A/N: These chapters are going to be tough on Solas. Ellana as well, of course, but some of the time she's just not in her right mind or is heavily distracted because BABY and because ANCHOR. These are action chapters, as much or more than when Solas killed the Forgotten Ones. So much fun to write! Interesting note, my beta sympathized with Ellana over Solas in the rebellion bit, as in he had plenty of other options before jumping to rebellion. But of course that's not the only issue he has to work through! The biggest issue is that he wouldn't compromise (or, well, he did compromise I suppose because he didn't kill Celene or Cassandra in the takeover). Anyway, it's been interesting because I think I have at least two readers who sympathize more with Solas' plot here. In writing I was terrified of making Solas too dark...well, perhaps that wasn't such a concern after all!
Anyway, thank you to my readers and especially to my reviewers (looking at you again, KireChan!) Now, on with the story! Everyone is going to shit a brick (at least a little) reading the chapter preview...
Thirty-Six
Dirthara-ma, Fen'Harel
In an unthinking blur, Solas checked around the privy as Lyris spluttered behind him in shock. "She was right here! I heard her crying just a few minutes ago. Where could she have gone?"
In the crate beside the counter with its washbasin, Solas found the rogue powders for invisibility and knockout missing. When he touched the windowsill and gazed out into the courtyard below, he saw no trace of her. Yet his fingertips tingled faintly, a sure sign that the room had recently felt powerful magic.
Solas brushed past Lyris and into the bedroom, searching for any other clues. Her coat was gone from its spot atop the dresser, as was her bow and arrow quiver. Cursing vehemently under his breath, Solas scrubbed at his face with one hand, still ignoring Lyris' tight and anxious presence behind him. She had gone, fleeing with either Morrigan or Abelas most likely, straight into the chaos of his own rebellion. His guts seemed to turn into water, a sickening sensation of heavy horror spreading through him at the certainty that she would die, killed mistakenly by his own forces.
No, he thought, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he sucked in a steadying breath. He was present for this rebellion, leading it. He'd only returned to his village after the fact in that distant past. The rebelling slaves had chosen that village of their own accord, without any input or guidance from him, save his hatred for Elgar'nan. That was what had led to disaster. He could stop it this time. He had to.
Where would Morrigan or Abelas take her? Would they hope to stop him by reaching Celene first? Would they regroup with Leliana or Cullen? Would she simply flee through an eluvian to remove the Anchor from his possession?
A heavy thump resounded against the door and the wood splintered, failing. Solas blinked, coming out of his reverie to find Mathrel lunging forward, spectral blade gleaming and buzzing as he stabbed through the remains of the door. The blade cut straight through the Orlesian guard's armor and he howled with pain as he doubled over. Blood welled out through the sundered, scorched breastplate over his chest and belly. Mathrel shouted wordlessly as he slashed again with the blade, this time lopping off the human's head.
Another guard raced over his dying comrade, intending to shield bash Mathrel. The arcane warrior spun away, Fade cloaking to avoid the slash of the man's blade. Still another guard followed, roaring a war cry.
Snarling with impatience, Solas drew mana and petrified them before Lyris could even activate her own spectral blade. Both attacking guards and a third one still trying to get through the door collapsed or froze in their places, turned to stone. With a flick of one hand, Solas shattered them with a resounding pop of his Veilstrike. Bits of stone flew out in every direction, some of it clinking against the fallen guard's armor and sizzling in Mathrel's blade.
"Who were they?" Mathrel asked, growling. "Who do you think sent them?"
"That's unimportant," Solas replied, curt and clipped. "Ellana is gone. I suspect she was taken through the window to the courtyard below." If he could calm his inner turmoil enough he might be able to feel the Anchor somewhere nearby if he could just concentrate.
"Why would she do this?" Mathrel asked, grumbling. "How could she be so foolish as to—"
"It does not matter," Solas cut him off with an angry sideways slash of one hand. Breathing hard and fast, nostrils flaring, he motioned toward the privy. "You will both join me. We must find her." He broke off then, reconsidering as he stared at both Mathrel and Lyris, his personal and political needs twisting within him. Searching for Ellana with his two best, most loyal warriors left his rebellion weaker and put the empress at risk with just bloodthirsty Zevanni in charge.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Solas came to a decision and motioned at Lyris. "Go join Zevanni in taking the empress and seeking out the Inquisition leaders. They must be taken alive and I do not trust her to restrain herself."
Lyris hesitated. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," Solas said, not bothering to hide his impatience. "Now go."
She nodded, glancing quickly toward Mathrel for their usual short goodbye look, a visual exchange of longing and reassurance that made the coiled knot of snakes inside Solas wrench even tighter than before. As Lyris left through the doorway, Solas jogged toward the privy. "We must hurry, she cannot have gone far."
Pressing through the open window, Solas Fade stepped onto the courtyard below in a blur, popping out of it close enough that his fingers brushed the row of hedges to his right. A heartbeat later Mathrel joined him with the slick whine of his own Fade step. The acrid smell of smoke wafted through the side yard, making Solas grimace with distaste. A dead nobleman lay slumped beside the hedges, blood pooled around him on the pale cobblestones. Screams and shouts rent the air.
"Where would she have gone?" Mathrel asked, spinning on his heel to survey the rest of the side yard.
Solas closed his eyes a moment, turning inward and trying to find the Anchor, that familiar pleasurable buzz in the back of his mind. It was difficult to pinpoint over the interference and constant distraction of the foci, crouched like a predator at the edge of his awareness and casting a long, dark shadow over everything else. Now he found it too faint, diluted by the foci—or masked by the magic of whoever she was with—making it impossible for him to get a sense of where she was.
Shaking his head with frustration, he didn't answer Mathrel as he gave up and opened his eyes. For now there was only one path forward: out of the side yard and toward the raging inferno that had once been the tavern and apothecary. "This way."
More elven rogues assailed them just outside the courtyard gates. The sounds of their shouts and the clang of metal on metal made Ellana's head ring. She gnashed her teeth, helpless and useless as her friends faced six rogues, all dressed in winter palace livery. These would be Briala's people, causing chaos and attacking anyone who appeared to be noble and not elven. When one female rogue neared Sera she seemed to pull up short, stunned as she realized the strange assemblage included one of the People.
Bull held Ellana tightly, his muscles as firm as wood planks. Ellana knew he must be tense, anxious that he would be needed when he unavoidably had his hands full. She started fumbling for her bow with one hand and tried to speak, "I can stand and fight. You can—"
"Not a chance, Boss," Iron Bull retorted, curling his lips back in a ferocious grin. "You just relax."
"Ha!" Sera yelled, letting her arrow fly. The rogue who'd hesitated to attack her yelped as the arrow thwacked into her shoulder and sent her spinning, collapsing to the cobblestone. Varric fired a bolt from Bianca to finish the dagger-wielding rogue off.
Ahead of them Morrigan and Dorian stood side by side, one casting fire and the other lightning. The thrum of magic in the air made Ellana's skin tingle. The Anchor had begun to sting, reacting to either her emotions or the ongoing nearness and intensity of magic, Ellana wasn't sure which.
Rainier used his shield to block a volley of arrows fired from the pair of archer elves a few meters further down the path. Thrusting his blade high, he gave a war cry and tumbled forward in a combat roll. When he popped out of it at the end he bashed his shield against one archer and slashed with his sword at the other. The feather tousle in his helmet glinted in the brightness of the moonlight and his armor glittered.
As the last of the rogues collapsed under the mixture of arrows and spells from Sera, Varric, Morrigan, and Dorian, their group began jogging ahead once more. Ellana stared over Iron Bull's shoulder as they ran, something tightening in her throat painfully. Smoke coiled up from half a dozen spots on the palace. Orange light flickered from fires around the grounds. Screams and the sounds of battle rang out through what should have been a peaceful springtime night.
The cramp cut across her abdomen again and she hissed through gnashed teeth, curling against Iron Bull's chest as she rode it out. "You doing okay there, Boss?" Bull asked.
"It's fine," she said, forcing the strained words out. She gripped his pale skin more tightly, feeling her body flush with heat as the pain made her sweat. Seeking a distraction, she said, "Tell me—how did you and the others wind up together in the courtyard?"
"We were all getting smashed together in the tavern when this shit started," Bull explained.
Trotting alongside Iron Bull, Varric piped up. "It was my last night here at the palace." He let out a dry, hoarse laugh. "I sure do know how to time my exits."
"Knew this was coming," Sera said on the opposite side of Iron Bull. Ellana twisted her head, trying to see the elven girl. "People tell me things. And since the bigwigs had a sit down all I hear is rich codgers finally gonna get what's coming to `em. Right, yeah? But when I ask if they want a jenny it's all shrugs and shifty eyes."
"Solas was working with Briala," Ellana murmured, breathing out with a shudder as the cramp eased.
Sera snorted. "Right. I trust that one bout as far as I could throw Bull."
"Hey," Iron Bull said with feigned offense. "I'm not as heavy as I look. Don't sell yourself short, Sera."
Sera chortled, openmouthed and hearty. "Missed you, horny. Yeah."
They passed through the alleyway, throwing barriers up to shield themselves from the scorching heat of the burning tavern. Glowing embers whipped past the blue energy of Solas' barrier, repelled away from it, but the smoke stung his throat and eyes, making him cough and cover his mouth with one hand. They evaded fallen beams and smoldering debris to reach the cobblestone on the walkway ahead, jogging for the arched gate to the courtyard proper.
As they reached the courtyard, Solas spotted the scorch marks of a fire spell and the bodies of several elves dressed in winter palace uniforms. Blood pooled around one body in particular, sprayed out from a massive puncture in the elven man's chest. Another body lay nearby, burnt to a crisp and with a charred arrow sticking out of its thigh.
Despite the approaching shouts from across the courtyard, Solas stalked to the corpse and reached with questing fingers for the fletching. His chest lurched, a band constricting his every breath as he tried to see the original coloration and design of the feathers on the arrow's shaft. The arrow had been burned, leaving only frayed tatters of its original color and shape. It crumbled to ash as Solas' touch.
Twisting to search the other bodies, Solas saw another body nearby and this one had died with lightning and frost attacks, leaving the body only mildly charred. The arrow stuck out of the corpse woman's bicep and Solas felt his stomach go cold with dread as he immediately recognized Ellana's personalized fletching—pale feathers with streaks of blue gray. Gull feathers, from the birds inhabiting the shores of the Amaranthine Ocean and the Waking Sea, where Lavellan clan had dwelled.
A horse whinnied, the sound echoing through the courtyard and drawing Solas' gaze up from the corpse. The clattering roar of hooves on the cobblestones came next as four figures on horseback raced out of the gardens and toward the ajar, untended gates of the palace. Mathrel tensed, readying himself to cast, but Solas held a hand out in restraint, eyes narrowing as he took in the figures.
In the lead he recognized Commander Cullen despite the Templar helmet he wore, and behind him the other three figures were women. One was Josephine, wearing no visible armor, and following last was Leliana, hunched low on her horse and spurring it on hard. The woman in place behind Cullen wore bland Inquisition armor with an ugly metal helmet that looked a touch too big for her. For a moment Solas thought she could be Ellana—until he saw her thicker build and the shield strapped to her back…and her flat abdomen.
Just a guard, he thought.
"Inquisition," Mathrel snarled as they watched the horses charge for the gates. "Aren't we going to stop them?"
Solas eyed the gardens and saw more Inquisition and Templars, their armor glittering in the moonlight. A few of the Inquisition humans were mages, casting lightning that crackled and fire spells that roared as they ignited. Their enemies, further away still, darted between hedges and benches, or the beams of the bathhouse. Fire licked up the walls of the bathhouse and the glass enclosing it to trap its heat inside shattered in a spectacular crackling. Blue barriers flared to life and fireballs soared. Potted plants exploded in sprays of ceramic fragments and dirt.
He had hoped to capture Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine alive and hold them for negotiations with Celene that would be under his control. Cut off from their people and power bases, they'd be unable to mount a proper defense even if they still refused to grant him the Dales. Yet in the moment, faced with devoting himself to capturing the leaders of the Inquisition and finding Ellana to ensure she was safe and couldn't be used against him…
It was no contest at all.
"We have Divine Victoria," he told Mathrel and then motioned toward the ongoing fighting ahead of them as the Templars and Inquisition soldiers fought to cover their leaders' escape. "I am more interested in protecting the People." And finding Ellana. She wouldn't have left the palace, whatever her goals. If she sought an Eluvian the nearest one was in storage in the palace, and if she hoped to reach the empress or Cassandra they were in the palace as well. Racing after Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine was the last thing he wanted to do at this moment.
Seeing Mathrel's questioning look, Solas indicated the fight ahead with a jerk of his chin. "Let us join the fight."
They Fade stepped ahead as one, creating a wave of magic as they closed in on the Templar and Inquisition soldiers. The nearest Inquisition soldier yelped with alarm as he registered their sudden arrival from the opposite side of the courtyard and shouted an alarm.
"Dread Wolf! Dread Wolf!"
A group of two Templars pivoted to face them and Solas felt the magic-deadening power of their presence, weighing down his mana draw just as the Veil did. The warriors yelled as one and plunged their swords into the earth, performing their mana-sapping spell purge ability. The wave of it slammed into both he and Mathrel, immediately burning their skin with cold. As the effects further washed over him, Solas' muscles twitched, his head and hands heavy. Yet it was easy enough to shrug it off and cast a barrier over himself and Mathrel.
A quick glance at Mathrel revealed the warrior looked stunned, shaking his head and with his mouth agape. These were no lightly trained Templars, then. They must've served in a high level Circle or had been called to these peace talks specifically for their expertise in tackling dangerous mages. Unfortunately for them, Solas was unlike anything they'd ever seen before.
And he didn't have the time or the patience currently to slog through this battle. He had to get into the palace, to find Ellana and whoever was with her. And this skirmish between Inquisition-allies and his own rebel elves was blocking his path.
"Enough," he growled and seized a huge surge of mana from his core, powering through the dizziness the Veil inflicted on him for doing so. With both hands he gestured, indicating the whole of the gardens, and then slammed his fists downward. Magic thickened the air, setting it quivering with energy as it condensed, drawing the power from Solas' connection to the Fade and from his will. The air glimmered green, sparkling and beautiful for an instant before—
With a massive whine and then a sharp popping noise, the spell exploded like a bubble, sending out an earsplitting explosion. It was a massive Veilstrike, powerful enough that it killed the lightly armored Inquisition archer with the sickening wet crack of bone as it smashed her to the ground. The Templars cried out in pain, but their armor sheltered them from the worst of the force. Yet they did not right themselves quickly. Solas' Veilstrike had used such force that many of them had cracked ribs or broken their backs from the impact.
Solas felt his legs wobble slightly from the exertion of such a huge spell, but already his mana core had begun trickling in again and his vertigo had passed. Over the ringing in his ears he heard the groans and cries of the soldiers and the warriors as they struggled to rise only to find themselves immobile or in great pain. When one Templar did manage to heave himself upright and raise his shield with defiance, a shadowy shape shimmered at his side as an elven rogue uncloaked and stabbed him through the gap in his armor at the throat. The Templar gagged, blood spurting out in arterial sprays, splattering the pale cobblestones.
Solas recognized the elven rogue as Var and nodded with appreciation at him. Lingering a moment, he saw more of his people emerge from the baths and other spots around the gardens, moving to slit the throats of the injured or incapacitated humans. This battle was over.
Shooting Mathrel a quick glance, he said, "Let us head into the palace."
"You believe Ellana is there?" the warrior asked.
"I believe so, yes," he replied tersely, already beginning to trot out of the gardens and for the main staircase. Behind him, distantly, he heard Var shout for him but ignored it, pretending not to have heard. Whatever the rogue had to say would just have to wait.
"You cannot detect the Anchor?" Mathrel asked as he followed, feet clapping over the cobblestones and armor clinking.
"Not over the orb," he answered, though inwardly he added: And not over magical interference from whoever she is with. That meant her companion was most likely Morrigan as Solas doubted the sentinel elf understood such obstruction was possible. Only another Evanuris would know the value of—and how to—mask the energies of the Anchor. But it also meant they were still close.
Damn you, Mythal, he thought. But even as fury boiled his blood, scalding him from within, he knew he had no one but himself to blame for this. If he'd just hesitated and sought her approval first…
But she'd never have approved this. He knew that. It was why he'd set it in motion before discussing it with her to begin with.
The heat of his fury, previously aimed at Mythal, turned on himself. His stomach writhed and his guts twisted with self-hate. Dirthara-ma, Fen'Harel, he cursed himself. May you learn well.
They were outside the palace grounds now, running through a stretch of open road that curled lazily as it descended the gentle slope toward the city of Halamshiral below. Ellana groaned as she saw the orange light of fires dotting the city, cursing. "Fenedhis."
"Ah crap," Iron Bull grumbled, echoing her sentiment. "That doesn't look good."
"And here I was hoping the insanity in the palace was a localized phenomenon," Dorian said with a longsuffering sigh. "Yet somehow I'm not the least bit surprised."
As the road flattened out around a sharp bend, lithe figures stepped out of the bushes and brambles lining it on either side. At first Ellana's heart raced, muscles seizing with alarm, but the figures didn't attack and although Morrigan came to a stop at the sight of them, she didn't tense or adopt a defensive stature. Then Ellana noticed the distinctive shape of these elves' armor and let out a long breath of relief. They were sentinels.
"Mythal'enaste," Zaron's gruff voice greeted Morrigan as he nodded exaggeratedly to show respect. The other two sentinels did the same.
As Ellana looked over them she felt a niggling sensation at the edges of her mind. Considering it for a moment, she finally realized what was bothering her: Abelas wasn't with them. She started to open her mouth to ask about him and then clamped it shut again, recalling Abelas' bare face and the oblique comments he'd made about disagreeing with Mythal's plans and leaving her service. Had he simply defected to Solas' side? No, she thought and almost laughed at herself for entertaining it even a moment.
"Boss?" Iron Bull asked her, his deep voice almost whispering it was so quiet. He arched the brow over his bad eye, silently emphasizing the question.
Licking her lips, she gripped the back of his neck and pulled herself forward as if to nuzzle his ear. The thought made something inside her chest ache with pain, remembering Solas, but she tabled it as she whispered, "I don't trust Morrigan."
"Hmm," he hummed and cast a glance down at Varric who stood at his side. The dwarf had been watching them as well, shrewd and clever as always. Though he couldn't have overheard their words, Ellana suspected he already guessed at the truth.
"So," Varric said, clapping his meaty hands together and raising his voice toward Morrigan and the sentinels ahead. Dorian turned as well, arching a brow. "What's the plan for dealing with this mess Chuckles has put together? You said something about removing the Anchor?"
"Yes," Dorian murmured, shooting Ellana a troubled look, brows furrowed. Facing Morrigan, he motioned back toward the palace. "How is it exactly that you can remove the Anchor when—"
Morrigan interrupted him with a dismissive gesture of one hand. "Mythal can remove the Anchor from Lady Lavellan, but I do not have time to explain it and that was not my meaning, regardless. I intend to remove Lady Lavellan from Fen'Harel's clutches."
"Ah," Dorian said, tilting his head back as understanding dawned. "I see."
"I will not consent to having the Anchor removed just yet," Ellana put in, shifting in Iron Bull's arms uncomfortably as the baby's weight pressed against her spine.
From behind Iron Bull, Thom Rainier called out, "Horses coming from the palace! Ready yourselves!"
With a grimace as another pain began to tighten over her abdomen, Ellana gnashed her teeth and tried to see up the road to where Rainier had been looking. Through the unguarded, open palace gates came four horses, their riders unclear as of yet with the distance but Ellana could see the glint of armor from three of the four of them. The horses were unsaddled, suggesting the riders had been in too much of a hurry to do anything but slip bridles onto the mounts before fleeing. Not fighters then, despite the armor, Ellana thought. Refugees, maybe? Fleeing the palace?
From within the palace grounds they heard ongoing shouting and screams, the roar of mage fire and the crackle of lightning. Then came a louder noise, a dull whump. A little shockwave raced toward them, faster than the horses. Ellana saw it coming as a slight mist, a thickening of turbulent air that held a faint greenish hue. It rippled grass and stirred up dust as it shot toward them. Passing over the riders it spooked the horses, making them whinny and stumble on the road, rearing and kicking.
"Brace yourselves," Rainier said and thrust out his shield.
Iron Bull muttered a curse and whipped around, using his back as his shield, hunkering over her and pulling Ellana even tighter to him. She clung to his neck, her breathing strangled through the ongoing and hopefully false labor pang gripping her. Then the shockwave hit with a loud hissing, pelting them with dust particles and the tingling of Elvhen magic swept over Ellana's skin. She whimpered, tensing as she anticipated she was about to be in even more pain.
Almost immediately after the wind of the shockwave had passed, Ellana's left hand crackled, flaring with heat and green light as it came alive. Pain tore through her palm and quickly arced up to her wrist and elbow. She cried out, releasing Iron Bull's neck to cradle her left hand with her right, fighting the convulsing motions of her muscles as the Anchor's magic seized them. It felt as though some invisible, unbreakable string tethered the fine bones of her palm to some cruel puppeteer who now wrenched on that tie, making her feel as though he intended to tear the bones and flesh right off her hand.
"Oh no," Dorian said breathily, suddenly at her side, reaching for her. "Ellana, let me see, let me help you."
"I can discharge it," Ellana insisted, her voice shrill and quaking as he grabbed at her hand. "Bull, put me down."
"Okay Boss," he said and lowered her legs to the ground. Dorian hovered near her, still trying to help, but Ellana pushed him away as she stumbled off the road. A budding bush scratched at her face as she stumbled into it, finding walking difficult with both the cumbersomeness of her belly and the dual pains of false contractions and the Anchor. Panting and sweating with pain, she forced herself to take a few more steps and then opened her palm, thrusting it out at the grass and bushes of the empty landscape ahead of her. It was easy to find the magic coiled in her arm and hand now, and with her experience as a mage in the Emerald Graves she knew how to will it to obey her even now without the Fade.
With a ringing noise, Ellana shot out a burst of green energy. The hills echoed with the whump of the Anchor now as green magic coated Ellana like a thousand prickling needles, enveloping her. The pain in her palm receded down to an annoying sting. Green light gleamed from her hand, bright and distinctive, lighting up the night around her.
Shaking and weak at the knees, she tried to return to the road and stumbled. Dorian and Iron Bull were there at once. In only a few moments Ellana found herself dizzy and sweaty and inside Iron Bull's arms again. She leaned her head on his chest, panting as Dorian probed tentatively at her palm a moment before she tugged it out of his grasp. "It's fine," she said.
"We must move," Morrigan said and then, darkly humorous, added, "Do you still intend to keep the Anchor after that, Lady Lavellan?"
Ellana didn't answer her, focusing on the drumming sound of hoof beats on cobblestone instead. Rainier must've been doing the same for he yelled, "Everyone off the road! It's not worth it to fight this lot if they just want to run like us."
"You said it," Sera agreed.
They started hurrying off the road into the brush beside it, the dull thunder of the horses' hooves following them. Ellana watched over Iron Bull's shoulder as the riders neared them and then slowed. As they rounded the bend in the road the milky moonlight illuminated them and recognition made Ellana's heart leap in her chest.
"Commander Cullen! Leliana!"
Iron Bull and the others stopped at her shout, turning to look and confirming her words for themselves. Varric was the first to speak, raising his hands in a gesture of greeting as he grinned. "Curly! Ruffles! Imagine meeting you here. Enjoying the night air as much as we are?"
The horses drew to a stop, stamping their hooves and tossing their heads. Cullen surveyed them, his features twisting. "Varric?" he asked, sounding incredulous.
Leliana was faster on the draw, taking in the group and recognizing them at once. Her gaze landed particularly on Ellana. "Lavellan?" she asked, her voice tight.
Cullen's eyes narrowed and his posture changed, tensing. His right hand went to the haft of his sheathed sword. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing, really," Dorian said with a shake of his head. "We were just out for a lovely evening stroll, enjoying the night air, exactly as Varric said." Then he broke off, scoffing. "Honestly, what a fool question. We're running away, same as you lot are."
Leliana asked, "You don't support what Solas is doing, Ellana?"
"Of course not," Ellana snapped with some heat, still struggling with the ache in her abdomen and the burning, stinging pain in her hand. "How could I? He did this without consulting me, without—" She broke off, gasping and choking as both emotion and pain swelled inside her, closing her throat.
"I see," Leliana said, voice somber. "Perhaps we should join forces." She directed the words not only at Cullen, who sat on his mount just ahead of her, but also to an unfamiliar rider wearing Inquisition armor and a grated helmet. Ellana gazed at the unfamiliar figure, discerning a female form beneath the ill-fitting armor. Who was she?
"No," Morrigan interjected, stepping forward and slashing the air with her hand. "Our mission and yours do not align."
"They don't?" Varric asked, tilting his head and smirking as if the entire affair was quietly hilarious. "Seems to me we're all trying to stop Chuckles, right?"
Morrigan stabbed a finger at the riders. "They will inevitably muster forces against Fen'Harel and refuse to relinquish the Dales. Those are not our goals."
"Who is this our you speak of, exactly?" Dorian asked with a growl. "I'm hearing you talk a lot and Ellana staying quiet as a mouse." He faced her, leveling the question at her directly. "Tell me, love, what do you want?"
Ellana let out a choking laugh, dry and croaking, that became a half-sob. What did she want? She envisioned the meadow near Wycome where her clan had been encamped when she and Solas had first visited them in the fall. On her tongue she could taste again the wine they'd drank the night they'd celebrated her return to them. In her ears she heard Lerand's birdcall with Negan's answer. She smelled their campfires, the crisp scent of spring rain falling after the long winter. The sweetness of lavender blooming in the spring.
But her left hand ached, throbbing in time with her heart, jarring her out of her thoughts. The part of her that longed for the simplicity and beauty of clan life was weak and broken, interested only in escapism. Yet she couldn't focus her mind beyond that, couldn't think through the pain from her abdomen and her hand.
"I don't know," she finally managed to blurt, trembling in Iron Bull's arms.
Iron Bull gave a grunt. "I'd say what Boss really needs is something for the pain. She's shaking like a gutted nug." Leliana made a noise in her throat, something between disgust and rage, glaring at him. Iron Bull grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Red."
Cullen twisted on his mount, looking to the woman in Inquisition armor. "What are your orders?" he asked.
The woman shifted, tugging on her horse's reins, easing it ahead of Cullen slightly so she could survey the ragtag group with Ellana. Even through the haze of pain distracting her, Ellana saw something very familiar in the woman's militant bearing. The proud set of her shoulders, her ramrod straight back, and even the way she moved her head and gripped the reins. And as the answer jumped into her mind Ellana gasped, speaking the revelation aloud. "Cassandra."
The woman jerked her head toward Ellana and, after a long, pregnant pause, replied in the Nevarran's distinctive accent. "Ellana."
"You escaped," Ellana blurted, fighting against Iron Bull's arms, trying to get him to release her, but the warrior's grip wouldn't budge.
"I did," Cassandra replied with a nod of her helmeted head. "With Leliana and the commander's help."
Cool relief swept over Ellana and she sagged against Iron Bull, letting her eyes drift shut. "I was afraid he would kill you."
"He may yet," Cassandra said, grim and deep. "If he or his people catch me." Her hands on the reins of her mount tightened. "I could order you apprehended and taken with us." She ignored the immediate chorus of shocked expletives from most of their former companions and added, "But I should not like to antagonize you, and we do not have time to fight amongst ourselves."
"I swear to you," Ellana ground out, the words strained and raw. "I did not wish for any of this to happen. I had no part in what he's done. I begged him to give the negotiations a chance. He wouldn't listen." She sucked in a wet breath, cutting herself off before she could lose control and start sobbing.
Cassandra nodded. "I believe you, but in truth I can also understand Solas' frustration. Celene had no interest in peace. She would have killed one or both of you eventually."
Ellana barked out a bitter laugh. "It would've been me." With a dry, wan smile, she mirrored Cassandra's earlier words as she added, "It may still be me, if she or her people catch me."
"Indeed." Cassandra turned her head and Ellana saw the light of the distant fires burning in Halamshiral below glinting off the metal in her helmet. "The city is aflame. It is not safe for any of us. There is strength in numbers." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "Will you come with us?"
"You cannot trust them," Morrigan insisted, a sharp note in her voice that rang with something like desperation. "She seeks to abduct you, Lady Lavellan. She will use you as a hostage—a bargaining point she can use against Fen'Harel."
"And isn't that what you're doing as well?" Ellana retorted with a frown.
Morrigan's brow furrowed as she grimaced, recoiling and shaking her head as if Ellana had slapped her. "I am trying to help you and save the People. Mythal is the only one who can reclaim the Anchor from you safely. She may even be able to stabilize it for you without removing it."
"Right," Dorian drawled out the single word, scoffing. "And I'm Andraste's pretty pink pony."
"Whatever we do we should do it fast," Rainier said, using his sword to point at Halamshiral. "Things are just going to get worse for a while before they get better."
Huffing as the cramp eased up at long last, Ellana said, "We go together to Halamshiral. It's our best option. We can split up there if we want." Gripping Iron Bull more tightly, Ellana swallowed the nervous press of bile in her tight throat as she saw the angry twist of Morrigan's face and wondered what the witch would do, how she would react, when Ellana eventually refused her. Already she knew that the only people she trusted not to use her in some way against Solas were her former Inquisition companions—minus Cassandra.
Morrigan shook her head in disapproval and turned her back on Ellana, motioning to her sentinels to start heading down the road. "Ma nuvenin, Lady Lavellan," the witch said over her shoulder.
Next Chapter:
Steeling herself, planting her feet flat on the stone, Ellana thrust her hand up, willing the burning, stinging magic of the Anchor to bend to her will. It sizzled, crackling as it intensified, responding to her with the ardor of a lover—of the Dread Wolf himself, rousing to defend her from death. As the power spread, burning in her marrow, creeping up her forearm to the elbow, Ellana realized with a stab of cold terror that the Mark of the Rift she'd been trying to summon wouldn't come.
Something else, wild and uncontrolled, was stirring in the Anchor.
And…
Pressing close, she forced herself not to choke as she said, "If it looks like the Anchor is going to kill me, I need you or one of the others to cut off my arm at the elbow."
Dorian gawped at her, horror widening his eyes. "Ellana—you cannot be serious."
"And if you can't save me, or if you even think you can't save me," Ellana went on, licking her dry, chapped lips. "Promise me you'll save my baby."
"Ellana," Dorian rasped, halfway raising his hands palms up as if to ward her off. "Don't—"
"I don't care what it takes," Ellana interrupted him, making a fist as she gripped his collar and gave him a little shake. "Don't let him die with me. Cut him out of me, give him a chance. And…" she let out a breathy, tearless sob. "Take my baby to Solas."