A/N: Good news everyone! I didn't share this before (didn't want to scare anyone), but I lost my beta a while ago. She underwent a breakup that sent her into a depressive funk and because the breakup was...a bit reminiscent of Solavellan hell, she told me she couldn't read anymore. Never mind that where she left off is near the (happy) ending and there's no breakup here. But I had no one to run ideas by and was kind of floundering with how in the great Beyond I was supposed to end this story. I'm currently only nine chapters ahead as a result, as writing stalled. But luckily, I had inspiration night before last and wrote like 10K words. Because that's the kind of writer I am. Muse hits you and wham! Can't stop. So I'm nearing the end! It'll be a smidgen over 50 chapters I anticipate, then with a nice epilogue to wrap up as much as I can.

This chapter is pretty angsty, but I promise things will get better shortly!

Anyway, sorry for the long note. Thank you to my lovely reviewers and everyone reading! And all credit to Project Elvhen FenxShiral for the elven used.

Forty

Ma Eshalin

"Solas," Ellana's voice called from behind him, quiet and breathy.

Sighing, Solas pivoted around to regard the elven woman standing a few meters behind him. She was vivid and beautiful, dressed as she had been when they'd entered the winter palace for peace talks. The gray-blue coat with its white fur-lined hood was elegant and exactly as he remembered it. His fingers twitched, remembering the softness of it, almost as nice to touch as her skin. The swell of her belly, hidden by the coat but still obvious to him, made something flush with warm relief inside of him.

But as she stepped forward through the long summer grass in the meadow between them, Solas' heart twisted. His shoulders fell and he frowned. The back of his neck prickled with gooseflesh, despite the fact he had no hair to bristle there.

"Solas," Ellana said again, tears in her voice and her eyes. "I'm so sorry I left. I was wrong."

She reached out to him, but Solas raised a hand. "Venavis," he ordered tersely.

"What is it?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"Did you think to deceive me so easily, demon?" Solas asked it, more tired than angry or irritated. After a week of such nightly encounters he'd almost lost hope that anything except demons would answer his will. Every night he appealed to the Fade, willing it to bring Ellana's dreaming mind to him, and every night hosts of demons responded instead. His turbulent emotions drew these hostile spirits and although most of them wouldn't have tried to prey on him—sensing his power and experience as well as his identity—the despair and heartache riding him was too much for them to resist.

The bafflement and innocence lifted from "Ellana's" face as a broad, wicked grin spread over her lips. The teeth leered, too big for the demon's mouth. Watching it, Solas sighed, unimpressed. Even with him demons couldn't stop themselves from choosing a flair for the monstrous when they knew the jig was up. A Circle mage or other Andrastian with their widely differing background from Solas would've seen the demon warp into something nastier, convoluted and truly monstrous. The demon reflected the sleeper's mind and expectations. So it was that this demon retained Ellana's shape, just with a slight gruesome edge.

"Away with you," he told it, motioning one hand dismissively.

"But this is the woman you want," the demon said, still using her voice. "I can be her. We can help each other. I can feel you're hurting, Solas. I want to help."

Six nights and about twice as many demons repeating the same dribble had left Solas both tired and impatient. He glowered at the demon, struggling to find and preserve a modicum of patience for this semi-hostile spirit that wasn't truly a threat to him. He'd lectured most of the demons who'd tried to tempt him, warding them away and trying, in vain he suspected, to educate them about why their interaction with sleepers was unwelcome or harmful.

Most of the simpler, weaker demons Solas encountered behaved as they did because they wanted to help mortals, much like Cole. All demons hoped to embody the mortal's existence, rewarding the sleeper with whatever particular aspect the hostile spirit represented. In turn the demons gained understanding and a glimpse of the living world. Fear demons often created nightmares, terrorizing sleepers in their fumbling efforts to help the mortal face their fears and work through them. Pride demons promised power and offered strength and encouragement, bolstering those who might waver before a challenge but also advising against things like caution, compassion, and forgiveness. Desire demons dangled a much longed for person, thing, or event, fulfilling the fantasy for the sleeper and then feeding from the mortal's satisfaction.

This particular demon, like the majority that'd visited Solas over the last week, was one based around desire. And, also like the others, it came to him wearing Ellana's shape. Solas would've seen through it regardless of what shape it took. His senses were too keen to be fooled longer than a few minutes. He'd felt the demon's otherness in the gooseflesh dimpling his skin as his spirit reacted to its nearness.

"You can only mimic," Solas told the demon. "You offer only distraction, never satisfaction." He stared off into the forest that had conjured in the Fade around him. Each night he tried to keep his mind empty, to will the Fade to shape itself in the images and memories of Ellana or anyone he suspected could be with her: Morrigan, Dorian, Arina, Zaron, Abelas, Rainier, and Sera. Nothing had worked and eventually the Fade would just shape itself into the meadow and forests around Wycome, a reflection of Solas' desire to be closer to Ellana.

"I know your mind," the demon said, flirty and warm. The leering smile had shrunken into something normal and soft, inviting. "I know you have enjoyed our company before. You can pretend now. You can enjoy yourself."

Solas rolled his eyes and again waved dismissively at the demon. "Enough. You waste my time." Whipping around, Solas strode through the meadow several meters away, closing his eyes and plucking out another one of Ellana's potential companions: Dorian. He recalled the Tevinter mage's crisp voice and accent, the dark brown-black of his hair, the quick, sharp wit and his determination and bravery in coming to the Inquisition to fight Corypheus. As much as he might dislike Dorian, Solas knew the Fade responded best when he used neutral or positive things to identify the person he was seeking, preferably those that lacked any personal connection. Such focus helped avoid demons as well as helped ensure success.

But, as was the norm for the past week, Solas found no answer from the Fade. When he opened his eyes the grassy meadow and forest had lost its clarity, taking on a transparent edge as it wavered. Then the meadow and the distant trees warped. The flat land rose up and massive trees reared toward the sky. Solas saw wooden ramps spiraling up the side of the massive tree trunk off to his right. This was the Frostback Basin, where he had helped Ellana rout the Hakkonites while investigating the last Inquisitor, Ameridan. It'd seemed nonsensical to him at first that the Fade routinely conjured the Frostback Basin when he thought of Dorian, but now he realized this was when he'd felt closest to the other man. As they provided Ellana backup against the Hakkonites they'd traded witty barbs at each other and discussed nuanced magical technique.

Just as it always did, the Fade had sensed his desire and wanted to acquiesce, but it had no one to show him. Dorian was not in the Fade and neither was Ellana. The closest it could get was to give him a location he could connect to Dorian. Though Solas hadn't been expecting anything other than this, he still sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands, frustrated and defeated.

It was feasible that Ellana could be sleeping fitfully or barely touching the Fade as she slept in the hopes of avoiding him. But for Dorian to be doing it too beggared comprehension. He was a mage, which meant his mind and spirit naturally crossed the Veil each night, drawing special attention from spirits. Unless he was dosing himself with specialized herbs to stop dreaming, of course.

Glancing behind him, Solas saw that the desire demon had disappeared. Distance and time were both unclear at best in the dream world. At worst they were outright illusions. Regardless, Solas had changed the landscape, altering his location after a fashion. As such, he'd banished the desire demon. It could follow him, but that was unlikely. Simpler demons, like children, had short attention spans.

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts regarding the desire demon, Solas felt his skin prickle at the back of his neck again. The sensation of being watched crawled over him. "Show yourself," Solas ordered, twisting around to stare at the Frostback Basin forest all around him.

"She's never coming back," a small, childish voice said.

Whipping his head in the direction of the sound, Solas saw a small figure at the base of the enormous tree with the wooden ramps spiraling up it. High in the tree's branches Solas could see the shape of Inquisition tents. Before he could stop it, a faint memory darted across his mind of making love to Ellana in one of those tents and overhearing Dorian the next morning admonishing her for being too loud and waking him. Something cold and worming with pain tightened into a knot in his stomach.

"You'll never get to hold her again," the figure said.

Solas regarded it with narrowed eyes, identifying it as another demon. Yet this one wasn't a desire demon. It seemed to have adopted the shape of a young child, lean and coltish and gender neutral. Where it stood in the shadow of the tree trunk, with one hand resting against the bark, Solas couldn't make out any distinguishing features.

"I have no interest in speaking with you," Solas told it, firm but patient. "Be gone."

"You have lost your lover," the child said. "Just as Banal'anaris promised. But it was not your enemies who stole her away. It was you. It has always been you, Dread Wolf."

Cold swept over Solas, clutching at his throat and running through his blood. His body stiffened and his breath caught as he saw the child step clear of the tree trunk's shadow. In the golden light of the sun he saw the child was elven, with Ellana's auburn hair.

"She will curse you with her dying breath," the child said, repeating the Forgotten One's dying promise to him. "Your child will never know you and deny its heritage in shame, bowed and broken as a slave in Tevinter."

"No," Solas spat, the single word deep and jittery with his fear. Another chill passed over him.

The child stared at him, glowering in silent recrimination. Its stare reminded him of every crime, every wrongdoing and failure. "You kill those closest to you," the child reminded him. "You are the Dread Wolf. Bringer of Nightmares. He Who Hunts Alone."

"You are a fear demon," Solas murmured, breathing deep to calm himself and brush off the demon's words. He reminded himself he didn't believe in prophecies and superstition was the hallmark of fools. Yet, he knew himself to be one such fool. Fear had played a huge hand in his life recently as he worried Ellana and his child would be inadvertently killed by his rebellion just as his parents were in Elvhenan.

The child ignored his comment. "Your child will be born weak, far away from you. It will die before you ever see or hold it."

"No," Solas repeated, but winced at how breathless it sounded. The desire demon had been easy compared to this. He tried to quash the cold in the pit of his stomach and focus on what he knew of demons, to turn the tables on this being. "You are not helping me overcome my fears by laying them out for me. You only enhance them by reminding me."

The child cocked its head at him. "You make the Fade hard. I cannot shape it to show you what you need to face. To learn."

"Showing me my fears is no better than telling me them," Solas said. "I did not come here to interact with my fears or to face them. There is nothing to be gained from doing that here."

The child stared at him, apparently uncomprehending. Most simple demons lacked the capacity to truly understand these concepts because they didn't know what the physical world and the living beings inhabiting it were like any longer. They embodied purposes and emotions, seeking meaning from those things and mindlessly seeking them in the consciousness of the sleepers they encountered.

With the fear demon still contemplating, Solas turned his back on it and closed his eyes, willing the Fade to show him someone he knew would be available. He recalled Mahanon's laughter and smile, his hazel eyes, the easy humor he wielded like Ellana, and the paternal love he'd displayed for his young daughter. When he opened his eyes this time Solas saw the gilded walls of the winter palace around him, a reflection of Mahanon's immediate surroundings. The Dalish elf in question was at the end of the hall, head craned upward as he stared at portraits on the wall, framed in ostentatious gold that glimmered under the candlelight chandeliers lining the corridor.

"Mahanon," Solas called.

The Dalish First whipped around, hazel eyes wide as he saw he wasn't alone. "Solas," he said in greeting and then, shuffling on his feet, added, "Hahren."

Solas wanted to correct the younger man with something less formal, but Mahanon was already more familiar with him than any of the other Dalish Firsts. Best not to show too much favoritism. "Did you find any sign? Any rumor?"

Mahanon's head drooped. "Nothing. I thought for sure she'd have reached out to the clan by now. The baby is due at any time, I should think."

He'd ordered Mahanon and several other members of Ellana's clan to return daily to the Emerald Graves, searching for her. Especially with Ellana so close to giving birth, Solas couldn't shake the certainty that she'd return to her clan, to her mother and the other women of Lavellan. He didn't let himself consider what it might mean if she didn't return to them. What if she was held somewhere against her will?

…What if she was dead?

He lurched to his right, one arm shooting out to catch himself. Fear pounded like a frozen fist on the inside of his skull. Mahanon sprinted for him, gripping his shoulder and calling his name worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm waking," he lied, sighing as his shoulders slumped.

"Ah," Mahanon said and then withdrew a step, shuffling in place again. "Wherever Lana is, I'm sure she's fine. She's always been tough and headstrong, but I can't imagine she'd stay away from you or the clan when she…" He went silent, frowning and averting his gaze as he admitted, "I'm worried for her too."

"We must find her," Solas muttered, shooting the Dalish elf sidelong looks as he started to turn away, eyes drifting shut as he reached inward and willed himself out of the Fade.

When he opened his eyes again it was to blackness. His room in the winter palace—the same one he and Ellana had shared until the night of the rebellion—smelled faintly of wood smoke, a lingering scent leftover from the many fires that'd ravaged the structure and the grounds. Var and a number of other elves had spent the night of the rebellion meticulously finding and putting out fires using both magic and good old-fashioned water. They had managed to save most of the palace. Halamshiral had not been as lucky. As much as half the city had burned to the ground, leaving nothing but ash. Solas had welcomed homeless elves into the palace, which was surprisingly empty without the multitude of human nobles lodged inside it.

As for the empress and Briala, Solas kept them locked up but well treated. His meetings with them had been fruitless so far as the empress seemed too stunned to deal with the situation and Briala remained wary. Solas had learned there'd been some double-crossing by the Marquise the night of the rebellion, but he'd expected as much. Briala was like a raven with its wings clipped and its claws blunted now. She could do little to actually harm him. If she'd had a hand in Ellana's disappearance she would've revealed it right away to ensure she had power over him. Her silence meant she had nothing.

It was still far too early to rise for the day, but Solas lay in the empty bed, staring unseeingly at the canopy above him and trying not to think or feel. Yet the other side of the enormous bed was cold, empty when it should have been full. Each morning he woke with the memories of feeling their child move and had to realize that he'd probably never share that simple pleasure with her again.

On the first night, upon returning to the room to sleep after losing her, Solas had found the bow he'd commissioned for her as a betrothal gift from the craftsman of her clan. He'd laid it on her side of the bed, clutching it as he drifted into sleep, entering the Fade to search for her the first time. He'd hoped to conjure the bow in its exact detail when he encountered her in the dreaming, to present it to her and plead with her to return. But she'd not been there. And when he woke, exhausted and despairing, he'd cradled it in his lap and rocked on the bed as a storm of agony tore him up from within.

Don't call me vhenan.

He felt over the bed to where he still kept the bow, and palmed the grip, feeling the way the metal and wood called to his own magic. Her affinity is lightning, he reminded himself and imagined teaching her how to channel her mana through the bow, intensifying both her magic and the deadliness of her arrows. He ignored the way his heart twisted with stabbing pain as he wondered if he'd ever get to present it to her, teach her. Why hadn't he done it sooner? Why hadn't he consulted her properly before the rebellion? Why hadn't he trusted her?

Was it really too late now?

"Ar lath ma," he whispered into the dark, his voice broken and cracking. He squeezed the bow, vowing he wouldn't give up.

"Don't care how cute it is when it comes out," Sera grumbled on her tirade. "Never having one. Ever." She shivered under the chilly waterfall, her lanky body pale except for where she'd vigorously scrubbed to clean away accumulated filth. She spluttered as she ducked her head beneath the falls, then shook, making her hair flap wildly from side-to-side.

Ellana watched her with less than concealed envy for the other elven woman's nimbleness and energy. Meanwhile she couldn't help but feel awkward in her own skin, stretched to the breaking point and weighed down with both her baby and the constant self-doubt and pain of her emotional baggage. Had she done the right thing in leaving Solas, or was she merely fleeing responsibility? How could she live with herself if she learned later that the Chantry, the Inquisition, and Orlais had all marched on Halamshiral and slaughtered every last elf remaining there? And if she went back to restore the Fade to Halamshiral, she'd be unleashing an Evanuris on the humans and she didn't trust Solas not to misuse his full power. Either way, Ellana would have bloody hands, she would be complicit in thousands of deaths.

"You're doing it again," Sera scolded her and made an exaggeratedly sad scowl, imitating Ellana. "Thought the bath was s'post to cheer you up? Yeah?"

"No," Ellana muttered, splashing water from the falls onto her face. "It was just to get clean after butchering the august ram."

Sera made a noise of disgust in her throat and then laughed. "Right on that, yeah. Andraste's skivvies, that codger had more blood in `em than a dragon."

Ellana scrubbed at her fingernails again, grimacing as she picked out flecks of blood and gore still lodged there. The water was just cool enough to be slightly uncomfortable, but Ellana's ankles were hot, swollen and inflamed, so immersing herself in the hip-deep pool beneath the waterfall was a tiny slice of bliss for that particular ailment. She hadn't thought it possible a week ago when they'd first arrived, but she'd managed to get even bigger in the belly, until the enlarged, altered belt she'd crafted in the Emerald Graves no longer fastened. She'd used her personal dagger to poke a new hole into the edge of the leather belt and prayed it wouldn't tear clean through.

"Why'd you get all sore `bout me busting the skin?" Sera asked, still wounded by Ellana's brief tantrum over the punctures she'd accidentally and clumsily made in the ram's skin as they butchered it. She may have overreacted slightly, frustrated by back pain and swollen ankles, the constant breaks to relieve her bladder all while trying to supervise Sera's clumsy butchering. The ram had soft, short fur like a halla and Ellana had immediately envisioned it as swaddling and blankets for her baby. Unfortunately Sera's knife had put several sizeable holes in it.

Thinking about it now still made Ellana huff with frustration. Despite the lingering exhaustion she'd been feeling for weeks now, she also found herself unable to sit still, itching to be productive and constantly fighting against the others' attempts to coddle her. Pregnant women in the clan were never left to sit idle. There was always something to do, to prepare. Sometimes that was just the next meal, but more often than not it was tanning hides, sewing baby clothes and baby carriers. Sera and the others didn't seem to understand the growing urgency stirring inside her, the anxious certainty that made Ellana fidget with impatience, even though looking at her should make it obvious.

The baby was due any day now; Ellana could feel that truth in her aching back and swollen ankles. And they weren't ready for it, at all.

"Ai," Sera groused. "Sorry I asked, your lady grumpy lumps."

Ellana snorted, both irritated and amused at Sera's quip. "Yes, I am a large collection of lumps these days." Sighing, she sank deeper into the water, submerging up to her neck and shivering at the chill. Her breasts felt hot and mildly achy too. She groaned with relief as the cool settled on her everywhere. "I may never leave this pool again," she admitted, leaning her head back against a rock.

"Baby'll drown if you push it out here," Sera said, flashing a tight grin. "Bad idea."

"She wasn't being serious," Dorian said from further downstream, his back to them and his staff resting against one shoulder.

"I know," Sera rejoined defensively. "Still."

"I didn't understand why the expectant mothers in my clan complained so much near the end," Ellana murmured, still enjoying the water. "I'll take back every word I ever said about their grumbling when I see my clan again."

"Hard work, yeah?" Sera asked, then sniggered, covering her lips with one hand. Her next question was hissed quietly, trying to hide it from Dorian. "So," she whispered conspiratorially, edging closer and dropping into the water as she pointed toward Ellana's breasts. "Do they leak?"

Immediately blushing, Ellana sat up and wrapped one arm over her breasts. "I think bath time's over now, Sera."

"What?" the blonde asked, grinning so wide Ellana was sure she could see the archer's every tooth. "I really wanna know, honest. I won't tell, promise."

Ellana frowned, cheeks still afire. "The last time you promised not to tell anyone something I wanted kept secret the whole winter palace knew the very next day."

Sera scoffed. "What you on about? What'd I do?"

Glaring, Ellana said, "You told everyone I was pregnant at the Exalted Council."

"No I didn't," Sera said at once, nose wrinkling as if Ellana had genuinely insulted her. "I only told Iron Bull." Pausing a moment, her brow furrowed as she considered. "Oh, right, and Rainier. And Widdle." She winced then and giggled nervously. "Oh, and the barkeep in the tavern. And the server grabbing glasses."

"And everyone, really," Dorian quipped from the shore. "Long story short, Ellana was right. Now, if you ladies don't mind, I'd like to get back to camp before that ram meat spoils or Abelas tries to season it, since they're basically the same thing." He clucked his tongue. "That elf must have been named sorrow because anyone eating a meal he prepared spent the whole affair sobbing from the onion fumes. Or maybe it was the foul taste, I can never be sure."

Sera laughed. "Both, probably. Elfy-elves can't cook."

"Solas could," Ellana blurted before she could stop herself, then winced at the reminder of how much she'd been missing him. During their earliest excursions into the wilds for the Inquisition, Ellana had first begun to bond with Solas because he shared so many of the same useful skills as she and her clan—hunting, butchering, tanning, mending clothing, making and breaking camp, and foraging. He was so useful; he reminded her of home. They'd flirted while skinning hares, sneaking covert glances and "accidental" touches while cooking. Sera had been so clumsy butchering the august ram today because she'd been able to avoid such work because Ellana and Solas typically volunteered for it at their campsites if Inquisition scouts weren't available.

"Oh no," Sera growled. "Not him again. Frigging droopy ears. You know the rules, Lana."

"She's right," Dorian said, but in a gentler tone. "You're just going to hurt yourself, so stop it. There is no Solas, only that wolf-obsessed filth Fen'Harel."

She opened her mouth to refute Dorian and then snapped it shut again, too tired to argue what she knew to be true: Solas was every bit as real as Fen'Harel. Dorian was right, however, that she was only hurting herself thinking of him. Everyone with her had counseled her to distance herself from Solas in every way possible. He'd made his bed in Halamshiral, declaring all of human-ruled Thedas his enemy and drawing their wrath to elves everywhere. Their thinking was that, for the good of the elven people and everyone else in Thedas, Ellana should rise to oppose Solas politically. She was the one person who could bridge the gap between the many disparate peoples, nations, and organizations because all of them knew what she'd done for Thedas as Inquisitor.

But that'd have to come after she'd given birth…except it seemed just as unreachable a goal to Ellana regardless of whether she was pregnant or not, child or not. She just wanted all of it to disappear, to let her retire to her clan and her family, with no concerns larger than keeping them safe and healthy. How could she bear the weight of Thedas, of both the People and all the other races again while also trying to raise her child alone?

Alone.

And suddenly she was crying, big fat tears slipping from her eyes as she sucked in a shaking, wet breath. She tried to strangle the sobs, covering her face and gnashing her teeth together, but it was no use. The pressure inside her, the hot pain like a burning blade embedded in her chest, seemed as ready to burst as her overripe belly.

"Oh no," Sera said, sounding mildly panicked. "Andraste's tits, look what you did, Dorian."

"I didn't do anything," he protested, throwing both hands up but still not turning round. "But it's definitely time for this bath to be over. Chop-chop now. Out with you both!"

"Bah," Sera grumbled and grabbed at Ellana's forearm, tugging on her. "Up, you. Stop crying. Everything's okay, yeah? Will be okay. I'm sorry I put holes in the damned ram skin. Didn't mean to."

Ellana clung to Sera, letting the other elf help her up as she struggled to contain her tears and sobbing, face flushing with humiliation at her weakness. They grabbed their clothes from the shore nearby and stepped out to dress behind some thick brush. Dorian pivoted again to ensure he couldn't see them and began humming and murmuring something in Tevene. Ellana focused on that as she slid on her breeches, surcoat, and what little chainmail would still fit her. Despite the bloodstains on it, Ellana donned her coat as well to ward off the slight chill in the evening air. By the time they'd finished she'd managed to catch her breath and calm herself enough that Dorian's look of worried sympathy didn't make her burst into tears again.

"Sera's right, love," he told her with a soft smile. "Everything's going to be alright. Soon you won't have a moment of peace or quiet. It'll be all wet nappies and baby vomit."

She sighed. "I have to find a bush again," she said. All of them knew what that meant.

"Go on then," Dorian said with a shooing motion. "We promise not to laugh if we hear you tinkle."

"But no crying," Sera admonished with a frown. "None of that. Piss breaks is just that: pissing. Not crying."

"How charming a reminder, Sera," Dorian muttered, shooting her a glare as Ellana felt her cheeks flush with heat. She left, only walking away a few paces to do her business, far passed most of her embarrassment over such things.

When she'd finished they began the short walk back to the pavilion ruins where they'd setup camp near the now inactivated eluvian. Much to Dorian's displeasure they found Abelas had in fact taken the liberty of beginning dinner, roasting the ram's carcass over the large bonfire they'd made at one end of the clearing. Rainier sat on the ruined, jumbled steps of the pavilion, running a whetstone over his blade in preparation for his watch come sundown.

"Pleasant bath, ladies?" he asked with a smirk as the three of them approached.

"Frigging cold is what it was," Sera whined with a shudder. "I'll be by the fire. Some jungle this place is, all cold, all raining, all the time."

Dorian scowled as he tilted his head back, gazing at the sky while stroking his mustache. "It does look a bit gloomy up there. Springtime rains, I should think." He put on a false smile, all sugar and feigned-cheer. "How delightful! Now we can all be wet and soggy together when the fire goes out. I just adore nature."

"At least the pavilion roof is still mostly intact," Rainier said, grunting as he rose to his feet. "You can shelter underneath it while I stand out in the rain and keep watch." They'd adopted a nightly pattern that Rainier took first watch, Abelas second, and then Sera or Dorian last. Ellana had argued early on that she should have a watch, considering the pregnancy and less than ideal sleeping conditions made it difficult for her to get much rest as it was, but the others insisted otherwise.

"Then at least we know you won't nod off," Dorian grumbled with a sniff.

"I think it's Sera you're thinking of there," Rainier said with a laugh.

"What?" the girl asked with a note of defensiveness. "Did not, you hairy codger."

Tired of their bickering, Ellana moved to sit beside the bonfire, which Abelas tended, staring into it as though his will alone was what made the flames burn. Occasionally he reached out and turned the ram meat on its spit. Fat dripped from the meat as it cooked, sizzling. Though the scent made her mouth water, Ellana's stomach was too tight to feel hungry and had been that way for several days.

"You look careworn, lethallan," Abelas told her, speaking softly. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected," she answered and, for the sake of convincing him, Ellana forced a small smile onto her lips.

Abelas shifted, turning to face her as he knelt, grabbing the foraging basket Ellana had woven on their second day from the thick, flat grass stems growing about the clearing. After a moment rooting through it, he produced a bizarre fruit, oval shaped and yellow with five lobes arranged in a circular pattern. "I found this while foraging earlier," he said, passing it to her.

Ellana scowled, perplexed by the foreign fruit. It had a waxy but otherwise smooth skin. She brushed it with her thumb and turned it to look lengthways down it to see the five lobes formed a star shape. "I've never seen a fruit like this before."

Chuckling, Abelas said, "It is a star fruit. This one is ripe and should be sweet to the taste."

"How do I eat it?" she asked, pinching the flesh between thumb and forefinger. "Does it need to be skinned?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "The skin is edible. Though, if you prefer, I can shave it away."

"What's this?" Dorian asked, stomping over to them with a heavy tread, arms crossed over his chest. "Shave what, exactly? That rat nest you call hair?"

Abelas glared at Dorian, upper lip curling with disdain. Over the past week the two mages had been at one another's throats with distrust. Usually it was Dorian who picked the fights, seemingly for no better reason than boredom, though Ellana suspected it was more out of some overprotective "big-brother" syndrome. A few times during their childhood and adolescence, Mahanon had been unduly grouchy with Lerand or one of the other boys from their clan for similar reasons—because he thought he was protecting Ellana from them.

In this case Dorian's comment was wholly unjustified. Under his gray hood Abelas had pale white-blond hair he kept in a tight, neat braid. Ellana had seen him grooming it in the mornings, re-braiding and then re-securing the leather bands he used to keep it tied back.

"Cut it out, Dorian," she scolded, frowning her disapproval at him.

"What is that?" Dorian asked, seeing the fruit and ignoring her chastising. "Star fruit? Really? I thought we only had these in Tevinter."

"Clearly your knowledge of the world is without parallel," Abelas snarled.

"As opposed to someone like you who spent eons asleep?" Dorian quipped, arching his brow. "Tell me, do you even know what direction the Imperium is in?"

Abelas flashed him a humorless smile, all gritted teeth and clenched jaw. "Do you? You could not find your way out of a dream let alone the Arbor Wilds."

"Why you—"

"Dorian," Ellana yelled, slapping his leg, which was just in reach from her spot. He flinched back from her, scoffing as if offended. "I said stop. There's no need for you to antagonize Abelas."

"Fine," he growled, arms crossed over his chest as he fell silent.

The crackle of the fire, sizzling occasionally as grease fell into it, filled the air. The sound reminded Ellana of the countless camps they'd made when she was Inquisitor or Herald before then, and again she recalled Solas. Feeling the weight of grief as well as the slow churn of frustration and anger at the current mess she was in, Ellana panned through her mind desperately for a distraction. Seeing Abelas reach out to turn the spit of meat over the fire, she said, "Tell me about yourself, about life in Elvhenan."

Abelas turned his head, staring at her with his golden eyes narrowed for a moment. "There is not much to tell," he said after a moment.

"Oh, really?" Dorian asked sarcastically.

"Dorian," Ellana warned, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Shut up."

"I know, I know," he returned, motioning at her with both palms held out in a nonverbal stop command. "But seriously, there must be some kind of book for all these Elvhen elves. A big book of insufferably cagey, elusive answers so they can get by without ever talking about themselves. Ever. All the better to lie, constantly. What, is that the wind? Is a storm coming on? No, my mistake, it's just all the hot air blowing out of our resident Elvhen's mouth."

Abelas frowned. "I assume you mean to say that Fen'Harel had the same answer as I when asked about his past."

"How clever of you to puzzle it out," Dorian snarled. "Because that's exactly what I'm saying. And he said exactly that same thing to us. And it was all lies." He gestured toward Ellana. "I don't think even she knows anything about him."

Ellana opened her mouth to refute his comment and then shut it again, heaving a short, angry sigh. "Enough, Dorian. I was just trying to make conversation."

"My apologies, lethallan," Abelas said, dipping his head to her. "I did not mean to put you at a distance. I merely wished to avoid discussing what would prove to be a disheartening tale."

"What's one more story?" Ellana said, smiling humorlessly. "At least yours isn't set in modern Thedas." She rubbed at her belly, feeling the baby squirm. "I just…I need a distraction."

"I could tell you a story," Dorian offered, plopping on the ground beside her and settling his staff against his shoulder. "And mine wouldn't be disheartening."

She offered him a wan smile. "This isn't a competition, Dorian. There's plenty of time for your story and Abelas' story." With an encouraging motion using the hand that still held the star fruit, Ellana said, "Tell me your disheartening story, Abelas. What made you so sad you named yourself Sorrow?"

Abelas sighed, but his golden eyes were warm as he stared at her. "On one condition, lethallan."

"Which is?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He pointed to the star fruit. "You eat as I talk."

"Well," Dorian said, shifting in the grass. "That I can agree with." His words held a note of begrudging approval.

Ellana rolled her eyes. "Fine, but you both are worse than—" Solas. She stopped, cutting herself off before she could speak his name. "Worse than my mother," she finished, trying to ignore the way her voice caught. Taking a decisive bite into one of the lobes of the star fruit, she stared at Abelas as she chewed, expectantly.

Nodding, Abelas reached for the spit, turning it again as he said, "Elvhenan had a rigid class system based not on currency or inheritance as in this world, but in magic." He repeated the same rough details Ellana had heard from Solas: that Elvhenan used magic for everything and its people were valued only for how much they could do with it. The most powerful Dreamers ruled in the upper classes, and at the very top the Evanuris presided.

"I was born to the middle class," Abelas explained, his tone even and deadpan. "As most were. The upper classes had few children, for fear they would lack enough talent to remain there. I was…found to possess more talent than befitted a member of the middle class. I was born in Mythal's lands, so I entered the upper-middle classes of her court."

A bit like Solas, Ellana thought, biting her lips to keep from speaking it aloud. Instead she asked, "How 'upper class' were you? Are you a Dreamer?"

Abelas stared at the spit of meat, his expression inscrutable. "I possess some talent for shaping the Fade, yes. But I lack the ability with the Veil in place." Clasping his hands at about waist level in front of himself, Abelas squared his shoulders, jaw clenching as he went on. "I was taken from my home later than most. My talents were delayed in their emergence, so it was unavoidable. Because I was older, nearly adult in fact, the transition was quite jarring and I left behind many who'd grown dear to me in my home city. I was not pleased to be taken. The noble I served..." He broke off, shooting Ellana a troubled look. "The true upper class nobles were called Keepers."

Ellana's eyes widened at that, but she stayed silent. Dorian grunted. "Interesting, but if you start going on about how backwards the Dalish are, I'm afraid I'm going to have to hit you. But do go on, this is utterly fascinating to hear how truly enlightened the Elvhenan Empire really was from someone who wasn't pampered as I'm assuming our favorite bald Evanuris must have been."

Again Ellana stayed silent, quashing anything she might've said that'd reveal what Solas had told her of his background. Yet, she saw Abelas scowl at Dorian, not with the insult to Elvhenan, but with something akin to confusion, as if he found Dorian's comment to be nonsensical.

"Go on, Abelas," she prompted him, smiling encouragingly.

"My Keeper was a far more powerful Dreamer than I and tasked those serving him with upkeep of his territory and creation of great works for Mythal's pleasure."

"You were upper class and you performed manual labor?" Dorian asked, sounding incredulous.

Abelas frowned. "I was upper middle class, to be more precise. But your confusion is why it is difficult to discuss my past, as I'm certain was the case for Fen'Harel as well. The Veil altered the world so greatly that I must explain myself in a way I am unaccustomed to doing, or lack the words for." His shoulders slumped and he fell silent a moment, contemplating. "We did not perform manual labor. The work was through magic. We willed the Fade to create and it did. There were fifty of us in service to this nobleman, and our combined will and magic repaired walls, constructed new homes, tailored and maintained constructs like the Elvhen library and the Crossroads."

"So I take it the slaves did the manual labor?" Dorian asked.

"Yes…among many other unpleasant tasks." He fidgeted with the metal armor on his thigh for a beat and then said, "As I was saying, every century we were allowed a season away, to enjoy time to ourselves. At the end of my first break, I chose not to return to my duties. The Keeper sent a legion of arcane warriors to hunt me down. As was the usual punishment for wayward low level Dreamers, I was brought before Mythal for judgment and it was by her order that I entered her temple as a sentinel. In addition, a member of my family was forcibly placed into uthenera."

"Forced into uthenera?" Ellana asked. "That was a punishment?"

Abelas' lips compressed into a hard line. "Yes, and deservedly so. The process is dangerous and can be deadly. Because my sister was still young and needed my mother, my father volunteered." Averting his gaze, Abelas' jaw clenched. "He did not survive."

"I'm sorry," Ellana whispered, feeling her eyes sting with sympathy. She sniffed, trying to fight back the tears. "How could you serve Mythal after that?"

Abelas flashed her a bemused look and then blinked, as if Ellana had just asked something entirely nonsensical. Then, slowly shifting his stance from one foot to another, he said, "I see—you are confused that I could serve the Evanuris who punished me, but you must understand that Mythal's punishment was the gentlest of all the Evanuris. Had I been brought before Elgar'nan or Falon'Din my entire family would have been executed, not placed into forced uthenera. In addition, I would have been killed after witnessing their deaths. You must also remember that the fault was mine. I knew what could happen if I neglected my duties, but I did so nonetheless. Mythal was not responsible for my father's death. I was responsible."

In the silence that followed, Abelas hung his head.

"That's awful," Ellana said, still fighting the lump of sympathetic pain in her throat. She recalled Solas telling her once that he'd kept his parents a secret from everyone because the Evanuris punished families rather than individuals.

Dorian clucked his tongue unhappily. "You're a glutton for punishment, love. Must we continue hearing this?" He shot Abelas a regretful look. "I apologize for my earlier rudeness and for interrupting you, but really, the old girl doesn't need another sob story. Isn't there something funny you can tell her?"

"Actually, yes," Abelas said, smiling wryly. "I chose my name when I entered service to Mythal as a sentinel because the name I was given at birth seemed highly inappropriate, given the circumstances."

"I don't see the joke there," Dorian groused.

Abelas didn't look at him, instead he stared at Ellana and said, "My given name was Nirast."

The name meant inclined towards joy. Ellana let out a short, sharp laugh before shaking her head and closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, Abelas. That's almost as depressing as what Solas…" She clapped a hand over her lips, cutting off the words. A heartbeat later she sighed and let her hand fall away. "Fenedhis. Never mind. Dorian's right. We should be sharing happy stories."

"Of course I'm right," Dorian quipped, twining his mustache. "Now, many apologies for all you've suffered, Abelas, but I'm going to show you how to make Ellana truly laugh." He clapped his hands, eyes glittering as he gazed at her in the fading light of the day. "Have I ever told you about the time I caught Madame Vivienne breaking wind while in the library?"

Immediately Ellana laughed. "No, no you haven't."

"Well," Dorian said with a grin. "That was simply unforgivable on my part. Allow me to rectify it…"

On the seventh night since Ellana had left him and disappeared, Solas retired later than usual, heavy with exhaustion from the long day managing the People's takeover of Halamshiral and the winter palace. He entered the Fade still considering the surprising progress he'd made with Celene and Briala, who'd begun to see they had no choice but to work with him as their current reality as prisoners wasn't just a bad dream.

When he opened his eyes in the Fade he saw at once the same meadow and forest from around Wycome and felt his shoulders slump with defeat. The Fade always reacted this way now, showing him this place where he and Ellana had been happy, where he had spoken to her Keeper about clan Lavellan's bonding ceremony traditions and requested her help in making a betrothal gift.

It seemed hopeless to try, but Solas was nothing if not tenacious, so he closed his eyes and willed Ellana to him. He envisioned her smile and laugh, the sound of her voice as she spoke his name, the courage she'd shown as she stood up to Corypheus at Haven, and the compassion as she hunted rams in the hills outside Redcliffe for the refuges in the Hinterlands. Idle thoughts snuck into his unfocused mind as well—the throaty noise of her cries as they made love, the taste of her skin and lips, and the fluttery kick of their child against his palm.

And suddenly Solas felt his body go weightless. He opened his eyes and then blinked rapidly, confused as he saw complete darkness around him. When he stretched he felt slick walls restraining him. The darkness was warm and emanated comfort.

What in the void…?

Was this the work of a demon? Yet Solas' skin wasn't prickling with gooseflesh and the Fade felt…innocent and quiet. This was a sleeper's dream the Fade had taken him into, but Solas had never slipped into such a bizarre scene.

He considered wiling it away, shattering the scene and leaving it, but he hesitated. Not only was it a curious, foreign construct, but the comfort and peace it exuded left his muscles lax and his mind soft as he released some of the constant tension riding him. It was as relaxing as anything he could've crafted for his own enjoyment, yet simpler and—

He heard it then and froze, concentrating. It was the muffled thumping of a drum somewhere below him and yet also above. It seemed to surround him, directionless and constant and comforting. A closer beat pounded as well, hammering away at a much faster rate, but also muffled. It was as if he heard the sounds through water…like a…

Like…heartbeats.

Eyes springing open, he stared out at the nothingness of the dark, stretching to test the slick walls again to confirm what he already knew in his gut. This was his child's dream. His unborn child was dreaming of the womb. Solas' unfocused mind had summoned the baby's sleeping consciousness through the Fade when he'd thought of its kicks against his hand.

Waves of warm relief crashed over him and hot tears pricked his eyes. Pain ached in his throat as he said, "Eshalin." He sucked in a shaky breath, swallowing the sobs that threatened to escape his lips. "Ma eshalin." My child.

Next Chapter:

Now even Abelas and Rainier had turned to watch her reaction, while Solas simply stared at her, his expression warped with pain as he waited. She sucked in a shaky breath as tears pricked her eyes. "Will you walk with me so we can talk alone?" she asked.

Dorian let out a little huffing sigh but both Ellana and Solas ignored him, blind to the people around them.

"Yes," Solas answered in a raw voice as he swallowed, his throat bobbing again. He smiled wanly. "Nothing would make me happier."