A/N: All right, as we near the final few chapters before the fluff at the very end, things will pick up again with a few final surprises...and some violence. By this point in the tale my beta had left me to just feel my way along, so I hope I don't wander too far off the mark.

I'm currently about four chapters out on the new idea I mentioned a few chapters back about a very weak, near-Tranquil Solas newly wakened from uthenera winding up in a Circle tower. The "Lavellan" there is very different from Ellana, who I figure was a bleeding-heart for the most part. But the new story's Lavellan is the grittier type of the sort who'd harden Leliana, so big change there. Her name will be "Rosa," which means to stand tall in FenxShiral's Project Elvhen. Anyway...

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and everyone who's reading and following! The next chapter will be tense and the following two or three (I forget how many) are near wall-to-wall action...with some character death. Getting down to the end!

Forty-Seven

Beloved of the Maker

The blizzard spell Solas cast over the entire battlefield—from Halamshiral to the winter palace and everywhere in between—could have drawn its power from the raw Fade itself, meaning Solas didn't have to sustain it beyond the initial mana needed to cast it. Yet Solas chose to let the spell feed primarily from his own core, though it left him somewhat lightheaded and limited what he could cast without disrupting the blizzard. It was a necessary sacrifice, however, because Solas wanted to ensure the Fade remained stoked with ether to fuel the thousands of warmth runes that the People would be drawing to stay comfortable during the storm. Even the Fade had its limits and with only a relatively small area restored those restrictions would prove severe.

The wind howled in his ears as he stared out into the darkness beyond the winter palace's balcony. Solas had drawn runes on his armor to ward away the chill, but he could still feel the ferocity of the storm blowing against him. The force of it made him squint his eyes and shiver involuntarily.

The wall he'd cast around the palace rose up ahead of him about fifty meters out through the empty rolling hills and grasses. The smooth ice gleamed in the faint moonlight that managed to peek in through the storm clouds. Solas had teleported here after hearing back from Mathrel regarding Ellana's decision on how to deal with what he suspected was a sneak attack by the Orlesians. The army probably expected that Solas would keep women and children in the palace, in relative comfort and close to the eluvians.

It was the eluvians as much as the vulnerable and valuable hostages that the Orlesians would want to secure. While they assaulted Halamshiral as a distraction, far fewer men could scale the ice wall around the palace and try to claim it.

For close to an hour Solas had watched the wall from this balcony with Mathrel at the opposite end, both of them shielded from the cold wind whipping past them by magic. There'd been no sign yet of a sneak attack and Solas would've expected one by now. Yet he didn't dare leave. The moment he did the inevitable attack would come and he refused to be caught unprepared.

Mathrel's armor clinked metallically as he shifted and looked toward Solas, his gruff voice drawing him out of his reverie. "How likely is it that these shemlen have given up the fight due to the storm?"

"It is possible," Solas conceded with a nod. "But I suspect they are merely delayed." Jutting his chin out to indicate the ice wall and the battlefield overall, Solas added, "Having setup their distraction and sacrificed soldiers to it, I doubt they will allow the night to pass without making their move."

"You drive the storm," Mathrel observed with a grunt as he leaned forward against the railing at the edge of the balcony. "Is that wise? Zevanni and the foci are in Halamshiral."

Solas chuckled, shooting Mathrel a sidelong glance through the dark. "Are you frightened you will not be able to assist me adequately?"

The arcane warrior snorted. "I am merely cautioning you, hahren. You are not fully recovered after uthenera."

"I was not aware you had become an expert on my recovery," Solas commented, keeping his voice lighthearted even as a small frown tugged at the edges of his mouth. In truth, he suspected Mathrel was correct, though the enormous blizzard spell would've proven difficult regardless. Still, the faint dizziness in the back of his mind and the fatigue dragging his shoulders down seemed more severe than it should be.

"I have known you for centuries, Fen'Harel," Mathrel reminded him with a closed-lipped smirk. "I can read your body language. This spell taxes you. I cannot help but remember that should you burn yourself out we will lose our biggest advantage against these shemlen." He crossed his arms over his chest, the sound of his clanking armor clear in spite of the roar of wind.

Solas sighed and opened his mouth to reassure the arcane warrior but froze as his gaze caught movement on the ice wall. Narrowing his eyes with fresh interest, Solas watched the gleam on the ice until he saw what had caught his attention: a shadow disrupting the light. After a moment he recognized the shape as a man in armor abseiling down the ice wall.

Reaching out with one hand, Solas imagined fire and felt his mana core ripple as both the blizzard spell and the fire spell drew from him. Orange yellow light engulfed the shadowy shape of the armored man. His screams rang out, high pitched and keening with fear and horror. The rope supporting him caught fire and burned, snapping. The fiery shape fell, streaking as it lit up the darkness that obscured the lower reaches of the ice wall.

"Shemlen fools," Mathrel growled, his hand going at once to his waist where the hilt of his spectral blade waited. "Do you think he could have survived the fall?"

"The fall?" Solas asked, drawing in a deep breath and blinking away the brief rush of dizziness as his core recovered from the casting. "Yes. But the sudden stop of the landing likely proved far more painful. And the fire as well."

Mathrel grunted, the only acknowledgement that he found Solas' attempt at levity to be amusing. "Say the word and I will patrol the boundary to ensure none of them survive."

"Very well," Solas said with a nod of his head. "I will ignite them and you can finish them off." Already Solas could see another shadow appear over the lip of the ice wall and begin abseiling downward in a desperate scramble. With a casual wave of his hand Solas ignited this new warrior as well. He restrained a wince as the second man fell to the snowy ground, burning and screaming. From the very moment he'd realized that this Tranquil world's inhabitants were no less real than Elvhenan, regardless of race, he'd had to contend with the knowledge that everyone he killed had a family, loved ones, and a future that Solas denied them. But, of course, he had little choice in the matter and would never hesitate.

"Be careful, falon," Solas said. "I believe they may be chevaliers."

"The very best shemlen warriors?" Mathrel asked with a smirk. "I hope they are. I will enjoy the chance to test my mettle against them."

"Shall I allow one to reach the ground uninjured?" Solas asked with a lopsided smile. Another shadow caught his eye as it disrupted the glimmer of faint light against the lip of ice. Idly, Solas cast more fire with a wave of his hand, grimacing at the brief vertigo it caused him.

Mathrel watched the latest human warrior fall like a shooting star, careening while still aflame into the snow drifts below. He snorted. "Don't do me any favors, hahren." Then, with a whine and a sharp popping sound, Mathrel streaked away in a blur of motion, landing dozens of meters below in the snow before Fade leaping again toward the ice wall.

Solas sighed to himself, torn between callous humor and something like sympathy toward the foolish Orlesians. As another warrior caught his eye Solas switched to ice with a flick of his fingers, freezing the Orlesian solid. The ice statue dropped to the ground with a thump, shattering like glass that Solas' sharp ears managed to pick out despite the howl of the wind. He saw Mathrel's dark shape darting along the boundary of the ice wall, his spectral blade glowing white in the blackness.

"Ma nuvenin," Solas murmured as he watched the arcane warrior run an injured chevalier through with his spectral blade. Another shadow appeared and then another. Solas cast ice on them both, finding it easier than fire, and swayed on his feet with dizziness. Shaking his head to clear it, Solas refocused, refusing to ease up. But as he blinked he saw three more warriors had rapidly ascended the top of the ice wall and had begun rapidly abseiling downward.

Gritting his teeth, Solas drew on Fade ether lingering near the ice wall, shaping it into rock. He hurled the jagged black rocks at the warriors, striking them and shattering the stone. The men fell from their ropes, limp and screaming as they careened into the snowdrifts at the base of the wall. Mathrel Fade leaped to each man as he landed, skewering him to be certain he wouldn't be a threat.

But more kept coming. Using the Fade ether rather than his own mana reserves, Solas flung more rocks at the next five chevaliers who abseiled down the ice wall. Those men had barely fallen to the snow when more appeared over the ice wall's lip. Absorbed in his casting and Fade-shaping, Solas missed the gentle metallic clap of feet on the marbled floor behind him until the newcomer was already on the balcony.

With a quick jerk of his head, Solas glanced over his shoulder even as he erected a barrier over himself with a flick of the fingers in one hand. Through the shadows he recognized Abelas, hooded and somber. "What are you doing here?" he asked, too busy with the attack to bother restraining his irritation at seeing the former sentinel leader. Although he'd long since decided against killing Abelas to punish him for abandoning him in the fight against the Forgotten Ones and in encouraging Ellana to leave, he still despised the other Elvhen man.

Though, if he was honest with himself, Solas had to admit that he owed Abelas a lot. The former sentinel's defection from Mythal had allowed him to save Ellana from the false goddess' plot.

Instead of answering Solas' question, Abelas posed one of his own. "You are not using the Fade to fuel this storm?"

"No," Solas replied tersely. Three chevaliers had begun abseiling down the wall while he was distracted. "Fenedhis," he cursed and quickly slashed his hand through the air, summoning three stones from Fade ether and smashing each human warrior, one right after another. They fell to the snow as streaks of shadow, their cries faint over the shrieking wind. As Mathrel Fade stepped to execute the latest warriors, Solas asked again, "Why are you here?"

"I left Halamshiral when it became clear the shemlen had no hope of winning against us. Zevanni would have sent Var, but I volunteered to go in his stead." He inclined his head toward the ice wall in the distance. "I hoped to be of use in defending the palace against opportunistic attacks aimed at noncombatants."

Solas nodded, pushing aside any irritation and resentment he felt toward the other man in favor of ensuring the current battle's success. "Ma serannas." He gestured at the ice wall to the newest chevaliers who'd appeared, dark shadows against the glinting wall.

Abelas stepped forward and stretched out his hand, making a slashing motion as he cast lightning. The purplish light flickered wildly, gleaming on the ice, and then the man fell with a cry. The warrior was still alive after the fall, though he was twitchy and far too slow to rise, making him easy prey for Mathrel. The arcane warrior tirelessly zipped between spots, spectral blade glowing a brilliant white in the darkness. He quickly dispatched the chevalier while both Solas and Abelas watched from the balcony overhead.

"Do you believe the shemlen will be thwarted by the blizzard?" Abelas asked, his voice stiff and cold. His breath puffed in the air in front of him.

"It has not stopped them yet," Solas replied. "But in time I suspect they will retreat." He sighed, frowning as he debated divulging more and decided against it. In truth, Solas suspected retreat wouldn't be enough to stop the long-term battle. If the Divine did declare an Exalted March he'd be stuck here, fighting them in whatever method Ellana preferred until she finally realized peace would only come through decisive and violent victory.

In mere seconds Solas knew he could obliterate this Orlesian army in its entirety. With the mana he used to fuel the blizzard instead directed into a single firestorm or a massive mindblast Solas could end this battle in such a way that not only the Orlesians, but all the rest of humanity would realize they had no hope of defeating him. And yet…he could also see the value to staying his hand and hiding the true strength of his powers. Let the humans believe him capable only of defense on a massive scale.

"But their retreat is not synonymous with our victory," Abelas said, too clever not to read Solas' unspoken meaning.

Clenching his jaw, Solas ignored the former sentinel as he saw another chevalier and hurled a Fade stone at the man with a dull thump and a clatter. Before the warrior had even hit the ground, Solas shot Abelas a snarling look over his shoulder. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, again not bothering to disguise his irritation.

"You have chosen to defend the palace and the city rather than destroy the shemlen." With a wave of his hand, Abelas shot a fireball at the next chevalier who'd appeared over the lip of the ice wall and scowled as the man careened into the snow below, screaming and aflame. "While I feel no love for them, I admire your restraint—though I know it is not truly yours."

"I have no desire or need for your admiration." Solas bristled, eyes narrowing. "Did you come here merely to antagonize me? If so you are wasting both my time and yours." Despite the dizziness it cost him, Solas used fire on the next two warriors who'd appeared, scrambling to abseil down the wall. Both men screeched as they caught fire and the ropes holding them snapped as they burned. But halfway down the wall in their fall both men went silent as the inferno consumed them, leaving only a bundle of ash to hit the snow.

"My point," Abelas said in an even tone, "Fen'Harel, is that I know the People cannot achieve victory in this modern world without an Evanuris—without you. Yet I also feared the future you would create for us if you ruled alone. That is why I and the other sentinels never sought to leave Mythal's service. We agreed with Mythal's greater plan to rule jointly with you." He closed his eyes, dipping his head downward slightly. "But I left her service when I realized she intended to trick Ellana in search of a new vessel…and when I began to view Ellana as a viable alternative to Mythal."

A chill swept through Solas, setting his muscles taut. Why was Abelas coming forward with this now? Solas didn't believe Abelas was entirely sincere. Suspicious thoughts repeatedly intruded into his mind. What evidence did he have that Mythal and Abelas hadn't planned all of this? Abelas' help in saving Ellana from Mythal's hidden compulsion, exposing her plan to Ellana rather than to Solas directly, was the perfect way to get the former sentinel back into his good graces. Yet simultaneously, what if Abelas truly had switched allegiance? He'd be a valuable ally with priceless insight on Mythal.

Another shadow of movement along the ice wall drew Solas' gaze and he quickly, almost absently, conjured and hurled another Fade stone at the man. Then, staring at Abelas and grimacing against the brush of the wind—only lessened by his magic rather than removed entirely—Solas said, "I find it troubling that you did not bring me news of her plans immediately after leaving her service."

Abelas wrinkled his nose. "You would not have believed me."

Whipping around to face the sentinel and taking a stiff step closer to him, Solas snarled, "You think I would not believe Mythal planned to compel ma vhenan into becoming her new host? Or taking our child as a hostage?" He scoffed, flashing his teeth like a snarling wolf. "Clearly you did not know your own so-called goddess. How many children did she steal away from the families of political rivals as mere babes to be her hostages against them? How many of your fellow sentinels were actually children she'd stolen as disciples?"

The former sentinel frowned. "You misunderstood my meaning. It was my motivation I feared you'd doubt." He hesitated, lips pinching in a hard line. "I nearly warned Ellana, but I knew that unless I stopped the trap as it happened Mythal would never go through with stabilizing the Anchor. If I revealed Mythal's plans you would have learned of it and act preemptively. Ellana would have lost her arm and the Anchor."

Solas withdrew from Abelas a step, letting out a huffing breath, the nonverbal sound the only cue he could give that the former sentinel's insight had been correct.

As if sensing his advantage, Abelas went on in a somber voice. "Hahren, I know you will never forgive myself and the sentinels for leaving during the fight with the Forgotten Ones, but you should know we could not have stayed even had we wished to do so."

"You were under a compulsion," Solas finished for him, growling the words out. "Yes, I suspected as much—but I offered repeatedly to remove the vallaslin and all of you refused." Mythal had never been one for using the vallaslin she marked her followers with, but Solas had had no doubt that the magic was there nonetheless. It was why he had steadfastly refused to bear Mythal's vallaslin even when adopting her markings would have protected him from Andruil and the other Evanuris when he was thought just an oddball Dreamer who'd escaped the upper class.

"But I believe most of the sentinels likely feel as I do, or would have felt as I did had Mythal included them in her grander plans. It is my hope that should we encounter them again that you and Ellana will offer them another chance to remove the vallaslin. I believe many will choose to switch allegiance."

Solas had been distracted briefly by searching along the ice wall, scowling as he saw no other evidence of chevaliers. Had the Orlesians given up their attack? But as Abelas' words sunk in Solas blinked and glanced toward the former sentinel with his brow knitted. "And do you believe we may soon encounter your brethren again?"

Wariness flashed over Abelas' expression. "The chaos of a battle such as this one seems to me just the situation Mythal would use to her advantage, yes."

Grunting, Solas faced forward again, trying to keep his heart from hammering in his chest with the breathless clutch of fear. He'd left Ellana with Lyris and the palace had dozens of Dalish Firsts to guard it from within. They had one eluvian functioning that led to the Emerald Graves, but otherwise Solas had not sensed any of the mirrors activate nearby.

"I will bear your warning in mind," Solas told Abelas and meant it. He offered the former sentinel a small smile, as genuine as he could make it, to ensure Abelas understood his appreciation.

Abelas nodded with a significant dip of his chin. "Ma serannas, hahren."

Seeing the ice wall still appeared abandoned below, Solas watched Mathrel patrolling along it in a stiff, militant stride through the snow. The wind whipped past the balcony, tugging at Solas' headdress. "Tell me," he said, shouting against the wind. "What do you know of Mythal's other long-term plans? She wished to rule jointly, you said?" There had to be more…

"Yes," Abelas replied. "There was more, but I was privy to mere fragments."

"It seems the attack here may be finished," Solas said, gesturing to the wall. He shot Abelas a tight look, his eyes narrowed against the ferocity of the wind that his own mana fueled. "We may have time to discuss these mere fragments. Indulge me."

Just after dawn Ellana stood in the palace's rookery, which was located near the servant quarters and guard barracks. The letters she'd composed to Divine Victoria—Cassandra—and Celene still clutched in her hand. Sylvun slept in the sling around her shoulders, cradled by her other hand. A palace servant who was familiar with caring for and handling the rookery's ravens was currently prepping the bird for its flight to Val Royeaux. The young elven man kept sneaking quick, nervous glances in Ellana's direction and stammered whenever she tried to talk to him.

When the servant had finished securing the scroll carrier around the raven's leg, Ellana passed the sealed letter to him with a small smile. He took the letter from her gingerly, as if frightened he might be burned from her touch or offend her if their fingers accidentally grazed one another.

Perhaps it's closer to that than I'd have thought, she realized as it occurred to her that this youth had only been a mage for a few days. He probably was frightened of the new power residing inside him.

"Have you had any magic lessons?" she asked gently.

He flinched, freezing as he tried to tuck the small scroll into the carrier on the bird's leg. The raven cawed at him impatiently, fluttering its wings. The young elf made a cooing noise and quickly stroked the side of its head. The raven leaned into his touch, calming.

"No, your worship. I've had no lessons. One of the Dalish offered to help me the first day, but…" He swallowed, the gulping sound almost comical in its loudness.

"You're afraid of your own magic, aren't you?" Ellana asked, laying a hand on his shoulder, hoping to reassure him.

The youth nodded, his eyes wide. "I can't help it. My mum, Maker rest her, read me the Chant every night. Magic is dangerous, it is." He shook his head. "I don't want it."

"I understand it is an overwhelming change," Ellana said, cautious and soft so as not to frighten or antagonize him. "It was strange and frightening for me too, at first." She broke off, chuckling as she let go of his shoulder and glanced at her palm—the right one this time. "I suppose it still is. I'm still getting used to it. But there's nothing inherently evil with magic. The Chant doesn't say magic is evil, does it?"

The youth stared at her a moment and then his gaze skittered away. "No, your worship. I s'pose it doesn't."

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to," Ellana murmured. "If having magic is too frightening for you, you can leave through one of the eluvians. But please, take a little time to see if you can adjust to it. Magic is the birthright of the People and you are one of us. The homeland we create in the Dales won't be just for the Dalish. You understand that, right?"

He smiled at her, nodding. "Thank you, worship."

Returning to his work with the scroll, the youth slipped it easily inside the carrier and snapped it shut. With a last tug on it to be certain it was secure, the young man carried the raven toward the large open window. The morning beyond was gray, the clouds thick enough to completely obscure the sunrise. Snow flurries whipped out of the sky, the wind moaning continuously.

Ellana wrapped both arms around Sylvun's sling, instinctually worried he'd be cold despite the runes Lyris had helped her paint over the halla leather to ward away the chill. How long could Solas truly sustain this storm? She shuddered at the thought, again frightened of what she'd unleashed.

The young boy untied the cord from the raven's leg that kept it secured to the thick leather glove he wore to handle it. The raven, clever enough to know when it was released, leapt into the air with a clap of its feathery wings. Fighting the wind, it soared upward, free and fast, then curled north toward its destination: the Orlesian capital.

"Do you think those snotty Orlesians will listen?" he asked.

"No," Ellana answered at once with a sigh. "But I still hope the Divine will." Everything she'd done in trying to spare the Orlesians had been to dissuade Cassandra from an Exalted March in the hopes of opening up a true dialogue for peace. Now all she could do was hope it hadn't been in vain.

Under the onslaught of the blizzard, and with the ice walls Solas had erected around the city and the palace, the Orlesians gave up on their attack after only two days. Although they spent the majority of their time after their attempts to scale the walls hunkered down in their tents around weak bonfires, trying to stay warm, Solas reported nearly five hundred Orlesians had died. Most of them had perished in trying to attack Halamshiral, but a few dozen had also been killed scaling the ice walls outside the palace.

Using wisps to be their eyes and ears, scouts had reported that the Orlesians retreated when their horses had begun dying of the cold and some of the men had developed frostbite. But the army had not gone far. They knew the blizzard ended abruptly a mile or so outside Halamshiral and the winter palace. So they camped in the hills just a few miles from the edge of the storm, brooding, like a burn scar on the land from a wildfire.

With the army having withdrawn for the moment, Solas allowed the blizzard spell to subside from the ferocious windstorm to a mere chill with the occasional flurry. The ongoing cold and slight snow was to dissuade the Orlesians from simply rushing back to the city, and to prevent the ice wall from melting faster with the return of spring in earnest.

Stir crazy from her time cooped up in the palace, Ellana had ventured out into the plains between Halamshiral and the winter palace. Lyris, Mahanon, Lerand, and Samhel accompanied her as she made the trek to the watchtower Solas had conjured halfway between the city and the palace. The snow was thigh-high in some drifts, which would've made the going virtually impossible for them if not for the runes Lyris had shown them at the start of the blizzard, anticipating just this struggle. The Elvhen had preferred to use eluvians wherever they could, but if they had to walk through difficult terrain they employed runes to create a magical barrier around the feet that prevented slipping, sliding, and sinking in snow. The result was that Ellana and her entourage had snowshoes conjured from the Fade, shimmering green-blue and iridescent—all thanks to a few unusual symbols Lyris had drawn over their feet and shins.

Ellana was still marveling over how well the rune-snowshoes worked when they reached the watchtower. Solas was atop it, keeping watch, as he had been since the army arrived. He sent messengers to her often—Var, Mathrel, the former palace servant Lanya, and others—to keep her informed and to ask her for guidance. Or instruction, actually.

Through the whistling sound of the wind rushing past her, Ellana could hear the faint sound of voices, one of them Solas'. Shivering, she regretted removing her ward against the cold before starting out. It'd been warm in the closed up palace and she'd expected she'd have to slog through the snow, which would inevitably make her sweat unless she could feel the real cold. A quick glance at her fellow clan members told her she wasn't alone in her miscalculation. Lerand and Samhel were both shivering violently, though Mahanon apparently had been smart enough to leave his ward active.

"Did you forget how to turn off the rune?" Lyris asked her, stepping forward. With Solas occupied and distracted Lyris had proven useful beyond measure because she was Elvhen and remembered the long-forgotten but utterly practical runes and spells of Elvhenan.

Ellana shook her head. "No." She stooped slightly, concentrating outward and feeling the core of her mana, still a little new to her after weeks out of the restored Fade in the Emerald Graves, connect with the rune and the ether in the world beyond. She felt the warm rush of the rune's passive magic swell as it flowed from the symbols over her shin and foot, draining into her. The snowshoe constructs flickered and then failed, letting Ellana sink into the snow at the base of the tower.

"Very good," Lyris praised her with a smile.

Mahanon snickered. "You sound like ma vhenan talking to our daughter."

Ellana screwed up her face, torn between smirking and frowning. It was true that Lyris often sounded like a mother trying to teach young, ignorant children when it came to the runes and spells of their ancient ancestors. It was slightly insulting, but Lyris had always been patient about it and seemed genuinely pleased when the Dalish and former non-mages in particular, did something right. It was something she shared in common with Solas.

Lyris shot Mahanon a sheepish look and then turned her attention back to Ellana. "Ir abelas if I—"

"Don't worry about it," Ellana said, waving away the arcane warrior's concern. She turned to the stairs circling up the side of the watchtower and began to ascend them.

Behind her she heard Mahanon speak to Lerand and Samhel: "So, have you both mastered barriers and mindblasts yet?" She'd asked her retinue to stay behind while she visited with Solas and although she'd noted her brother's concerned expression, he hadn't questioned her. Neither had Lyris, though Ellana sensed the arcane warrior's tenseness as she started up the stairs. Since the night of the Orlesian attack Solas had insisted both she and Sylvun remain under heavy guard. Ellana didn't balk under that order—because it made sense. All of their enemies had known she was expecting and everyone knew how vulnerable an infant was and that it'd hobble its mother.

As Ellana reached the top of the watchtower she felt the Anchor flare to life and heard it crackle. She slowed her pace, hearing the discussion ahead of her halt as they registered her presence. Pushing through the pain—and knowing exactly what it meant—Ellana walked out into the brisk open air at the top of the watchtower and saw Abelas, Zevanni, and Solas together, huddled in a half-circle with their backs to the wind.

"Vhenan," Solas greeted her at once, his blue eyes skipping over her form, doubtless in search of the sling she often wore if she was carrying Sylvun out with her. "What of Sylvun?" he asked her a heartbeat later, brow furrowing.

"I left him with mamae," she said, then, seeing his expression warp with worry, she added, "And Rinaya. And Shila. And Deshanna. And Var. And Taehon. And Negan. And—"

Zevanni snorted, interrupting her with a laugh. "You can relax, hahren. Lavellan is just as paranoid about the elfling's safety as you are." She looked to Ellana with a smirk. "What is that? Half of your clan to guard him?"

Tucking her left hand behind her to hide the glowing Anchor, which still stung her with sharp, shooting pains, Ellana grinned back at Zevanni. "Not just to guard him, but to feed him. He's a ravenous little wolf."

"Ah," Zevanni rejoined with an answering grin of her own. "And what do the men feed da'fen? Halla milk?"

Shrugging good-naturedly, Ellana said, "We have to start them young."

Abelas grimaced with distaste and Zevanni glowered at him when she noticed. "What? Allergic to halla milk?"

Solas glowered at her a moment and then, eyes flicking to Ellana, said, "Tell Ellana what your scouts have found and then leave us."

Staring at Zevanni, Ellana didn't miss the swift frown of disapproval that crossed the Elvhen woman's face as she shot Solas an unreadable look. But the pause was only a few heartbeats in length and then Zevanni squared her shoulders and met Ellana's expectant gaze like a dutiful soldier reporting to a superior officer. "We've been using wisps to communicate and scout beyond the ice wall. So far we've learned the Orlesians show no sign of mustering for another attack. But, more importantly, we've seen through the wisps that the Orlesian bastards aren't the only shemlen in the area."

Ellana arched an eyebrow. Glancing to Solas and Abelas to judge their reactions, she saw nothing ominous and felt a flutter of something hopeful in her chest. "And…?" she prompted Zevanni.

Zevanni flashed a lopsided smile. "It's Inquisition, but not an army and not exactly a scouting party."

Solas picked up where she'd left off, clearing his throat to add, "I have seen the impressions of the Inquisition forces from the wisps and I believe it to be a diplomatic force." He tilted his head forward. "Perhaps with a scouting unit as well."

Quashing the bubble of excitement still swelling in her chest, Ellana kept her expression neutral. "Do you think Josephine has come to negotiate a ceasefire between us and the Orlesians? I'd really rather not have to deal with an Exalted March."

"Nor would I," Solas agreed with a smile. He turned slightly and indicated the wall with a jerk of his chin. "But whatever and whoever comes, we will hold." Looking back at Ellana he narrowed his eyes, sobering. "I will hold the city and the palace in whatever manner you deem best."

Again Ellana caught the brief flash of disapproval from Zevanni and felt herself stiffen as she realized now what the previous silent exchange had been about. Solas was committing to following her lead the way he had with Mythal—to become her general and let his power be leashed to her will. Zevanni clearly objected to that idea, but Abelas on Solas' other side wore the ghost of a smile over his lips. The former sentinel seemed more at ease than Ellana remembered having seen him in…well, perhaps ever. The animosity between Solas and Abelas wasn't as palpable as she recalled it being previously, though Solas stood closer to Zevanni than he did the former sentinel.

"Ma serannas," Ellana said with a significant nod of her head to show respect. Then she followed it with a warm smile. "Hahren." She felt the smile on her lips wavering as she remembered that already the better part of five-hundred Orlesians had died in this battle, and hundreds or possibly thousands had been killed in the initial takeover of the palace and Halamshiral. Solas would say the blame was his alone, but Ellana knew that it was only the power of the Anchor that'd given him the confidence to take action.

Her hand ached, crackling faintly as she considered it. The blood of those hundreds, perhaps thousands, was at least partially her fault. She'd fled from Solas rather than be complicit in that crime…but abandoning him forever meant betraying the People. They'd never take more than the Emerald Graves without the Anchor and without Solas the People could never hope to hold the lands they'd claimed.

Did the ends really justify the means? The smile fell from her lips as she looked away, back toward the palace and thought of tiny, innocent Sylvun. If the end result was a world where her son and the People were free…Yes.

"Vhenan?" Solas asked her, and then used her name instead. "Ellana?"

Turning her head to regard him again, Ellana drew in a steadying breath and nodded. "I'd prefer we continue to show discretion with the Orlesians. We act in defense only. These lands were not taken in a noble struggle, but we must behave responsibly if we hope to garner any sympathy or respect for the People—both here and throughout the rest of Thedas."

"An excellent point," Abelas said, the trace of a smile growing unmistakable.

Solas nodded to her in acknowledgement. "Indeed." Motioning at Zevanni and Abelas then, he said, "Leave us. Continue working with the wisps to scout beyond the wall. Report anything of interest to me at once."

"Fen'Harel enansal," Zevanni said and then whipped around and lunged off the edge of the watchtower, her figure blurring as she Fade leapt downward. The action still made Ellana inhale sharply, her heart pounding at the suddenness of it. Abelas moved to follow her, but his pace was slower and more relaxed. With a whine-pop noise the former sentinel was soon gone as well, leaving Ellana alone with Solas with nothing but the wind and its continuous whistling.

Solas stepped closer to her, reaching out to cup her cheek with one hand. "You are troubled," he observed.

"I am," she admitted with a sigh. She let herself close her eyes and lean into his touch. His hand was warm and dry. The rough patches of callouses on his palm and fingers had become familiar to her over the years, though she wasn't sure when or how.

"Dirthera," he told her softly, close enough that his warm breath puffed against her forehead. He wore the wolf headdress as he almost always did now—although he took it off when visiting her and Sylvun. His armor managed to gleam despite the grayness of the day and the gloomy skies overhead. Even now Solas fueled the weather, the constant prickle of his magic and the Fade becoming one on her skin. She'd grown numb to it but whenever she became aware of it again the enormity of his power would make her dizzy. She, meanwhile, had to put her full concentration into something as tiny as disabling a rune spell.

She sighed again, opening her eyes to stare up at him. "I…I am afraid for the future. I'm afraid for the People beyond the Emerald Graves. What you did here when you took Halamshiral and the winter palace…" She took a step back from him, leaving his touch. "I write to the Divine and plead with her to grant us the Dales because the People deserve it, because we have earned it many times over. Yet the rest of Thedas will not remember that elves fought with Andraste to end the tyranny of Tevinter. And they will condemn me for aiding you and forget that I saved Thedas. They will only see what you have done here and they will make all of our people suffer for it."

Solas stared at her, his expression one of melancholy. Slowly, he closed his eyes. "I know, vhenan. I acted rashly. I cannot change it, only attempt to atone." Opening his eyes, he met her gaze with a grave look. "I know you will doubt my resolve to follow your will. You have every reason based on my past behavior to suspect me. I cannot promise we will not disagree, perhaps vehemently at times. Yet…"

He broke off shaking his head as he closed the distance between them and reached for her. Ellana let him, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily as Solas cupped her cheeks in his hands and gazed into her eyes, determination making the blue dark and bold. "Ar lath ma, vhenan. I know your wisdom and heart are what the People need, but they are what I need as well. Whatever your counsel, whatever your will, I will enact it. The world you envision for the People and for our son is a far gentler place than the one I would have created. So it will be my honor and my pleasure to serve you as I once did Mythal."

She nodded, reaching up one palm to clasp his hand against her cheek. "Ma serannas, emma lath." Swallowing the lump in her throat as she pushed aside the thought of the past mistakes and of the lives she and the Anchor had inadvertently cut short, she found the strength to smile. The sincerity in his blue eyes stirred something warm and tentative inside her—hope.

Solas edged closer, his lips brushing tenderly against her own and Ellana returned the kiss, deepening it. His hand slid around to the back of her neck, warm and welcome against the chill in the air and Ellana pressed tighter to him. Her frame had been growing leaner every day it seemed, making it possible again to tuck her body to his as her heart picked up its beat inside her chest. Solas' other hand dropped to her waist and slid around her hips.

Just then Ellana felt the tickling, warm brush of magic swell over her and almost simultaneously she heard the whine-pop of someone Fade stepping or leaping. Solas broke the kiss, turning to look at the side of the tower facing the winter palace. Ellana, still breathing heavily from the kiss, blinked as she saw Mathrel perched on the low railing there.

"Fen'Harel," he said and then nodded to her as well. "Lady Lavellan." He half-hopped, half-stepped from the railing, landing sprightly and with the grace of a cat. "I've come from the rookery in the palace," he told them both and extended his hand to reveal a small scroll—of the kind carried by ravens.

Solas, who was closer just slightly, took the proffered message and quickly opened it, blue eyes scanning over it. Ellana watched his expression, trying to avoid giving into the temptation to chew her lip with nervousness. As Solas' lips tugged upward into a small, tentative smile, Ellana felt that same sensation of hope flutter in her chest. "What is it?"

Passing the scroll to her, Solas said, "It appears as though Divine Victoria has come through for us after all."

Ellana read over the scroll, her lips half-forming the words. The scroll was in Leliana's hand, familiar to Ellana after years of reading the spymaster's missives. It was short and succinct, but her eyes kept widening as she read with shock.

Her Holiness Divine Victoria counsels Empress Celene of Orlais to capitulate and end hostilities with the Dales. The declaration signed recently by Her Majesty granting the elven people their former homeland of the Dales is found to be legal and binding by the Chantry. Inquisition forces have been dispatched to Halamshiral to initiate peace negotiations.

Beneath the note in Leliana's writing Ellana saw more in a newer, different script that was less familiar to her.

Andraste, Bride of the Maker, promised the Dales to the elven people for their service to Thedas and to the Maker in defeating Tevinter. I, Divine Victoria, in light of overwhelming evidence, declare that Lady Lavellan, former Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, is beloved of the Maker. In recognition for her efforts in saving Thedas, it is the Maker's will that the elven people be granted the Dales.

Ellana's hands shook as she lowered the scroll and she found herself blinking back tears. Seeing Mathrel's curious look she handed the note off to him and did her best to chuckle as she flexed her left hand. "It appears the Anchor will never run out of uses."

Solas stared at her, a warm smile over his lips as he shook his head. "It was not the Anchor that saved Thedas from Corypheus," he reminded her. "And, doubtless, the Divine would not make such a proclamation without hearing you had returned to lead the People."

"What if the peace talks are just another shemlen trap?" Mathrel asked, growling as he rerolled the scroll.

"Then we will defend ourselves," Solas replied with a slight shake of his head.

"Cassandra wouldn't use her position to lie like this," Ellana said with a deep, shuddering breath. She was still lightheaded with shock and relief. "This is real."

"But there will be concessions, I suspect," Solas said, tucking his hands behind his back and squaring his shoulders. "However, luckily the Divine, the Inquisition, and the empress all know that you had no part in or desire for the rebellion in Halamshiral."

"Will that matter?" Mathrel asked with a frown.

"It may prove crucial," Solas hedged, a contemplative scowl spreading over his features. "They will likely demand I be punished in some way."

"We do not yield to shemlen demands," Mathrel said with a snarl.

Solas murmured, "If the punishment is merely that I remain in a position of obscurity within the Dales…"

"Or they could demand your imprisonment or death, just as the Divine did back before Orlais attacked," Mathrel reminded them.

Clenching her jaw at the underlying uncertainty of the situation, Ellana reached out and touched Solas' forearm, giving it a squeeze. "Regardless, the Divine has granted us the Dales. We will not make any concessions that harm you or anyone. If they renege on the Divine's word we will simply take the Dales, emma lath. They cannot stop us."

"That is why they are capitulating," Mathrel grumbled with a shake of his head. "Not because they have suddenly decided to be generous and remember that the People have saved Thedas twice over now. Their precious Andraste would never have defeated Tevinter without Shartan's help." He motioned at Ellana. "And the darkspawn magister would have destroyed the Veil and inadvertently unleashed the Evanuris long ago without you."

"Don't forget Inquisitor Ameridan," Ellana murmured with a sad frown. She shot Solas a sidelong look to judge his reaction to Mathrel's comment about her saving Thedas from Corypheus. They all knew that Corypheus had only been a problem because of Solas. Technically, Ellana had saved Thedas twice over—once from Corypheus and then again from Solas' plans.

For his part Solas seemed neutral, opaque as he looked to her and motioned toward the winter palace. "I believe it'd be best if you sent a reply, vhenan. Both the Divine and Leliana will recognize your script and I doubt they'd enjoy hearing from me." He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I rather hope they do insist on my becoming a recluse, forbidden to leave the Dales. I should like to retire from the world stage as it were."

Ellana smirked, arching an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Solas smiled back at her, the expression genuine. "Indeed. I would devote my time to serving the People by shaping the Fade in peaceful ways, and to teaching the next generation." He paused, eyes crinkling with humor. "Particularly our son. Of course, should the People need me I would serve, regardless of whatever agreements are in place."

Mathrel, who'd been making a face to silently express his disapproval, now blinked as new understanding dawned. Ellana chuckled. "Then perhaps we can suggest this so-called punishment of yours as capitulation at the negotiations."

Solas nodded at her, the coy smile spreading wider over his lips. "Perhaps we shall."

Next Chapter:

"Indeed," Cassandra agreed solemnly. Turning her head to glare at Briala and Celene, she said, "I grow tired of listening to this distraction. We did not come here to speak of the Anchor or question Lady Lavellan's divinity. Whether she sees the Maker's hand in the events of three years ago does not matter. I see His hand and that is why I have made this decision regarding the Dales."

"The divine hand you see in all this, Your Holiness, isn't the Maker's." Briala shot a glare past Ellana, toward Solas. Her look carried a dark, unmistakable triumph in it. "It is the Dread Wolf's. The elven orb Corypheus used to destroy the conclave and that marked Lavellan came from Fen'Harel."