A/N: Ah, here comes the chapter where you're all going to hate me! Solas shows a bit of his human-bigotry this chapter. I've read takes on him that deny it, but some of the banter he does is fairly embittered regarding humans. And, unlike most of the other characters, he will only romance a female elf. If that doesn't suggest a racial bias, I don't know what does. Gotta keep the blood pure for Elvhen Glory as Sera puts it. Anyway, the next several chapters are going to be a bit of a roller coaster. Welcome to mien'harel everyone!

A big THANK YOU to all my readers and reviewers as always!

Thirty-Four

Don't Call Me Vhenan

A tight knot of nervousness lay in Ellana's stomach like a cold stone as she watched the sunlight gradually slide across the floor, reflecting the sun's gradual passage through the sky and over the palace. Solas had insisted she remain in their chambers resting rather than go with him to the pavilion for the futile peace talks this morning.

She would've refused the suggestion, but the false labor pangs had struck her before she could even finish breakfast. The rock hard contraction of muscles beneath her skin made her belly stiff and left her woozy and sweaty. It was easy then to agree to let Solas go without her, even if she still felt tense and agitated with worry and shame for staying behind.

So she'd spent the morning and afternoon finding entertainment through games and storytelling with her assortment of bodyguards—Mathrel, three Dalish elves, and Dorian who'd reappeared that morning insisting he could help watch out for poison. Lyris had also joined them, fully armored despite looking pale and weak. In the midafternoon Varric and Rainier had also stopped by, much to the elves' irritation and suspicion, but Ellana insisted they join her for several rounds of Wicked Grace. They hadn't been able to finish more than one game, however, because one of them always devolved into a longwinded, nostalgic story and they'd forget whose turn it'd been and have to shuffle and deal again.

"And so, there I am, hacking and slashing at that damned dragon," Rainier said, miming swinging motions from his seat at Ellana's bedside where he'd pulled up a chair alongside Varric.

The dwarf was sniggering, one meaty hand on his face. "I think I remember this one, Hero. Was this the Abyssal High Dragon in the Western Approach?"

"Don't spoil it," Dorian scolded. "I wasn't there for this one."

"Yeah," Ellana said, laughing as she shot Dorian a grin. "That would be because I couldn't stand your constant whining about the heat and the sand."

Dorian clucked his tongue, his expression wicked with both amusement and something a tad harder that might have been disapproval. "Is that it, old girl? I thought it was because you preferred sharing a tent with a certain egghead elf."

"No," Ellana insisted, though she felt her face flush with heat. "It was definitely your whining that made me leave you at camp most of the time."

"Let Hero finish," Varric admonished with a chuckle.

Rainier smirked. "Yeah, like I was saying, there she was and I was the only one up close striking her. And I swear to the Maker, she looked back at me, right in the eye, then raised her tail and shat on me."

They burst into laughter. Ellana covered her mouth with one hand while the other gripped her abdomen, trying to steady herself. The anxiety within eased at the joy of these memories and she let herself forget, for the moment, her concern as to exactly what Solas might be up to at the negotiations. Beside the closed door, Ellana even saw Mathrel crack a tight, restrained smile and Lyris chuckled, shaking her head.

"I'm glad she didn't get me," Varric said as he caught his breath. "I'd have been literally buried in shit."

"Now I know what that smell on you was," Dorian quipped, grinning.

Rainier scowled. "I did bathe, Dorian."

"Of course you did," Dorian sniffed, teasing his mustache. "But you must've missed a few spots. It's dreadfully hard to scrub your back without a partner after all, and Maker knows you Southerners don't have the scrub brushes to do it properly the way the Imperium does."

"Whose turn was it?" Varric asked, scratching his head.

"I thought it was mine," Ellana said, reaching into her tunic to grab out her cards from where she'd stowed them in her breast band, in her now ample cleavage.

Dorian snorted. "Really, Lana? Storing your cards in there?"

"Why? What's wrong with it?" she asked blushing, trying not to notice the way Rainier pretended to be absorbed with his cards, fumbling as he spread them between both hands.

Varric, for his part, snickered. "Don't knock it `til you've tried it, Sparkler. I'd bet the empress herself uses that particular method of storage. Most of the women I've known do."

"Yes," Rainier murmured, smirking. "I'm sure it's very handy."

Dorian laughed, slapping his knee. "Good one, man!"

Varric groaned, covering his face with one hand as he chuckled. "Maker's breath. Well, that tears it." He tossed his cards onto the bed. "I say we shuffle and start over. Again."

Rainier stifled his own bawdy laughter after a moment and cleared his throat, shooting Ellana a sheepish, apologetic look as he added his cards to the growing pile on the bed. "Forgive me, Lady Lavellan. Couldn't resist."

Despite the heat still in her cheeks, Ellana smiled back at him. "It's fine, Thom." Then, with a mischievous smile, she added, "I know you're all just jealous you don't have such a handy storage spot."

Varric laughed again, a bubbling sound that loosened the knot of anxiety inside her another inch. "You bet we are." His meaty hands, despite their thickness, proved dexterous as he grabbed up the cards form the center of the bed and started shuffling. "Say, speaking of betting, still refusing to put your money where your mouth is, Lavender?"

Ellana arched her eyebrow at him. "Lavender?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Can't call you Inquisitor anymore and Lady Lavellan is way too formal for me." Cocking his head, he narrowed his eyes, considering her. "I'm not sure it's right just yet. I'm having trouble pinpointing a nickname for you."

"Varric," Rainier said with a mock-frown. "I'm disappointed. I expected something better out of you."

"Hey," Varric said, wagging a finger at him. "I'm allowed to run out of ideas sometimes. And I do reuse nicknames occasionally." He feigned a gasp at their mixture of amusement and surprise at the little confession. "Shocking, I know, right?"

"You can call me Lavender," Ellana said with a shrug. "I've always loved that scent." A smile curled over her lips remembering the times she'd been able to smell the blooms in the Free Marches during springtime. Lavender bushes were common enough in the areas her clan camped that the scent had become hopelessly entangled with the rejuvenating promise of spring with all its blossoming beauty.

"I think it's atrocious," Dorian said with mock-derision. "You deserve better, old girl." He paused a moment, brown eyes narrowing as his expression sobered. "In more ways than the nickname, I'm afraid."

At the door Mathrel muttered something nasty in elven and then added, "Shem bastard."

"Ah, I remember you now," Dorian commented, snapping his fingers and pointing at the arcane warrior. "And I have the perfect nickname for you: Broody. Or possibly killjoy. No, wait, that should be the sentinel's moniker, that Abelas fellow."

"You will not refer to me at all, shem," Mathrel growled.

Ellana scowled, throwing a glare at both men and shaking her head. "Didn't anyone tell you I'm in a very delicate state right now?" she grumbled, only half-playing as she motioned to her burgeoning belly. "No stress allowed."

"That's an impossibly tall order, Lana," Dorian muttered with a frown of his own as Varric began tossing more cards around their lopsided circle around Ellana's bed. "Considering the circumstances, I thought I was doing remarkably well."

"Always room for improvement," Varric said with a smirk before looking to Ellana. "You never answered my question earlier. Care to place a wager on the kid now that Chuckles is out of earshot?" He waggled his eyebrows in invitation.

Ellana laughed quickly before shaking her head. "No, I'm sorry, but no. I have to respect Solas' opinion on this. We didn't bet on children in the clan so I'm not about to start with my own."

"But you think it's a boy," Varric said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and tugging at his lips.

"Yes, yes," Dorian grumbled with an eye roll. "Everyone's betting against me on this one." He huffed. "Is it too late to change my wager, dwarf?"

"I'm afraid so, Sparkler. Someone has to lose, and right now that's looking like you and Sera. Oh, and Ruffles." He elbowed Rainier, who'd fallen silent as he sorted through his cards. "Did you catch that, Hero? Ruffles is going to owe us some royals."

"Say what?" Rainier asked, his head popping up and swiveling around at the rest of the group. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." With a sigh he rubbed at his face with one hand as he looked over his cards. "By Andraste, this has to be the single worst hand I've ever been dealt." He slapped the cards face down on the bed near Ellana and groaned. "Fold."

Dorian gave a little high-pitched laugh. "Funny, I was about to say the same thing." With a flourish, he dropped his cards onto the bed as well and shot a mock-glare in Varric's direction. "I think someone is cheating. Again."

"What you meant to say was as usual," Ellana said, surveying her own cards and finding it less than ideal.

"Oh c'mon now," Varric said, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "You all saw me shuffle the deck just now. How was I cheating?"

"I don't know," Rainier said with a good-natured chuckle. "Why don't you tell us?"

Before Varric could reply the door to the room opened, drawing all of their gazes immediately toward it as Solas strode through, tall and lithe, his face shadowed by the wolf headdress. Ellana sensed Dorian bristling, stiffening as he shifted in his seat, draping one arm over the back of his chair. Rainier and Varric both offered polite smiles, though Solas didn't return them as his head pivoted toward them, the corners of his lips quirking downward.

"Master Tethras," he said to the dwarf and then to the Warden. "Rainier. Please, I must ask you to leave." After a pause, he regarded Dorian as well, the small frown deepening. "And you as well, Dorian."

"I take it the peace talks went poorly," Varric said with a grunt as he began grabbing up everyone's cards again. He snapped a rubber band over the deck horizontally and then doubly secured it with one going vertical.

"More of the same," Solas replied, his voice cool and aloof. He tucked his hands behind his back, waiting with seemingly infinite patience as Rainier, Dorian, and Varric rose from their seats and returned the chairs to their various original locations around the room. Ellana watched them go with a small, anxious smile quavering on her lips, feeling the cold weight in her stomach as she anticipated bad news from Solas.

When the three humans and the dwarf had gone, she found her throat had constricted, as if invisible hands threatened to strangle her. The seemingly unending indigestion she experienced because of pregnancy scaled the back of her throat with burning heat. "Solas?" she asked tightly.

He pivoted slightly, casting a glance over his shoulder toward Mathrel and Lyris, who'd also tensed up, no doubt sensing something was amiss just as Ellana had. Speaking to both her and the warriors, Solas said, "Empress Celene has no intention of negotiating with us. We will never achieve our goals through these official channels. Her sole goal with these peace talks was to lure us here for the chance to assassinate us."

Ellana scooted over the bedspread until she could hang her legs off the side, ready to hoist herself to her feet. "Then we should leave," she said. "We can return to the Emerald Graves and continue expanding from there."

Solas' head turned toward her, his lips twisting up and then down, as if he couldn't quite figure out whether he wanted to smile or frown. "I see little point in retreat now when the situation may be turned to our favor, ultimately." He lowered his voice into a near-whisper, making Ellana and the warriors lean closer with looks of concentration. "I intend to take Halamshiral for the People in mien'harel tonight."

"Solas," Ellana said, gawking as her stomach clenched and seemed to careen to the floor. "You cannot be serious."

"I am, in fact," he retorted with an edge of irritation. "We intend to take the city with the Dales, do we not? Why should we not claim it now?" His voice darkened and a cold, closed-lipped smile spread over his lips. "There is no chance of achieving our goals in this current farce, vhenan. But no matter, we can best the empress without harming her and claim the Dales from Orlais by tomorrow evening."

"And how many innocent lives will be lost in your rebellion, Fen'Harel?" she shot back hotly, pushing herself off the bed and crossing her arms over her chest.

His lips pinched, but otherwise he gave no sign that her use of his Evanuris name bothered him. With his arms still tucked behind his back, Solas strode toward the nearest window, the golden afternoon light coloring his front. "Please," he said, the single word holding a ragged edge. "Do not argue with me on this, Ellana. I will require your help to hold Halamshiral."

"The whole of Thedas will hate you, hate us. Cassandra will declare an Exalted March. The Inquisition will come after us. Orlais, Ferelden, Tevinter…" She motioned, palms up, to indicate the whole room and by extension the world she spoke of. "You cannot expect to stand up to that. We would be crushed, emma lath" She sighed, still struggling with the lump of emotion in her throat. "Aside from that, it's not right. We came here to negotiate peace. If Celene won't honor that then we should just leave."

Solas' chin dipped down to his chest. "You expect that we can simply leave?" The anger hardening his voice was unmistakable. "Have you forgotten how often assassins have accosted us, vhenan? The empress does not wish for this charade to end before our deaths. She will likely order our arrests should we try to leave openly."

"Then we leave in secret," Ellana insisted, heart pounding and her mouth dry.

Now Solas twisted at the waist and neck to stare at her, a small snarl curling his lip. "And leave our companions to the Orlesians' ire?"

She winced, realizing he was right. Shifting her weight from one hip to the other, she let her gaze fall to the floor in shame. This wasn't like their escape during the Exalted Council. They'd arrived with fifty or so other elves as bodyguards, caretakers, and servants. A number of them, including Lerand and Samhel, were from Ellana's own clan. Part of her could see the strategic value of Solas' suggestion, but when she imagined the lives lost and the hatred it'd garner from the humans all over Thedas…

Echoing his earlier platitude in a voice deepened by desperation, Ellana said, "Please, there must be another way. We could ask Cassandra and Leliana to provide our people a peaceful escort out of the city. We can take Halamshiral over time with the rest of the Dales."

Solas had turned to face the window again, his shoulders squaring. "I cannot let this chance pass us by, vhenan." The headdress shadowed his face from the golden light reflected through their window from the courtyard down below.

"You cannot do this," she said, both anger and fear making her choke on the words. "All of Thedas would rise against us. You can't hope to fight them. It'd kill you and destroy the People—everything we've worked to accomplish would be lost."

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. Something flashed in the depths of his steely blue eyes, just visible despite the shadow of the headdress, a glimmer of eagerness, sharp like the edge of a blade honed to perfection. Ellana thought of the fierceness she'd seen in the eyes of her fellow hunters in the clan when they'd seen prey wander into their sights, the savage delight. Solas was the hunter, the wolf, and he'd found weakness in his prey that he could not stop himself from exploiting—even if doing so would catch him, and by extension their people and her, in a snare that'd kill them.

Abelas' words after her meeting with Scout Harding flew into her mind, echoing like thunder off hills in a storm: …what we do with the power of the Fade restored to us will be terrifying for the other races. They'd barely found a way to taste the power of their ancestors and Elvhenan and already what they'd created in the Emerald Graves through slow, careful hard work wasn't enough. At least not for Solas.

Checking over her shoulder to where Lyris and Mathrel still stood guard, Ellana saw their expressions were tight with tension and…excitement. Was she the only one who saw this as madness?

"You're asking me to help you conquer this city," she said, quiet and somber as she stared down at the lush blue carpet underfoot. Her left hand opened and closed at her side, tingling as she thought of the Anchor. "You need to restore the Fade here to fulfill your plans."

"I realize you are opposed," Solas said, drawing closer to her as his voice softened. "But I would do this with you at my side, vhenan. I would spare as many lives as I could." He gave a rough shake of his head, jaw clenching. "And we have little choice. This is the quickest and safest way to execute your plans." He paused and she sensed him bristling with a small jerk of his shoulders. "Or Mythal's plans, as it were. But this is what you desired, need I remind you? I would not have chosen this path for the People, but it has restored the Fade in a limited fashion, I will admit. However, we are too exposed and yes we will draw the humans' ire, but there is no alternative."

Mythal's plans, Ellana thought, closing her eyes as a wave of vertigo hit her. Morrigan had warned her Solas would react violently to the threat against them. She'd encouraged patience and perseverance…but it'd failed. Another of Abelas' comments reverberated through her mind then—he claimed to have left Mythal's service, removed his vallaslin, because he disagreed with her plans. What plans?

Gazing up then into Solas' expectant, tight expression, she felt her shoulders slump. This was all the Game still, of course. And, as usual, Ellana was a pawn rather than a player since leaving the Inquisition. Solas needed her, used her for the Anchor. Mythal manipulated her for some unknown goal. Empress Celene had tried to abduct her as a hostage against Solas. Even Leliana had tried to bribe her away from Solas. When had she stopped being a leader in favor of being a tool that everyone fought over for control?

"Please, Ellana," he repeated, the note of urgency underlying the words robbing her of breath.

He'll do this regardless of what I tell him, she realized. His eyes were the rich blue of the sky on a bright summer day, darkened by a mixture of tenderness and frustration. Even as she felt cold dread sweep over her, Ellana's heart ached to realize he might be alerting her to his plans, but he still wasn't including her as his partner in leadership.

"You're already committed to this," she guessed, her voice raw. "No matter what I say."

Solas' face fell. His eyes darted off to the doorway and his shoulders sagged. "Yes." He swallowed, throat bobbing. "Ir abelas."

Flexing her left hand, Ellana felt the familiar prickling pain of the Anchor just as she always did when she considered it. The mark of Fen'Harel, bound to her since the conclave, as much a part of her as her own bones, or her child squirming inside her. Did she really have a choice? How would history remember her—as the elven woman who'd closed the Breach to save Thedas, or as the one who'd unleashed the Dread Wolf's wrath and wanton destruction? Could Solas really restrain himself once he possessed his full strength, or would the Dales suddenly not be enough? Where would it end?

All of Thedas wasn't enough for Elvhenan, she thought, recalling Abelas' words yet again as she closed her eyes, trembling as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Unbidden, memories of clan life played over her eyelids: the gentle song of rain tapping on new spring leaves, the scent of lavender sweetening the breeze, and the laughter of Lavellan's children as they raced through the fields in games of hide and seek. If she were with the clan now Ellana would be at the hearth with her mother, helping grind medicinal herbs or skinning the hunters' kills and preparing the family's meals now that she was nearing the end of her pregnancy. Her days would be full of simplicity and laughter, of stories and routine—and the only games would be the ones played by the children.

"I don't want this," she said with a choking sound. "How can you do this to me?"

"Vhenan?" he asked, confusion thickening his voice.

When she opened her eyes, Ellana saw his brow had furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her, seeking her meaning. She fought to control her breathing, feeling her lungs quivering, trying to break down into sobs. Tears stung her eyes. "If I refuse to aid you I am leaving you and the People to fight the rest of Thedas without the Fade. You'll lose and our people will suffer for it."

A breathy sob wrenched its way from her throat for a moment and she jerked her head to stare off at the privy entryway as she struggled to compose herself. "And if I agree I will become a monster to the humans just as much as you will. I will betray my own conscience and help you slaughter countless humans simply because it is what you decided was necessary. Because they have the wrong ears, the wrong body shape."

"The wrong blood." Solas countered, cold and stiff, nostrils flaring. "The other races are trespassers to Thedas. They oppress our people most of all because they know we were great once, greater than they could comprehend. They oppose magic. They would lock those with magic away in their damned Circles—your brother, your niece, myself." He broke off, gesturing quickly toward the arcane warriors at the closed doorway, still and silent as statues. "Lyris and Mathrel." He gave a short, fierce shake of his head. "Our child as well. You know this, Ellana. Your clan knows this. It is why they chose to live away from humans, to preserve themselves."

"This goes too far," she insisted, clenching her teeth. "Too soon." She sucked in a wet, wavering breath as she shot him a teary-eyed glare. "We could have waited longer. We could have tried to leave with an Inquisition escort. But you made the choice for me, Fen'Harel," she snarled his Evanuris name. "Without me."

Both anger and pain twisted his features, quirking his mouth down and darkening his eyes. "Vhenan…" he said, more a whisper than anything else. He closed his eyes and dropped his gaze to the floor.

The sound of his pain threatened to break her composure and she sniffled, quashing the sob that tried to come out, but she couldn't stop the onrush of bitter tears. With every blink more of them cascaded down her cheeks. Her throat was raw, thick and painful with emotion as she thrust out her left hand, palm up. Solas flinched at the action, as if he'd expected her to strike him and for a brief moment Ellana wanted to laugh that the Dread Wolf could be so skittish—but she knew only she could draw such a reaction. When he raised his own teary eyes to her, lips parted with consternation, she bit out, "Take it."

Slow and tentative as he stared at her with a heartsick expression, Solas clasped her left hand in his right. His palm was sweaty against her own. "I did not consider the position this would place you in," he said, deep and hoarse. He brought her knuckles up toward his lips, as if to kiss them. "I will endeavor to—"

Realizing Solas had misunderstood her intent, Ellana jerked her hand back from him, her shoulders heaving, her heart full of stabbing pain. "I'm not agreeing to help you, Fen'Harel. I wont have this on my conscience."

Horror blanched his skin as his eyes flicked down to her left hand clasped in his, but what he said was, "What are you suggesting?"

"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."

Solas' mouth fell open and he seemed to stop breathing in a moment that stretched out impossibly long. Then, cringing, he released her hand and stepped back from her, anger and misery clouding his blue gaze. "You truly think so little of me, vhenan?" His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "You think I would come here to maim you, punish you if you would not agree with me?"

"No," she said and the sobs she'd struggled to hold back finally broke through. Choking, she forced herself to continue, "But I refuse to play this game any longer. I would rather lose my arm than lose myself." If she could not help shape the world for the better, for both her people and the other races of Thedas, then she could only hope to escape and survive whatever changes were wrought. She could only try to find a small measure of peace for herself and her child.

"You would give up when the fight grows distasteful," Solas snapped, eyes crinkling with misery while his mouth and voice roughened with quiet rage. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You are stronger than this, vhenan. I know you are."

"Don't call me vhenan," she said, raising her shaking voice as anger of her own lashed her, setting her heart drumming with fresh vigor. Part of her—a small, bitter place that she tried to quash as wrong—relished the way Solas reeled at her words, stricken as thoroughly as though she'd slapped him. "If I was your heart you would have sought me out when this was still a choice. Instead you forced my hand."

Striding toward him, she thrust her left hand at him again. "Literally, forced my hand," she said with a brittle, dry laugh that turned into a choking sob. "Take the Anchor from me."

Solas withdrew again, hands raised as if to ward her off. "I cannot do that to you."

"You were willing to leave me to die when you tore down the Veil," she reminded him, almost shouting now as she shook with the force of the emotional pain stabbing through her with each quaking breath. Her throat convulsed, trying to close, making whimpering noises against her will. "How is this worse?"

He winced, shaking his head. The next step back from her brought him up against the small dining table along the far wall from their bed. Chairs thumped with the small impact of his hips against them.

The agony in his expression cut at her, but Ellana ignored it through the red haze of her own turmoil. Advancing again, she reached him before he could circle sideways around the table, and thumped her left palm against his chest. "Take it," she cried, pleading as she grabbed his tunic in her fist and pressed her face to his chest. "I…" she sobbed, almost incoherent as her shoulders heaved with each breath, weeping in earnest. "…cannot…do it."

His arms, warm and strong, rose up around her, and though Ellana gnashed her teeth with self-hatred, she couldn't deny the instant comfort she felt at his touch. His fingers stroked through her hair as he let out a breathy whisper, his words trembling. "I'm so sorry, Ellana."

His hands moved to her cheeks, tilting her head up to him until she could just see the tears glinting in his red-rimmed eyes. She felt the tingling touch of his magic stirring and saw his lips murmur. Then, before she could think to protest or pull away, Solas pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She had a moment to gasp as the pins and needles sensation swept over her and then, immediately in its wake, a heavy lassitude settled over her. Dizziness made the room spin and her hands clutching Solas' tunic lost their strength. Her knees trembled and then gave out, but Solas' arms kept her upright as she collapsed. Breath escaping in a wheeze, she felt fear set her heart pounding as Solas swept her up with one arm under her knees, carrying her. Her last thought was to wonder if she'd wake up with her arm missing.

Then blackness closed over her.

Solas laid Ellana's limp, unconscious form over the bed, arranging her tenderly even as he tabled the anguish inside himself. He left her on her side, knowing the weight of the baby would be uncomfortable for her when she stayed on her back very long. The Anchor was a warm flare to his peripheral senses, a hissing, crackling song at the edge of his mind. He lingered for a few seconds with her left hand in his grip, feeling over the palm as her words echoed through him, as sharp and painful as icepicks drilling into his ears.

The memory of her pain—and when she'd told him not to call her vhenan—made him nauseous. Had he lost her? Driven her away? The taunting, bitter voice in his head whispered that he'd always known he deserved this. Whether she was right or not about the necessity of him taking Halamshiral, some part of Solas had always known she'd turn on him. Fen'Harel always lost those closest to him, one way or another. Even before his parents had been killed in his own slave rebellion, Solas had long since put them aside, giving them up to protect them from the Evanuris and the upper class. Now it seemed Ellana would want him to do the same, and losing her meant never knowing his child.

He let out a shuddering breath as he laid her left hand on the bed and instead brushed his fingers over her cheek to wipe away the lingering wetness of her tears. I'm not giving up yet, vhenan, he thought at her as his jaw squared and the pain of their confrontation faded. He pushed it all into a box deep inside, tucked away where it couldn't interfere with what must come next.

Standing upright, he turned to face Lyris and Mathrel, finding their expressions stoic though their eyes held the same heavy sadness he suspected his own did. "Watch over her," he said, his voice deeper and rougher than he'd have liked. He swallowed, striving to achieve a cool aloofness befitting a proper leader. "I will send Dalish women to attend her."

Lyris let out a small huff. "She's going to hate being locked up. The last time you tried this…"

"I know," Solas said, passing a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away the pain still trying to etch itself there. She found a way out, he thought, finishing Lyris' comment for her silently.

"Will you really keep her caged?" Lyris asked quietly.

Caged. Imprisoned. Held against her will. Solas scowled, dropping his gaze to the floor as he considered the implications, moral and political and personal, of keeping Ellana against her will and felt queasy again. He needed the Anchor, and as long as it was part of her with no way to remove it save destroying her arm and the mark in the process, that meant he needed her. In time, and with the fragments he might collect in taking her arm, he could construct another Anchor with the foci he'd found from Tevinter…maybe. But politically and morally he found the thought of imprisoning her to keep his access to the Anchor repulsive. She deserved to be happy—even if it was not at his side. Had he not always fought for freedom?

Yet the personal cost of letting her leave—his child—slammed into him like a fist. How could he bear letting another man step in to raise his child? The very idea of it made his hands curl into fists and his muscles seize up, shaking with outrage. How could he trust anyone else to protect her or the child properly? Stomach clenching, he pushed the thoughts aside, unable to let them continue.

Pinning Lyris with a fierce look, he shook his head in the negative even as he said, "I cannot consider this, currently. My hope is she will reconsider her stance given time."

Lyris nodded her understanding.

Satisfied, Solas strode out the door, his normally light tread heavy with the weight of his internal anguish. He found Abelas and the three Dalish elves he'd left as bodyguards outside the room. The sentinel shot him a cold look that was almost an outright glare while the three Dalish watched him with something akin to wariness. Solas wondered with a touch of cold fear how much they'd overheard through the closed door.

"Abelas," he called the sentinel. "Accompany me."

The sentinel raised one brow. "Where?" he asked, knowing he would lead the way. Solas didn't trust the elf to walk at his back and they both knew it.

"The servant quarters," Solas replied without elaborating. He'd seek out several Dalish women to join Ellana and hopefully calm her while he was away. Afterward he would find Lanya and his other spies within the winter palace to carry a message to Briala, alerting her that mien'harel had come for her people. She could betray him at the news, alerting Celene and calling for his arrest, but Zevanni would arrive within the hour. In that short space of time Briala and Celene would have no chance to counter the coming revolution. Solas was confident Briala would act in favor of the People rather than her lover—especially because his messenger would assure her that he would spare Celene in the assault. If she did betray him, Solas would finally learn exactly how powerful he was with the Veil strangling his magic.

One thing he did know with certainty, however, was that this would be a very long night.

Ellana woke with her bladder about to burst. Hissing between clenched teeth, she hauled herself from the bed and staggered for the privy. Lyris' tread followed her; the warrior's steps loud even on the carpeting. Ellana ignored it, lurching to the chamber pot and hurriedly shedding her breeches, uncaring that the warriors would hear her piddle.

"Are you all right?" Lyris asked from the doorway. Her voice was soft with compassion. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," Ellana bit out, her back to the warrior as she at last relieved her overfull bladder. Despite the heaviness in her limbs and the haze of fog still in her mind from whatever spell Solas had used on her, Ellana managed not to stumble or make a mess. She donned her breeches again without once looking to Lyris, feeling the dull heat of fury simmering inside her, burning as badly as the heartburn scalding the back of her throat.

When she'd finished, she stood in the privy, feeling the cold tiles underfoot as she tried to think, to focus on what she should do or say. Looking at her left hand, she snorted derisively. "I'm glad he left my arm for now. It'd be hard to do this if he'd taken it."

"Fen—" Lyris cut herself short with a sigh before starting again. "Solas would never harm you. He loves you, more than I ever thought I'd see from him, considering he's such a loner."

She closed her eyes, though she knew the painful lump in her throat wouldn't go away so easily. Latching onto the fire of her anger instead, she whipped around to glower at Lyris. "I have nothing to say to you," she spat. "You're just one of his lackeys. Even if you disagreed with him you'd never challenge him."

"When he seeks advice, I give it," Lyris replied coolly. "But I am not a leader."

"I am," Ellana snarled and then, suddenly, let out a choking sob. "I was."

Lyris nodded. "He knows this. He is trying to honor it. But you must understand he has never shared power before, only served or led alone. He is flawed, as all sentient beings are. " Silence reined for a moment as Ellana collapsed back to sit on the edge of the tub, her hands covering her face as she struggled to breathe without breaking into sobs. Then Lyris said, "But his actions are logical now. Halamshiral is—"

"Logical?" she shouted, shaking with fury as her head lifted out of her hands. "Logical?"

Lyris jabbed out her chin, shoulders stiffening. "Yes. Fen'Harel is acting for the People."

"He is putting a target on us," Ellana cried. "He will make the People into boogeymen who will be tortured and killed mercilessly outside the Dales. He is stripping us of allies, of any sympathy our suffering has amassed since we lost the Dales."

"What is done is done," Lyris growled with a frown. "You say you want to help the People, but you spend most of your time capitulating to the humans and worrying about the other races. Fen'Harel does not need a human-apologist. He needs an advisor capable of making the ruthless decisions alongside him, who will help him bear the weight of—"

"Get out," Ellana yelled.

Lyris stiffened, inhaling sharply and hesitating as Ellana glared daggers at the other woman, hands clenched into fists against her thighs. Then, apparently making a decision, Lyris dipped her chin obediently and whipped around on one heel, leaving the privy doorway.

Alone, Ellana sagged, shoulders heaving and heart hammering as more tears pooled in her eyes. Then, with shaking hands and lips curling with irritation aimed at herself, she began wiping the tears away. Sucking in several deep, ragged breaths, she found herself staring at the small wooden crate of bath oils and other things they'd brought with them from the Emerald Graves to avoid using the Orlesian-supplied items for fear of poisoning. They'd packed a variety of herbs in that crate, including some ingredients used in powders for invisibility and sleep concoctions—common items rogues used in combat. Solas had wanted her to have non-magical options available in an emergency.

She felt the anguish of her argument with Solas lifting from her as she imagined escaping this room, thwarting Solas in some way…

Mind spinning, she thought of Mythal. Could she find Morrigan and seek her help, perhaps somehow stop Solas that way? But then she scowled, recalling Abelas' now bare face and his cagey remarks about the goddess' plans. Mythal was playing the Game even more than Solas. Ellana couldn't trust her to do anything to stop Solas.

Who could she trust? And was there anything she could do to stop Solas?

Multiple answers leapt into her mind immediately: her family and Dorian. She dismissed her family; though doing so made something in her chest hurt with a sharp stab of loss. The clan could never keep her presence a secret from Solas and she'd be placing them in an awkward position of betraying her or turning against Solas. It was just the same sort of nasty decision Solas had foisted onto her. Ellana couldn't do that to them, not if she hoped to impede Solas' plans in some way.

But what options did she even have to stop him? He'd claimed Halamshiral would be his tonight. Whatever he'd set in motion, she had no way of stopping it now. Her only power was to deny Solas the Anchor, to prevent him from accessing his full terrifying potential as an Evanuris. He could claim Halamshiral in rebellion, but he couldn't hold it without her and the Anchor. Yet removing herself and the Anchor out of his grasp endangered the People.

…But Solas already made that choice. He'd set his plans in motion without first making sure he had her support. He'd assumed she'd agree with him and see no easier, gentler outcome. He hadn't sought her out, just acted, leaving her with no choice but to aid him and betray her own morals or deny him and bear the weight of the consequences.

She queried herself, probing her emotions the way she would with a fresh wound—tentative and cautious. Her mind shied away from thoughts of Solas, returning again and again to the laughter she'd shared while playing cards and telling stories with Dorian, Rainier, and Varric. And in the midst of her argument with Solas she'd flashed back to memories of the clan, longing for escape from the Game, for a return to something simple and serene and innocent.

When the baby kicked she rubbed her belly and, at the reminder of this extra complication, felt the well of despair tear wide open within her as the realization came that if she fled now she'd most likely be alone when she went into labor. She'd be depriving Solas of seeing their child's birth. The many mornings they'd spent together, lingering in bed as they waited to feel their child's kicks flashed through her memory again and her lungs convulsed, making her gasp and start to sob in earnest. How could she do that to Solas, to herself? To their child?

She covered her face with both hands and gave into the hysterical sobs, rocking back and forth on the edge of the tub. As the racking sobs gradually quieted, leaving her breathless and shaky, red faced and with her throat aching, she heard the first shouts echoing through the small window in the privy, which had been left slightly ajar with the warm early spring day.

Climbing over the tub, Ellana pushed the window wider and stared out at the row of hedges lining the side of the palace far below, separating it from the courtyard. Her heart pummeled her breastbone as she heard more shouts of alarm, and then, darting into her view past the hedges, she saw a masked Orlesian nobleman stagger clumsily onto the grass. He yelped and shouted incoherently, mad with fear. A moment later two elves in servant garb stalked after him. As the nobleman rolled over, motioning pleadingly, Ellana saw the red-black bloodstains on his side.

"No," he begged. "Please!"

"What's that?" one of the elves, a man, taunted. "No more filthy knife-ear comments?"

The woman with him advanced on the nobleman, a bloody knife clutched in her right hand. "This is for every time you touched me, fucking shem," she spat.

"You'll never touch anyone ever again," the man snarled as the woman lunged forward and cut into him.

The nobleman's screams became wet gurgles that churned Ellana's stomach. She closed her eyes and turned away, trying to drown out the sounds, but she couldn't block out the bitterly triumphant cry of victory from the servants below: "Mien'harel! Fen'Harel enansal!"

And then, as Ellana struggled to swallow the bile still in her throat, she heard a very different sound—the flutter of feathers. She looked up, back at the window, just in time to see a black raven land on the windowsill with a flustered ruffle of its shiny black feathers. Its eyes flashed as it pivoted its head, staring at her a beat before it sidled through the open window, talons clicking against the windowsill.

Through the tears still blurring her vision, Ellana gawped as she saw the raven's eyes: bright and distinctive gold.

Morrigan.

Next Chapter:

"What will become of the Anchor?" Ellana asked, flexing her left hand to ease the ongoing tingling of it.

"I will carry it," Morrigan said, smirking. "I can see that displeases you, but it should not." Spreading her hands to indicate the palace around them, she said, "The palace is in turmoil. Soon the city will rise in rebellion as well. These are the hallmarks of Fen'Harel when he is uncaged and unrestrained. There is nothing to hold him back in this world—save you and the Anchor."