A/N: Hopefully I'm not butchering the Project Elvhen (props to FenxShiral!). I wanted to make it possessive (as in Fen'Harel's son or daughter) but the Project Elvhen suffix for possessiveness is -an and that just...made things ugly. Because then it'd be Fen'Harelan, which is too much like Harellan, "traitor." Or possibly "Place of Fen'Harel." Switching to Solas makes it even worse because then it's Solasan, which is "Place of Pride" in the game. So I decided to leave it out and let the possessiveness be assumed since we're doing that already with phrases like "Mythal'enaste" (Mythal's favor) and "Fen'Harel enasalin" (Dread Wolf's victory) and Vir'Abelasan (Place of the way of sorrows).
Thank you to all my readers and especially those who took the time to review! I am SO sorry I didn't put this up sooner as requested, but I have to start dragging my feet on these updates now because we're getting so close to the end and until I have it finished I have to be conservative. I decided chapter 51 will probably be the epilogue now because it feels more like an epilogue than the actual epilogue I started so...anyway. On with the chapter!
Forty-Four
Fen'Harel Ishalen
By the time the midmorning sun streamed in through the windows, painting the opposite wall of the room in gold to match the gilded trimmings, Ellana felt as though she'd sat on fire cast by Elgar'nan himself. The contractions were nearly constant, an unending sea of pain that had her babbling and incoherent, doused in sweat and biting out unintelligible curses intermixed with pleading for someone, anyone to just make it stop.
At her mother's prodding instruction, Ellana had taken up a squatting position in the tub with linens beneath her for padding and catching any mess. She shook with effort and exhaustion, every muscle straining with each contraction now as she bore down with her full strength. She gripped the sides of the tub, knuckles white and head swimming as she gnashed her teeth.
Solas sat at the edge of the tub behind her, his hands on her shoulders to help support her. His hands were hot and damp even through the fabric of the nightgown she wore. He was mostly silent, except for the soothing caress of his magic, taking the edge off her pain. Ellana's mother, meanwhile, was positioned in front of her, hands on her knees and speaking in an endless stream of encouragement and praise. Rinaya tended her with water to wet her mouth and throat occasionally but otherwise stood by, tense as she waited with a bundle of swaddling under one arm.
"Breathe, darling," her mother said, tucking loose strands of Ellana's hair behind her ear. She was still damp from the bath she'd spent several hours lounging in, trying to relax. Though she'd been in a lot of pain throughout that bath, Ellana found herself wanting to return to it—anything was preferable to the feeling that she'd sat on the sun and it was cooking her flesh.
"I want back," she babbled, breathing harshly. "Just let me stop…" She cried out as another contraction snapped her body taut like a bowstring. Instinct made her push, cutting off the cry of pain. It felt as if she was dying, but surely she should've already died by now if that were the case.
"Push, push, push," her mother chanted. "You're close, Lana. You can do this." She dropped as low as she could, peeking between Ellana's legs and beneath the nightgown. When she sat upright again, red in the face and grinning, she exclaimed, "The little one is crowning. Just a few more pushes, ma ashalan…"
Rinaya giggled. "Hahren looks as though he's going to pass out."
Ellana vaguely considered trying to look at Solas to see if that was true but a second later another contraction smashed into her, wiping the idea away. She clutched the tub, the tendons in her arms flaring as she fought to maintain her squatting position. It was the most comfortable one she'd found and what her mother recommended. But nothing could cool the fire between her legs.
As the urge to push compressed her again, Ellana bore down with everything she had. The contraction eased slightly and she felt the cooling power of Solas' magic as his hands worked, one behind her and the other at the front. She panted, half-collapsing as the contraction and the urge left her.
"I can't," she said, pleading and shaking her head. "Can't take it, mamae…"
"You can, ma ashalan," her mother murmured, hands on her knees as she dropped low to peek between her legs again and sat up with the same bright grin beaming. "This is the one. Your little one's coming with this next push. You can do it. One more big push, darling." Her hazel eyes flew to Solas behind Ellana's back. "Are you ready to become babae, hahren?"
"Yes," Solas answered, barely breathing the single word.
Ellana ground her teeth together as the next contraction built and pushed when the urge came, puffing and straining. Her mother dropped low, reaching between her legs and Ellana dimly felt fingers brush her inner thighs. The fire abruptly eased and something shifted, slipping from inside her. She let out a cry, slumping as the urge suddenly gave out and a strange euphoria made her slump, dizzy.
Shoulders heaving as she panted, she fell backward and out of the squatting position until she rested against the cool porcelain. Solas' hands on her gripped tighter and she heard him inhale sharply, a tiny little gasp. Lifting her heavy head, she saw the tiny reddish shape in her mother's hands and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. She began sobbing, choking as she reached out, desperate to touch the tiny infant, to see its face.
Her mother held the baby, tapping at its back, her face set in a look of fierce concentration. The baby made a weak noise, almost a sort of sneeze, then it began to kick and squirm as it let out a louder, lusty cry. Ellana's mother laughed with joy as she turned the baby over and Ellana was able to see its—his—tiny face for the first time. Scrunched and red from birth, still slicked with fluids, he had a full head of dark hair and long, narrow ears with proud points.
"He has your ears, hahren," Rinaya said, laughing. "But where did that hair come from?"
"From his mother, of course," Ellana's mother said, chuckling.
The pain wracking her utterly forgotten, Ellana sat forward and reached again for her newborn. "Mamae, let me have him." She was shaking, tears still running unheeded from her eyes.
Her mother smiled as she carefully passed the tiny infant into Ellana's arms. "Lay him on your chest. Let him feel your warmth and hear your heartbeat."
She clutched the tiny boy to her chest, closing her eyes at the surge of peace that rushed through her at his body heat against her. His cries continued, strong and defiant—marking him as the fighter she'd always known he would be. The crush of love inside her was as overwhelming as the pain had been and her head swam, her heart still pounding as emotion continued to sting her eyes. How could she love him so intensely so soon? It was like blood magic, but with nothing nefarious about it, only wonder.
"A son," Solas whispered behind her, his voice hollow with shock. But when he spoke again it was louder, and tinged with amusement. "Just as you always predicted, vhenan."
Twisting her neck to peer at him, Ellana saw his wide, unblinking eyes were bright with moisture, lips slightly parted as he stared at the tiny body lying on her chest. The baby's cries quieted into small wavering whimpers, drawing Ellana's full attention to him again. His legs kicked and his fists grabbed at her nightgown, lifting his head in jerky motions before collapsing again.
Ellana's mother laughed. "I do believe mamae and babae are both smitten." She motioned at Rinaya to come forward with the swaddling. "We must sever the cord and get him cleaned up and warm."
She reached out and took the baby with the confidence and speed of long experience, cradling him as he squirmed. Separated from his mother's body heat, the baby squalled again, loud and lusty, his little face still pinched tight from birth. The sound made Ellana's eyes fill with tears and she had to quash the panicky fear that tightened her chest and made her heart race. She sensed Solas tensing as well, though he remained silent, clearly trusting the two women.
Despite the exhaustion making her eyelids feel like leaden weights, Ellana watched as they cleaned him and used pins to clamp the cord before Rinaya produced a short knife and cut it. It seemed to take forever, and the entire time Ellana fought back the anxious desire to demand they stop and give the baby back, but eventually her mother cradled the now swaddled, cleaned baby. Bound by blankets, the baby's crying grew feeble until he stopped altogether, relaxing.
"Would you like to hold him?" her mother asked, gazing not at Ellana but at Solas.
He didn't answer verbally; instead he left his position behind Ellana and moved to her mother, arms outstretched to accept the baby. She passed the bundle, guiding his hands to protect the baby's head and warning him aloud to do the same. Cradling the baby in the crook of his left arm, Solas stared down at the tiny face, rapt with awe. His right hand rose to touch his son's nose, tracing from the furrowed brows to the tip. A slow grin spread over his lips and when he spoke it was barely above a whisper: "He has my nose."
Ellana's throat was thick with emotion. "I knew it," she said, voice ragged as she chuckled. "He takes after his father."
The baby squirmed, freeing one hand from the swaddling to swat at Solas' finger. The tiny fist gripped him and though Ellana wouldn't have thought it possible, Solas' grin widened. "Such strength, da'len," he said, wonderingly.
"What did I tell you?" Ellana's mother said with a laugh. "Robust. He's bigger than Mahanon, I'd wager. And Deya—but girls are usually smaller. Still, Lana's lucky he didn't tear his way out the way a half-blood would."
But he is a half-blood, Ellana thought. In the long ages between Elvhenan and the Dalish, elves had changed enough that Solas had always been broader and sturdier than either the Dalish or the city elves.
As if reading her mind, Solas said, "He is Elvhen." He sucked in a shuddering breath, his finger still clasped in the baby's itty-bitty fist, and looked at Ellana with tears in his eyes. "Forgive me, vhenan," he said, voice shaking. "I fear I may never put him down."
"He'll starve if you don't let his mother nurse him," Ellana's mother said as she and Rinaya both laughed, their faces beaming with tenderness at the smitten father.
Smiling as well, Ellana sniffed too, unable to stop herself from crying again even as she tried to wipe them away. "We'll just have to learn to share him, emma lath."
"And now's the best time to start," her mother said and clucked her tongue. "Babae, give him to Lana. Nursing him will help her pass the afterbirth."
"And there's still the matter of the hundred mounted men riding this way," Rinaya reminded them all with a sigh and a frown. Ellana's mother shot Rinaya a sidelong glare and the other woman flinched at the force of it. "Ir abelas, I know that's the furthest thing from your minds now, but…"
"You're right," Solas said, his wondering smile fading as he slowly withdrew his finger from the baby's grasp. He started to move closer to Ellana and she reached out to accept the bundle from him, but Solas hesitated a beat, eyes widening as he stared down at his son. "He opened his eyes, vhenan," he told her, jaw hanging open with astonishment.
"They'll be blue right now," Rinaya said. "But they could change with time."
"Just you watch," Ellana said, smirking. "After all the hard work I did, he'll be a perfect miniature of Solas."
Solas sobered slightly, shaking his head. "I should hope not." He leaned over the tub, passing the bundle to her with careful, slow hands.
Ellana took it, astonished all over again at how light her son was and yet how strong as he squirmed. She blinked, trying to keep the stubbornly persistent tears from blurring her vision and stroked his little eyebrows, as if she could smooth away the pinched expression left from birth. When she touched his cheek the baby immediately rolled his head, lips smacking. She watched him suckle on her finger, and let out a choking, wet laugh at the pressure of the warm love inside her that obliterated everything else—the ongoing pain from her belly, her exhaustion and weakness, and the lingering threat that they'd soon be under attack.
"Let me help you feed him," her mother said, moving to be back in the tub with her, squatting and leaning forward to unbutton the top of Ellana's nightgown to free one breast. She guided Ellana, positioning the baby so that he could take her nipple into his mouth. He latched on quickly, sucking with vigor; his little mouth and tongue shockingly warm against Ellana's skin.
"There you are," her mother cooed, soft and soothing, her smile wide and tender.
As he suckled the baby peeked at her, his eyes glazed and unfocused, but they were indeed blue as Rinaya had said. Ellana pried open the swaddling, examining her son's perfect fists, his plump little arms and cheeks. She traced his pointed ears and laughed, remembering Iron Bull's question long ago during the Exalted Council about whether elves were born with that feature. Brushing his downy hair, she saw a few strands marked with gold-red.
She looked to her mother with a small cry of both joy and grief—joy at the discovery, but grief at the reminder that her father would never meet his first grandson. "There's red in his hair. Like Mahanon and Father."
"And like you." Now her mother's eyes shone bright with tears of her own. "There is no greater wonder than seeing pieces of those who have gone before be reborn in our own children."
"Yes," Solas agreed from nearby, his voice breathy. Ellana wondered how much of his parents he saw in their son's tiny little face.
A thumping came echoing through the bedroom as someone pounded on the door. A male voice called out, muffled through the walls, "Fen'Harel!"
Ellana watched as Solas sighed, his blue eyes flicking between her and their newborn son, a pained expression on his face. "I will attempt to avoid bloodshed, regardless of who has sent these men to attack us, but I cannot make—"
"Do what you have to," Ellana told him, her voice gravelly with emotion. "Don't endanger yourself, emma lath. Come back to us."
Smiling softly, Solas leaned close to her, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling back and planting a kiss on her temple. "Always, vhenan," he murmured.
Then he strode to the door, slipping past Ellana's mother and Rinaya but paused at the threshold to glance over his shoulder again, brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Ellana smiled at him, feeling tears sting her eyes and love swell in her chest. When the knocking came once more, Solas left the privy and vanished into the bedroom.
"Well then," her mother said with a bright smile and a quiet clap of her hands. "Now it's time to switch to the other breast and then we can get you cleaned up!"
"They're Templars," Mathrel told him, growling as they walked together out of the winter palace. "A host of exactly one hundred humans in full armor. Their horses are armored as well." He snarled. "Fools. Do they think armoring their mounts will prevent us from using fire mines and ice?"
The palace gardens were in shambles with ceramic pots shattered and plants scorched by mage fire. There were still streaks of blood from the fighting, but Solas had seen to it that the bodies of those slain were burned in the fields outside the palace grounds and then the remains buried. The sky overhead was partly cloudy, the cottony fluff contrasting with the deep blue bits in between. It made Solas remember his son's eyes.
The first Elvhen born in a thousand years, he thought again, pride flushing him with warmth inside and out. Half-Dalish, half-Elvhen, the baby was precious for what he signified—a new beginning for the People, a union of modern elves and the Elvhen who'd survived as Solas had from ancient times. Not to mention the simple, personal wonder of staring into his own child's face after living ages alone with no blood relatives of his own. Solas had been eager and invested in his child before it was born, but while it grew inside Ellana it was just an idea, an abstract concept. The closest he'd come to truly interacting with his child was when he'd shared the child's dream in the Fade, and he'd felt a glimmer of the wonder and pride then, but it couldn't compare to the elation brimming inside him now.
"They will underestimate us," Zevanni said, dark amusement in her voice as she smirked at Mathrel. "They always do. But they'll especially underestimate Fen'Harel."
Solas blinked, hearing his name and glancing to his left where Zevanni walked with her shoulders squared and her head high, strutting. She returned his gaze, lips carved in a broad grin that was almost a leer. "You're distracted," she commented, a note of teasing in her voice. "Are you certain you'll be able to handle this skirmish?"
Frowning at her, Solas said, "We may not need to fight them. If Divine Victoria is open to negotiation there may be no cause for bloodshed."
Shila, one of the most powerful Dalish Firsts who'd joined his retinue to Halamshiral for the peace talks, scoffed. "The Divine did nothing to prevent the assassination attempts on you and Lady Lavellan. She will be just as useless now."
"We shall see," Solas said, impassive as they marched out of the palace grounds and along the road that wound its way downhill toward the city below. To the north, left of Halamshiral from Solas' current vantage point, he could see the glimmering armor and banners of the mounted Templars in the field. Solas recognized the Chantry's sunburst symbol and the flaming sword of the Templar order—but every banner also carried a white flag, flapping in the breeze. The wind brought the distant sound of their whinnying horses.
"Fenedhis," Shila snarled. "The void take the damn Templars."
"I'm sure that can be arranged," Zevanni quipped, laughing.
Solas let their chatter fade from his awareness again as he considered the situation. He'd left Lyris behind as a personal guard on Ellana, taking Zevanni, Mathrel, and Shila as his personal backup while sending Var out ahead to meet with the Dalish scouts who'd made contact with the vanguard of Templars approaching Halamshiral and the winter palace. The latest news he'd heard was that the scouts had deliberately allowed themselves to be seen at a close enough range that if the Templars wished they could fire arrows on them. Yet the Templars had been peaceful, raising a white flag of truce when they saw the elves. It was as Solas had suspected—the Divine wanted to offer a last chance to avoid bloodshed.
He'd dressed in armor to meet with them, complete with the wolf headdress, to be sure the humans would know they spoke with the right elf. Mathrel and Zevanni both wore Elvhen armor as well, but Shila had the robes of a Dalish First. She would be the stealthiest of them as a result and she moved with the speed afforded by her lighter armor, ranging ahead as they walked, her staff flopping at her back. Solas and the Elvhen with him didn't bother with staffs. Instead Zevanni had daggers and Mathrel his spectral blade. Solas, meanwhile, had only his mind and his magic, just the way he liked.
As they ascended the last hillock ahead of where the Templars had stopped on the open field outside of Halamshiral's protective encircling walls, Solas saw five elves crouched in the grasses—the scouts. They turned and watched Solas and his group approach, their faces tense. He recognized Var among them and quickly moved to check in with him, dropping into a squat to be on the same level as the scouts in the grass. The Templars would see them from this spot, but were too far away to hear them or loose arrows with any hope of hitting them.
"Has anything changed?" Solas asked Var.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "They know we've seen them but haven't sent a messenger to meet with us. I think they're confident you'll come to them without making them wait long."
"Do you think they'd pack up and leave if we told them now's a bad time?" Zevanni asked, smirking.
Var wrinkled his nose. "Brilliant, why didn't I think of that?"
"Because you're an empty-headed nug-humper," she shot back, laughing.
"Enough," Solas snapped with a roll of his eyes. Zevanni always had an affinity for rogues and crassness. Silent for a moment while thinking, he raised his head higher to survey the Templars waiting on their horses, banners elevated and flapping in the light springtime breeze. There were more than enough of them that they could surround Solas and anyone who approached with him. That many Templars draining away their mana, muting their magic…
"Spread the scouts out around them but maintain a safe distance and be ready to attack," Solas told Var and then turned to his mages. "We cannot risk being surrounded. The Templars' abilities will be stronger the more of them there are. Should they attack, spread out and work at the fringes. I will kill as many as I can as fast as possible should it come to violence." Remembering Ellana's suggestion regarding walls, he added, "Use defensive tactics if it appears you may be surrounded—ice and fire walls, static cages…"
"Fatherhood has made you cautious," Mathrel commented, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"The desire to avoid bloodshed and preserve our people has made me cautious," Solas retorted, though he could not prevent the smile that spread over his face.
"Your da'len has arrived?" Shila asked, eyebrows elevating. "Boy or girl? And is Lavellan well?"
"I have a son," Solas confirmed for her, still feeling dizzy to speak the words. "And Ellana is healthy."
"Congratulations," Var said with a warm smile. "Fen'Harel enasalin." Dread Wolf's victory.
"Has he started casting veilfire yet?" Zevanni asked, grinning. "If you say no I'm going to be disappointed."
Solas chuckled. "He is only a few hours old, falon. I doubt even I could have cast veilfire so young." Then, hearing one of the Templar horses neigh, Solas shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand. "Do not attack them unless they attack us first. Do you understand? We must avoid conflict if we can. The humans see us as savages. Do not meet those expectations."
"And what if they want something we cannot give?" Shila asked, grumbling. "What if they demand you?"
Solas smiled at her, hard and icy. "Then the Dread Wolf shall take them."
"By the Maker," Rainier exclaimed, quiet and yet animated at once. "Look at those ears!" He leaned over Ellana's bedside, gently pulling aside the blankets swaddling the baby in her arms. "And how tiny he is," the warrior went on, clucking his tongue. "He's not any bigger than one of those ridiculous frilly cakes."
Ellana's mother and Rinaya hovered nearby, smiling at the retinue of companions and friends coming through to visit her. Despite the exhaustion that made her feel as though a high dragon had stepped on her, Ellana couldn't stop smiling. Her cheeks actually hurt as she tried not to laugh at Rainier's comparison—laughing was rather uncomfortable still, for obvious reasons.
Dorian sat at the foot of her bed, wearing a smirk. "I was right about that at least. The ears." He sniffed, as if indignant or offended by the fact that he'd lost his wager about the baby's sex. "The offer's still open, old girl, if you ever get tired of that egghead apostate windbag, you can always join me in Tevinter. I could even adopt him as my son. Imagine the scandal! Wouldn't it be just delightful?"
Ellana laughed before she could stop herself, then grimaced. "Please, don't make me laugh right now."
Dorian went on as if she hadn't spoken, clearly enamored with the hilarity of his own idea. "The esteemed house Pavus of Minrathous inherited by an elf. Better yet, I'm picturing all the glowering in the Magisterium. He'd be sensational."
Sera giggled from where she stood just behind Rainier. "Pay good money to see their faces."
Ellana's mother, Rinaya, and Mahanon were all tense, their expressions slightly unfriendly at the current discussion. Trying to calm them, Ellana said, "He's only joking."
"No, I'm not," Dorian protested, twining his mustache with one hand. "I was being utterly serious."
Rainier laughed. "Right, well, then in all seriousness, I think that's the absolute worst plan I've ever heard."
Sera snorted. "Nah, not the worst. Might even work if you docked his ears." Immediately every other elf in the room glared daggers at her and Sera cringed, frowning back at them as she raised both hands palms up as if to ward off attack. "I mean…" She altered the pitch of her voice, taking on a note of mock-horror. "Oh no! Not his ears! By Andraste, by the Maker, how will he live without `em? Elvhen glory!"
"I stand corrected," Rainier said with a grunt, pointing at Sera. "That was the absolute worst." With a shooing motion at Sera, he started to usher her toward the door. "I think visiting time is over for you just now."
"What?" Sera gawked, mouth open and brow furrowed. "What'd I do?"
As Sera left the room with Rainier shepherding her, Mahanon grumbled, "Docking his ears. Fenedhis."
Ellana sighed, realizing she'd laid both hands protectively over her baby, cradling him closer unconsciously. Making an effort to relax, she struggled to see past the maternal ferocity coloring her views. "She would never actually do something like that," she told Mahanon. "But she's always been rather…difficult to get along with regarding other elves."
"She was trying to be funny," Rinaya said. "We understand that, but I've heard of such things actually happening in the Wycome alienage."
"And in Tevinter," Dorian said, heaving a long sigh of his own. "But really, now isn't a time for gloom about the past, now is it?" He grinned. "What are you naming him, love? Might I suggest Dorian? It's a fine name, flows right off the tongue, and positively breathes sophistication and charm."
Lyris, who'd been standing silently near the door, wrinkled her nose at him. "It sounds too much like bore."
Everyone expect Dorian laughed, though Ellana cut hers off, cringing with pain. The Tevinter mage, however, puffed out his chest like a displaying peacock, affronted by her comment. "It sounds nothing like that and you know it. It's much closer to door, as in doors will open and opportunities will flow for one with such a fine name." He smirked with pride. "Naturally, just as they did for me."
"I hate to break your fantasy, Tevinter," Mahanon said with a smirk of his own. "But you're not the baby's father. They're not going to name him after you."
"I'm well aware of that," Dorian shot back, a little snappish. "But I am an uncle of sorts."
Now Mahanon laughed dryly, motioning to his own chest. "I am the baby's uncle."
"All right," Ellana grumbled. "I'm about to pass out I'm so tired. Either leave or keep things quiet and civil, please." Looking to her mother she said, "Mamae, can you take him?"
"Of course, darling," she said, shouldering Mahanon out of the way in the authoritative, no-nonsense way of a confident mother—and grandmother twice over. She took the bundle from Ellana, letting her shift in the bed to lay down. Her mind still spun, overtired from the stress and emotion of the last day and a half, full to bursting with her son's little face, his tiny burbles and baby grunts.
"All right," Rinaya scolded in a hushed voice. "Off with you, Tevinter. Lana and the baby need their rest."
"Yes, yes," he answered, also quiet, and she felt him rise from his spot sitting at the foot of her bed. "I'll go for now, but I'm not leaving for good until I've held him at least once, because I am an uncle of sorts."
If she'd had the energy Ellana would've chuckled, thinking how much Solas would simply love hearing Dorian's proclamation. Exhaustion pulled her into the darkness of sleep before she could hear if any of the elves in the room made a reply.
The host of Templars stood ahead of Solas, their armor glinting in the sunlight peeking through the dour springtime clouds. They warriors had arranged themselves in a front that formed a half-circle; twenty-five men queued shoulder to shoulder atop their mounts, with three more rows of twenty-five behind them. They were well-trained and had the prideful bearing of men and women who believed their Maker was with them, protecting them in spirit.
Solas approached them with a slow tread, hands at his sides and his head elevated as he drew within archer range. Zevanni and Mathrel flanked him, but they peeled away as they came closer. Zevanni went left while Mathrel walked right. Neither Elvhen mage drew any weapons, staff or otherwise. The Templars likely assumed Zevanni was a rogue, in fact. Shila, the Dalish First accompanying him, had left his side at the start of their approach, moving with the scouts and Var instead to circle round the Templar host.
When they were near enough that they could speak without shouting overmuch, Solas halted. Zevanni and Mathrel, now at the edges of the Templar line on either end, followed suit and froze in place, body and postures tight in anticipation of battle. Solas tried to hide his own tension even as he felt over his mana core much the same way he saw the Templars laying hands on the hilts of their blades.
"Greetings," he called out, his voice smooth and even, but loud enough to be easily heard over the buffeting wind and the flapping banners the Templars carried. "What brings you to Dirthavaren?" he asked, using the elven name for the Dales—the Promise. A promise that'd been broken.
A Templar wearing golden armor complete with a bristling helmet and a red cape spread out regally over his back like a curtain, urged his horse forward a few steps. Solas bristled, fingers twitching at his side, ready to cast a barrier at the first hint of attack. The Templar—a commander, Solas guessed—dug out a small scroll from under his breastplate, fumbling with it slightly in hands made clumsy by thick armor and gloves. Unrolling it, he began to read in a rumbling, authoritative voice that echoed over the rolling, seemingly empty plains around them.
"By order of most holy Divine Victoria, the Chantry and the Templar order denounce and condemn the elven rebellion in Halamshiral and the Dales. Most Holy demands a return to order and seeks peace for Orlais, the Dales, and all of Thedas. In agreement with Lady Nightingale of the Inquisition, her holiness Divine Victoria has declared an Exalted March to reclaim Halamshiral and the Dales, and to capture or kill the elven apostate fugitive and rebel leader Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, also known as Solas."
Solas heaved a sigh as the Templar rerolled the scroll and tucked it away again. In the oppressive silence a few horses stamped their feet and armored bridles clinked. The wind whipped the nearest banner, making the thick fabric clap. The Templar commander seemed to be waiting for Solas' reaction, or perhaps he was unwilling to be the first to engage what the humans heard from the Dalish was an elven god, as much as Solas himself despised that description. Maybe Cassandra had warned the commander personally as well.
Finally the commander shifted in his saddle, leaning forward and calling out, "Have you nothing to say, Dread Wolf?"
Couldn't this have waited a week? He thought and frowned to keep himself from smirking with dry amusement. Killing Templars on the day of his son's birth was hardly the way he wanted to spend his time.
Spreading his hands in a gesture of openness, Solas said, "There is no reason we must fight this day. Empress Celene has decreed the Dales belong to the People. Andraste herself promised these lands to the elves. The Chantry had no right to break that promise and it has no right to march on us now for merely reclaiming what was stolen from us. If Divine Victoria seeks peace and restoration of order, I urge her to proceed now with caution. Why has she chosen to ignore Empress Celene's declaration? Is there no way we might achieve peace through negotiation rather than needless violence?" Pausing a moment, he dropped his voice an octave, letting the threat in it ring clear. "Consider your next move carefully, shemlen."
The commander's horse stamped its feet and tossed its head, ears flicking. It was nervous, picking up the anxiety and tension in the air.
"Most Holy believes in the Maker's mercy and has been lenient in her dealings with this uprising," the commander said. "Out of concern for innocent lives that will inevitably be lost on both sides, her holiness is willing to order the armies of the faithful to stand down on one condition."
Solas arched an eyebrow. "Which is…?"
The commander gave a slight jerk of his reins, making his horse toss its head, lips and jaw working over the bit. "The immediate surrender of Halamshiral and the winter palace to Empress Celene of Orlais." The commander's lips quirked with dark amusement as he added, "And your imprisonment, of course."
"I see," Solas said, tucking his hands behind his back. That's two conditions, imbecile. "I'm afraid we cannot agree to such terms. I will ask again—why has Divine Victoria ignored the empress's declaration that the Dales have returned to the People?"
"No such declaration has reached us," the commander retorted, his voice gravelly.
It was possible the army had marched before the ravens carrying the proclamation could have arrived at Val Royeaux. If so Cassandra might very well reconsider her decision to mount an Exalted March. Both she and Leliana were likely to be open to restoring an elven homeland. If he could keep the current confrontation from spiraling into a battle he'd have the greatest chance of opening up real peace talks with the Divine. Real peace talks.
"Then perhaps you had best retreat," Solas said with a jerk of his head in the direction of Val Royeaux. "And await the raven's arrival before you commit to any further action."
"You don't give me orders, knife-ear scum," the commander growled.
"No," Solas replied, glaring from beneath his headdress. "But I will not hesitate to give you death."
"Fool," the commander snarled, yanking on the reins. The horse grunted, eyes rolling, and stamped its feet as it pivoted sideways. The commander gestured with one armored hand at the other Templars aligned behind him. "Three of you and a handful of others hidden in the hills will take on all of us?"
Solas said nothing, merely waited with his every muscle body wide tense as bowstrings. Don't make me kill you, he pleaded with the Templar silently.
"You reject the Divine's offer?" the commander demanded, still gripping the reins tightly. His face was a mask of revulsion as he stared down at Solas.
"We will not surrender lands that are rightfully ours," Solas rejoined, thrusting out his chin with defiance.
"Then you will die in the Exalted March, demon," the commander roared and raised one hand motioning at the host of Templars behind him.
Watching the gesture, Solas held his breath as his heart leapt into his throat, his hands twitching behind his back as he prepared to react to an attack. But, thankfully, the commander was merely ordering a retreat. The Templars furthest away peeled from the group, spurring their horses north toward Val Royeaux. They rode away in orderly lines, banners still flapping in the breeze. The commander was last, still glaring at Solas until the last moment when his horse sprinted after the others, kicking up clods of grass and dirt in its wake.
The Templars rode away in a thunder of hooves and the rattle of armor. Mathrel and Zevanni returned to his side after the commander left, their eyes following the human warriors as they faded into the rolling hills beyond.
"Why did you let them leave?" Zevanni asked, sounding irritable.
"They did not attack us," Solas replied simply. "And there is a chance that the Divine may rethink her choice when word of Celene's decree regarding the Dales reaches her."
Mathrel nodded with understanding. "Had we attacked she would doubtless be hostile."
"She's hostile regardless," Zevanni grumbled. "She declared an Exalted March on us."
"She may yet surprise you, falon," Solas said, turning on his heel and starting back in the direction of the winter palace. Cassandra might decide against an Exalted March once she learned Ellana had rejoined him and that they'd soon have the full power of the Fade at their disposal.
In the meantime, with the current threat dealt with, Solas had other places to be…
Elvhen Used
Fen'Harel Ishalen: Dread Wolf's son
Next Chapter:
Tucking his hands behind his back, Solas asked with an unmistakable note of irritation, "Have we so few beds in the winter palace that the both of you must sleep here?"
Dorian snorted. "As a matter of fact, yes, that's exactly it." He motioned at Rainier. "Thom and I were just waiting on you to show up and conjure us a big feather bed out of thin air." He wriggled his fingers for dramatic effect. "That is something you can do now, yes?"
Solas shifted his stance slightly, his expression impassive. "What do you need?"
"I could go for a nice ale," Rainier quipped, smirking. "If that's something you can magic up along with the bed."