphatically. Swallowing the nervous pressure mounting in his chest, he added, "Tonight I will seek out Briala and unless she can tell me Celene is ready to treat these negotiations as a chance for peace rather than orchestrating our deaths…"

Ellana shifted, raising her head from his shoulder and staring at him, lips parted and eyes wide and moist. "No, Solas. You cannot…"

He scowled. "Do not ask me to sit idle while our enemies close in with knives at the ready. I will not lose you, vhenan—not when it is easily within my power to keep you safe."

Her expression creased, stricken as it wavered between something like anger and despair. "Please, emma lath. We fought to stabilize Orlais three years ago. You cannot kill Celene. She owes me her crown. She will come around if we just persist. Whoever replaces her will owe us nothing."

Solas scoffed, the heat of outrage and determination quickening his blood. "We do not require favors from Orlais. We will take what has always rightfully been ours. I will give the People what they have been owed since the fall of Elvhenan."

Ellana's eyes narrowed. "Is this about our safety or Fen'Harel's quest to redeem himself to the People?"

He flinched, lips curling and his hand, still over her shoulders, freezing. His heart hammered in his chest and his throat seemed to have thickened, as if trying to close. What he'd said replayed through his mind and he could not help but recoil again, unsure of the answer himself as he realized suddenly how alike his own fledgling plans were to the Qunari's Dragon's Breath. Zevanni and the thousands of elves in the Emerald Graves had easy access to multiple eluvians and the winter palace had several of the mirrors in storage rooms, unattended and forgotten because they were inactive. With the foci in hand, Zevanni could easily open and take control of any eluvian she wanted and direct it wherever she liked.

Such an easy, clever trick naturally made Solas—or was it Fen'Harel's?—stomach flip-flop at the possibilities. The winter palace would be his in less than an hour. Halamshiral would erupt into violence as the city elves declared their mien'harel and slaughtered the nobles who oppressed them. In less than a day the capital city of the Dales would be his…

It had started as a means to end the assassination attempts, to ensure he, Ellana, and their people could flee in the chaos following the empress' death. Yet he could not deny how perfectly it'd work as a means to conquer Halamshiral. He wouldn't even need to kill Celene, really. He could simply hold her captive and let her decide to do the right thing by giving the Dales to the People—or die.

"We cannot sit idle," Solas repeated, his voice tinny in his own ears as his mind continued to spin, aloof with shock at the possibilities. How could he not do this?

She gripped his chin, frowning. "And I cannot let you become a monster to the humans the way my people falsely remembered you. That is not redeeming yourself, Fen'Harel."

He blinked, swallowing as he tried to push thoughts of conquest aside. Drawing in a breath, he sat partially upright to kiss her, perfunctorily but tender, before murmuring, "Ma serannas, vhenan. I…appreciate your thoughts on this matter. I will not harm Celene regardless of what I learn from Briala tonight." He felt a wave of heat pass over him and knew his cheeks were burning with the knowledge he was misleading her.

Because regardless of what Briala told him this night, he fully intended to take Halamshiral.

Elven used:

Atisha: peace, peaceful

Next Chapter:

Raising his chin, Solas shook his head. "I can take the city and hold it against whatever comes…" He stepped back from the window and rotated on one foot to regard her with a pinched expression she couldn't quite read. "If I possess my full strength."

Heart thumping like a fist against her breastbone, Ellana stared at him with her eyes wide and jaw agape. She recalled his descriptions of the power the Evanuris had wielded on the battlefield—immolating thousands in flames that consumed them in seconds, summoning water from the air to drown them, or simply cracking open the earth and swallowing the enemy masses whole. It'd been hard to grasp the enormity of it when he told her of such things, and she'd been glad then that they'd been long forgotten and lost to time.

Except now, staring at him, she realized they hadn't been lost at all, merely dormant inside her lover.

...And..

"You didn't come to me asking for my approval," Ellana said, her voice somehow managing to be both a sob and a snarl. "You came here for the Anchor." Involuntarily, she whimpered, feeling it prickle, stinging against her palm, as if it sensed the nearness of its true master and longed to return to him. "Take it. Take it back, Fen'Harel."