A/N: I'm possibly, probably coming down with my hubby's cold. As such, my patience for editing is pretty limited this update. Ir abelas, readers. These chapters have been influenced quite a bit by Dragon Age The Masked Empire, by Patrick Weekes and really changed my understanding of the Orlesian Civil War, Briala, Celene, and Gaspard. Not to mention I'm still mourning Felassan. He was a footnote in my understanding of Solas before reading it, but afterward...daaaamn. If you haven't read it, I recommend it, except that you'll want to strangle Solas afterward.
As always, thank you to my readers and reviewers! Two more active chapters after this and then the fluff chapter...I think. I have nearly five full chapters done of my next idea so I think that will be coming as soon as this one is over. Since that one will be a pre-Inquisition tale...Felassan will be alive...*giggles* OK, on with the story!
Forty-Eight
The Marquise's Motivations
The negotiations were set to begin only a few days later in the plains outside Halamshiral and beyond the enormous ice walls Solas had cast to protect their holdings. When the appointed day arrived Ellana and Solas used an eluvian in Halamshiral to exit the city, emerging through a mirror hidden in a ruin to the south and then planned on marching north to the plains. Half of Lavellan clan came with them, mounted on halla and harts brought in through eluvians from the Emerald Graves.
Again Ellana found herself on a massive red hart with Solas sitting behind her, just as they had been during their journey to the winter palace for the previous false negotiations. But this time, however, she carried her baby in a sling over her front rather than in her belly. In the open air of the Dales, with the wind stirring her hair and caressing her skin, Ellana could forget the tension in her chest, worrying that this might prove to be just another trap.
When they passed through the mirror the loss of the Fade and the return of the Veil over them seemed to weigh everyone down. Ellana felt the Veil over her as a strangling, invisible hand that quashed the magic core within her. What had been warm and energetic became cold and empty—a void. Solas shuddered and let out a gasp, his hands tightening into fists over the hart's reins. Even tiny Sylvun seemed to feel it as he woke in his sling and began crying.
"Shh, ma ishalen," she tried to soothe him, digging under her light shawl to access the sling.
Solas prodded the hart further up the grassy slope to join the other mounted warriors who'd gone before them—including Lyris and Mathrel and Abelas. Mahanon followed behind through the eluvian, making it thrum. Ellana spared him a quick smile when she saw her brother looking to her with concern, doubtless hearing Sylvun's ongoing cries.
Turning her attention back to the baby, Ellana found Sylvun squirming and kicking, his eyes squeezed shut and his little face completely red as his crying intensified. She tried to rock him with one arm while with the other hand she dug into her surcoat to open it in order to comfort him with milk. But Sylvun wasn't hungry—possibly for the first time in his life, she thought wryly—and kept letting go of her nipple to turn his head and cry again.
"I don't know what's wrong," she said, a little note of panic in her voice.
"I may have an idea," Solas said and reached around her to lay his palm over the sling. A moment later Ellana saw and felt the warm tingle of the magic he channeled. Sylvun's crying diminished almost immediately, becoming whimpering at first and then petering out into silence. Gradually Solas let the magic subside and then dropped his hand away to retake the reins. Sylvun whimpered at the loss of his father's touch once but then settled, his tiny breaths puffing against Ellana's skin beneath the shawl.
"Well," Ellana murmured quietly as she idly stroked the soft auburn hair atop Sylvun's head. "It's exactly as I suspected. He's a perfect little replica of his babae—except for the hair."
Solas chuckled, leaning forward to nuzzle her ear slightly. "Because he enjoys magic?"
"Because he already misses the Fade without even knowing what it is," she said, letting herself sag backward against Solas. "And because he's your spitting image."
"I'm sure he has more of his mamae in him than meets the eye," Solas countered. "But in respect to his magic, I suspect he will be powerful, regardless of whether he is in or out of the Dales and the Fade." He sighed then, twisting around to observe the eluvian and the rest of their retinue of bodyguards and advisors and clucked his tongue, encouraging the hart to move forward again. "I do not like taking him with us."
"I know," Ellana agreed, still stroking a finger over his downy hair. She clutched him tighter as the hart began to trot, jostling them. "But after what you told me Abelas said about Mythal I can't help but think the safest place for him is with us." Abelas had been providing Solas feedback on what he knew of Mythal's end goals and, based on what they knew of her thwarted attempt to put a compulsion on Ellana, it seemed likely she'd try again. They both knew their weakest spot was Sylvun and according to Solas, Mythal had a longstanding history of using children as hostages against political enemies or rivals.
"I agree, vhenan," Solas said. "Though I cannot help but wish we had another option." The only other choice they'd had was to split up, leaving Solas behind in the winter palace to watch over Sylvun while Ellana faced off with the politicians in the plains to hopefully solidify peace. But if the negotiations proved to be as deadly as the previous ones, Ellana might well wind up dead without Solas. His talents, even with the Veil in place, were enough to give everyone additional peace of mind.
As the hart crested the hill, following Mathrel and Lyris' mounts, Ellana saw Zevanni and Var ahead of them out in the rolling hills of the plains. Those two and a few scouts had come through first to ensure the way was clear. A green light glimmered in the sky—a veilfire orb to act as a beacon and alert them the way was safe ahead.
In the distance to Ellana's far left and ahead was the blue-white ice wall surrounding Halamshiral and the winter palace. The day was warm and clear, the sun shining brightly so that the ice gleamed. It was melting now that Solas' had stopped the blizzard and the chill in the air, but the walls were so massive that it'd take weeks likely for them to melt without the aid of mages.
"Let us be off then," Solas said and prodded the hart into a gallop. Mathrel and Lyris both took point and from behind her Ellana heard the thunder of hooves and the high-pitched cries of the halla coming up the rear.
Clutching Sylvun closer protectively, Ellana gazed ahead and hoped this wouldn't be a trap.
The meeting took place in a burned out, abandoned farmhouse in the open plains beyond the city, with nothing but shrubs and bushes dotting the hills between the cultivated rows of what would've been crop fields. That should have ensured no hidden armies could lie in ambush, but Solas didn't doubt that the surroundings left plenty of opportunity for assassins to lie in wait.
Their forces camped south of the farmhouse, amidst the rows of barren, crushed plants from the previous year's crops. From their vantage point atop the small curved hill, Solas could see the camp of Inquisition and Chantry forces intermixed to the northeast. To the northwest was a larger force of chevaliers. The Orlesian army encamped on the opposite side of Halamshiral and the palace had retreated days previous, but Solas suspected they could easily double back and catch them. He sent scouts from Ellana's clan to conduct reconnaissance to the north—around the human forces—and to the south as well to ensure their path for retreat wasn't cut off. With the scouts Solas sent wisps as well, to ensure that should the worst happen and the elves were killed word would still reach them.
Shortly after the sun rose to its zenith, marking midday, Solas rode with Ellana and a small retinue of bodyguards. For the sake of political expediency, Solas had agreed to ride separately from her, borrowing Var's hart and taking up a flanking position. Ellana had dressed in her Dalish scout armor, which would be familiar to the Divine and anyone who'd seen her wear it as Inquisitor. Solas, meanwhile, had considered appearing sans the wolf headdress to be more demure and nondescript, but he'd dismissed the idea when Ellana rejected it.
They had to strike a delicate balance in these negotiations, assuming they were real anyway. The Divine may have granted them the Dales, but Orlais wouldn't give them up simply because the Chantry declared it. The wolf headdress would remind the empress unsubtly of the power she faced and had yet to defeat in even the slightest way. Ellana suspected—as did Solas—that Orlais would demand a concession for his actions at Halamshiral.
Let them make demands, he thought to himself with a dry smile. They cannot stop us.
At the farmhouse they slowed their mounts to a trot, approaching with caution. Solas could see the Inquisition and Chantry forces arrive first, their banners flying in the breeze. Templars flanked Cassandra, who wore the Divine's full armor regalia in resplendent gold. Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen had also accompanied her with a handful of heavily armored Inquisition soldiers as guards.
Cassandra's oval, egg-shaped helmet glimmered in the high sun as she watched their approach, dipping her head in a respectful nod as Ellana drew closer. "Lady Lavellan," she called out in greeting. "You look well."
"As do you, Cassandra," Ellana replied and Solas could hear the smile in her voice.
Even from several meters away, Solas could see the way Cassandra's eyes dropped over Ellana's body, inspecting her. After a second she arched her brow. "The last time we spoke, you were in a great deal of pain from the Anchor. I trust it has come under control since then?"
Solas stiffened, clenching his jaw. Was she fishing for information? Weaknesses? Or was it truly just curiosity? The humans knew the Anchor was vital to their success. Solas couldn't stop himself from envisioning the lot of their forces rushing to Ellana to subdue her and quickly cut off her hand. His core bristled and bubbled with anxiety and he kept his hands clenched on the reins to keep himself from tossing up a barrier over her preemptively.
"It's been stabilized," Ellana said, though she didn't explain any further and didn't raise her hand to display it.
Cassandra nodded. "Good. I am glad to hear it."
Leliana spoke then, her voice surprisingly bright and cheery. "And your little one?"
"A boy," she said with a tight edge to her words. Ellana's hart shifted, stamping its foot, a sure sign it picked up on its rider's tension.
Leliana clicked her tongue, smiling. "Wonderful news. I'm sure our scribe will be most pleased."
"Scribe?" Ellana parroted. As if on cue the drumming sound of hoof beats reached them, echoing as the Orlesian group charged down the hillside from the northwest to join them.
Leliana's smile turned enigmatic. "You'll see."
Solas huffed, quiet enough that no one would hear it. He could already see that one of the riders with the Orlesians wasn't human or elven—he was a dwarf. Ellana had caught on too as she laughed with real emotion now. "Varric's here?" She shook her head. "I thought he'd have returned to Kirkwall by now."
"Apparently not," Cassandra replied with a snort as she turned her head to watch the Orlesian group draw nearer.
Soon Solas could see the chevaliers, their helmets complete with feather tassels, and Briala and Celene in full armor as well. Briala wore something light and flexible with supple leather, daggers at her waist and a bow on her back—as if she expected a fight or planned to serve as one of Celene's bodyguards. Both she and Celene wore masks, but Briala's left her eyes and mouth visible, allowing Solas to see her glowering at him and Ellana. Her hostility was like needles on his skin, making him bristle. She hadn't been this way during her time as a prisoner at Halamshiral, or if she had, she'd done a remarkably good job at hiding it.
"I am pleased to see everyone has come," Cassandra said in greeting, nodding her respect to the empress and the marquise. "I suggest we dismount and begin inside." Twisting on her horse, Cassandra shot a quick look to Leliana nearby. "Only those needed for the negotiation are to enter. All others are to remain outside." She swept her gaze over Ellana and Solas before quickly staring at Celene and staying there. "There should be no need for weapons or bodyguards at a delegation devoted to peace."
Celene jerked her chin, her voice ripe with disdain. "With all due respect, Your Holiness, we find your stipulations to be inequitable at the onset." She stabbed a finger in Solas' direction. "There is no way to disarm him."
Cassandra made a face, her lips pinching into a thin, hard line. "She is right," she observed, looking toward Ellana and then Solas.
It was easy to see where this would go—Cassandra would ask him to remain outside as a concession to Celene as he was the only mage present—but Solas refused to let it play out that way. It'd be far too easy for a rogue like Briala to sneak in a hidden dagger, or for Celene to use some enchanted bauble like a ring or a necklace. They could strike Ellana down while she was alone and vulnerable without his protection.
"Perhaps you could remain out here," Cassandra suggested with a frown.
Ellana twisted at the waist to glance over her shoulder at him. Her expression was one of concern and unease. Her hart stamped its foot and snorted, shifting its weight impatiently from side to side.
"Perhaps," Solas conceded with a small, cold smile. "But I refuse. However, in light of Her Majesty's most astute observation that I cannot be disarmed, may I propose a compromise?"
Celene's mask hid whatever reaction she might have had, but Briala's lips twitched downward in a frown. Cassandra arched a brow and said, "Go on."
"As we cannot all be disarmed, might I suggest we conduct them without disarming? We can all be comfortable in our safety in that case."
Cassandra began, "If that is agreeable to—"
"It is not," Celene insisted. "Such an arrangement is hardly equitable." Her head pivoted slightly to focus on Cassandra, though her helmet with its elaborate mask made it almost impossible to see whether she actually looked at the Divine or not. "We should not need to remind you, Most Holy, that this…Dread Wolf, is no ordinary mage. No weapon we carry to combat him would be sufficient protection should he betray and attack us."
"This entire argument is a moot point," Ellana shouted, apparently losing her patience. "Because there is no way to disarm either of us." She raised her left hand, flexing it open and closed quickly to remind them of the Anchor, though it was currently dormant. "And unless you expect to conduct these negotiations without me here, Your Majesty, I'd suggest you agree to Fen'Harel's compromise."
"Well said," Cassandra murmured before looking again to Celene. "Are we agreed, then?"
Celene was silent for a long moment and then, slowly, she nodded once. "We agree."
"Then let us begin," Cassandra said.
Ellana kept her chin up and her shoulders squared as the group settled around the folding table the Chantry forces had brought with them. Varric had supplied a stool and come equipped with parchment, ink, and quills ready for the occasion. He sat to Cassandra's left in the center of the table, quickly putting his writing tools in order. Ellana expected him to clap his hands and say something snarky or clever when he'd finished to signify an official start to the proceedings, but instead he merely flashed a quick, tight smile and looked to the Divine.
"By the authority granted to me by the Maker, and on behalf of Andraste and the Chantry, I hereby decree the Dales be returned to the elven people." Cassandra's brown eyes slid to Celene, who stood to her right at the end of the table, opposite Ellana's position. "In accordance with this, I charge you, Your Majesty, with the solemn task of withdrawing any Orlesian influence from the region."
"We do not recognize that you have the authority to dictate our affairs for us," Celene said in a stuffy voice. "The Dales have been part of Orlais for eight hundred years, since the Glory Age—when it was taken in the Chantry's Exalted March. We find your contention to ignore the events of the past by your predecessors to be—"
"I am not ignoring the events of the past," Cassandra interrupted her snappishly and with a glare that could kill—the kind she normally reserved for Varric when she suspected him of duplicity. "I am righting them in light of current events. I have seen with my own eyes how history is rewritten and changed to reflect what is popular, not what is right. I refuse to add to that."
"In light of current events?" Celene asked, a snarl in her voice. "Such as the sacking of Halamshiral and my winter palace by that cretin over there?" She stabbed a finger across the table to where Solas lingered just behind Ellana. "You wish to reward these heathen savages who have never believed in the light of the Maker? Blasphemy!"
Ellana's hands clenched into fists at her side and she sensed Solas tensing behind her, likely biting back some sharp retort. They'd agreed before leaving the palace that it'd be best if Solas spoke as little as possible because it'd undermine Ellana's authority. Everyone present understood Ellana had been absent for the rebellion at Halamshiral, having opposed it so vehemently that she'd refused to take part in it. They hoped her return to Solas' side would bolster the legitimacy of their claim once more, but they had to convince both Cassandra and Celene that Ellana was the true power in the Dales and Solas had been leashed.
But that didn't mean they had to demurely accept Celene's insults.
"Perhaps you've forgotten," Ellana snapped, glaring at Celene. "But you owe this heathen savage your crown."
"Incorrect," Celene retorted at once. "I owe the Inquisition my crown." She nodded toward Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine who'd taken up positions near the door a short ways from the table. "Unless I am mistaken, Lavellan, you are no longer part of the Inquisition."
"Yet it was Lady Lavellan who saved all of Thedas," Cassandra interjected in a sharp tone. Motioning toward Ellana, she added, "And she has been touched by Andraste, blessed by the Maker with the Anchor in our time of need. You cannot deny that." Though Cassandra knew the Anchor was bestowed as part of the orb Corypheus had carried, she'd always chosen to view it as a gift from the Maker. She saw providence rather than luck or chance.
"But she is no follower of the Chantry, no believer in the Maker," Briala said, speaking for the first time. "How unusual that the Maker would bestow such a strange, magical gift to a Dalish elf—but where did the Anchor come from?" She cocked her head to one side, as if truly perplexed and intrigued, but the cold gleam in her round, dark eyes seemed to freeze Ellana's blood in her veins. Celene and Briala should have known little of where the Anchor originated as the details of Adamant had been kept quiet.
Josephine started to speak, "I do not see how—"
"It is relevant, Ambassador," Briala said with a cold smile curling her lips. "I assure you." Nodding toward Cassandra, she explained, "Her Holiness contends that Lady Lavellan was blessed by the Maker and should be granted the Dales now as a reward. I understand the underlying desire is for peace, but the Chantry has no place in making such declarations when Lavellan was never chosen." She paused a moment, her tone dropping into something almost gleeful with spite. "Not by the Maker or Andraste, anyway."
"I have never claimed to be the Herald," Ellana shot back, frowning as she tried to keep herself from shaking with tension. Her heart hammered on her ribcage. She knew where this was going. The Anchor burned in its seam along her palm and she clenched her hand and tucked it behind her back, as if she could make the others forget about it. "And I am no Andrastian, but I did save Thedas. Whether I had divine aid or not, it does not change what I did as Inquisitor." Ellana bit her lip as she thought, And what I did again for Thedas when I swayed Fen'Harel away from destroying the Veil. How many times was she going to have to save Thedas, anyway?
"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."
The heavy silence that followed seemed to crush Ellana as all eyes flew to them both with varying levels of shock, pain at the betrayal, and rage. For a long moment no one made a sound. Even breathing had seemingly come to a stop. Ellana saw Leliana's grim expression and recalled that Scout Harding had warned her the spymaster had already suspected this about Solas. Yet, apparently, judging by the shock and rage mottling Cassandra's face, it seemed the spymaster had been somewhat mum about her suspicion. Why? Had she been unsure of it? Dismissed it? If Leliana hadn't been confident enough in it enough to share the thought, why was Briala? How had she learned of it?
Varric was the first to break the silence, groaning as he cursed under his breath. "Shit, Chuckles…"
"Is this true?" Cassandra demanded, her hands clenching at her sides as she looked between Ellana and Solas, searching them both.
If Ellana had been a devoted player of the Game, determined to serve the People no matter what, she knew this would be the moment she should feign outrage and turn on Solas. She could disavow any knowledge of his involvement in the conclave, rather than admit she'd chosen to forgive his part in it because she understood what'd driven him to do it and she knew he'd not seen their world as real. The Solas standing at her back was not that same man…
Or so she hoped.
Turning to meet his eye, Ellana saw his gaze flick to hers. His eyes glinted faintly in the deep shadow of his wolf headdress, but she could see the tension in his shoulders and feel the invisible weight of his magic, ready to explode.
Instead of answering Cassandra, Solas spoke in a low, dangerous voice directed at Briala. "Tell me, da'len, what did Mythal promise you?"
Mythal, Ellana thought and restrained her gasp, just barely, as she made the connection. Of course…
Briala flinched, her mouth falling open for an instant before snapping shut. "I don't know what you mean, but I find it interesting that you have neglected to answer the Divine's question, Fen'Harel."
"As do I," Cassandra snarled, visibly shaking with her fury.
"We contend that Lavellan was never chosen by the Maker or even by chance," Celene said, haughty and with an air of confident superiority. "But was, in fact, in league with this monster all along with the final goal of tricking Most Holy and myself into handing over the Dales."
"That's ridiculous," Ellana shouted, gawking at the empress even as she felt her face flare with the heat of rage. How could they think anyone could plot that far ahead?
"Fen'Harel is the Lord of Tricksters," Briala put in with a smug smile.
The Inquisition humans seemed perturbed by this latest suggestion, their eyes landing on Ellana with doubt. Cassandra and Varric looked to her too, the question in their faces unspoken as they had to ask themselves whether everything they'd shared with her as Inquisitor had been a lie.
"You cannot actually believe this nonsense," Ellana pleaded, staring at them. "Solas and I had never met before the conclave."
"And what proof do you have of that?" Celene demanded with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"None, of course," Ellana growled. "Just the word of myself and my clan. But it's preposterous to think anyone could have believed I would become the leader of a human organization. A Chantry affiliated organization. It was far more likely I'd wind up executed as a scapegoat."
"I believe you, Lavender," Varric said with a grunting laugh. "I met you at the same time as Chuckles and I know people. You two hadn't ever met before." He shook his head and tapped Cassandra's bicep with the back of his meaty hand. "You remember—they didn't even like each other at first. Elves never get along."
Cassandra's expression softened. "Yes, I remember. You were my prisoner, but you agreed to help in any way you could." She pivoted slightly, pinning Solas with a narrow-eyed glare that was as much scrutiny as lingering rage. "And you…the Breach frightened you. That was real…" Shaking her head, she suddenly turned and snarled at Celene and Briala. "What was this about Mythal?"
Briala frowned. "You do not believe me? You do not care that he is the one who is truly responsible for killing Divine Justinia and thousands of others at the conclave?"
"I do care," Cassandra growled. "But I also know that whatever the truth, Solas was genuine in his desire to help and Lavellan would have died without his intervention. I cannot believe he desired the outcome, even if he was responsible for the conclave." Frowning as she looked at Ellana, she added, "And it is clear to me Ellana places the true fault of Justinia's death on Corypheus and has forgiven Solas his involvement, whatever it may have been."
Hearing that Cassandra was willing to follow Ellana's lead left her dizzy with relief. She stared at Cassandra, dumbfounded and with her thoughts scattered. "Ma serannas," she murmured, blinking as she realized she'd accidentally thanked the former Seeker in elven.
"Enough," Celene snarled with a sideways slash of her hand. "We grow tired of this. If you will not see the truth for what it is, then at least you must consider that in light of this new information, the threat of Fen'Harel must be ended."
"There need be no threat," Cassandra said with an exasperated huff. She cut a quick glare over toward Solas and then Ellana. "Am I correct in understanding that you will be content with the Dales? The elven uprisings throughout Thedas will end should we arrive at an agreement here?"
"We merely seek a homeland of our own," Ellana confirmed with a somber nod. "As my people always have and as Andraste herself promised us. We have faced endless persecution and subjugation under human rule." Ellana glared at the empress now, biting out her next words. "Even in nations with rulers who make grandiose claims of elevating the People only to slaughter them at the first sign of unrest."
Beside the empress, Briala's lips twisted in a brief scowl. She hadn't forgotten Celene's butchery in Halamshiral before the Orlesian Civil War. Well, that was good, because Ellana and the People hadn't forgotten it either.
Celene squared her shoulders, clasping her shining, gauntleted hands in front of her. "I make no apologies for putting down the rebellion in Halamshiral."
"Just as you make no apologies for repeatedly trying to have ma vhenan and myself killed during your mock peace negotiations?" Solas quipped dryly from behind Ellana.
With a sharp breath inward and a small jerk of her head, Celene ignored his comment and instead changed the subject. "In the interest of peace, we are prepared to relinquish the Dales to the elven people to meet Most Holy's decree, but only on condition that certain concessions are made."
"Such as?" Ellana asked, crossing her arms over her chest only to wince and quickly drop her arms back to her sides. Compressing her breasts was a bad idea considering she was now a nursing mother.
"The Marquise must be in a prominent position of power in this new elven homeland," Celene pronounced, tilting her head backward. Her full face mask glittered in the midday light peaking in through the holes in the roof of the farmhouse.
This move made perfect sense. Briala would be Celene's puppet, giving her leverage inside the newly independent and elven-ruled nation. The only question would be whether Briala actually intended to act in Celene's and Orlais' interests, or if she would immediately betray the empress. Knowing Briala, either option was possible.
Ellana nodded without hesitation, glancing quickly toward Briala to see her wearing a tight, unreadable expression. "Of course. All of the People are welcome." Even the ones who betray us, she thought sourly.
Now Celene leaned forward slightly, the minor body language adjustment and the drop in her voice suggesting she relished this next stipulation. "And, of course, Fen'Harel must be appropriately punished for his crimes." She turned toward Cassandra. "What do you envision as a suitable punishment for the elf who stylizes himself a god and is responsible for the death of Divine Justinia and thousands of mages and Templars at the conclave? Execution? Should he be burned alive, hung by the neck, or—"
"That is out of the question," Ellana shouted, cutting her off.
"Perhaps another agreement can be reached then," Briala put in, so perfect it seemed rehearsed. "If Fen'Harel will not accept punishment, he must be controlled and reprimanded in some other way." She glared past Ellana toward Solas, needling him with her eyes. "Perhaps if the Chantry held a hostage? I've heard you welcomed a healthy son recently. He could be held by the Chantry in a Circle—"
"Fenedhis," Solas snarled, spitting the curse. "No. Never."
At almost the same time Ellana was interrupting Briala as well. "No, absolutely not. How dare you even suggest such a thing?"
"Easily," Celene retorted with a casual wave of her hand as if pushing Ellana's question and her outrage away like a pesky fly. "It has been a common practice among the nobility for ages. Perhaps it is something you flea-bitten Dalish vagabonds find foreign, but we assure you, the hostage is well treated and held in high-esteem. He'd be educated by the finest Enchanters and—"
"I said no," Ellana shouted, finding herself breathing as fast as if she'd just run a mile at a full-on sprint. "Never. You cannot have my son. I'd sooner die myself." The Anchor crackled, the burning pain crawling up her arm. Ellana barely noticed it but the others all looked to her with widened eyes and Briala and Celene both took a small step backward from the table, their hands going to their weapons.
"Atisha, vhenan," Solas murmured behind her and a moment later she felt his warm hand on her shoulder and heard the slight scuff of his feet over the floor as he stepped to the table and out of the background. The wolf headdress made him a brooding, dark figure, worthy of his Evanuris title. His shadowed eyes glinted out at the others across the table, particularly Celene and Briala.
"I am very familiar with the practice of hostage taking," he began in a low voice, grave with the weight of memory and the promise of violence. "As is your advisor, Lady Marquise. What is her name? Morrigan, perhaps? Or is it Mythal?"
Celene's head pivoted toward Briala, her mask glittering in the few streams of sunlight filtering in through the holes in the burnt-out farmhouse roof. The motion and her body language suggested surprise or puzzlement. Doubtless she recognized Morrigan's name, but likely knew nothing of the witch's association with the elven goddess.
Briala shook her head once. Like Celene she wore a mask, but hers was only a half-mask and showed her nose and eyes clearly, making her much easier to read. "I don't know what you mean," she countered. "But if you will not agree to Her Perfection's conditions then I'm afraid we have no further reason to waste our time here."
Cassandra huffed impatiently. "There must be some compromise we can reach."
"We are prepared to have Fen'Harel disavow any position of power in the Dales," Ellana suggested, shooting Solas a sidelong look. "To remain exiled within the Dales in civic service of the People." She had no intention to actually force Solas to remain imprisoned within the Dales or, should they come under attack, denying him the right to fight as their greatest weapon. But Solas had expressed a willingness to retire already, especially if it eased international tensions.
"Civic service?" Briala asked, arching an eyebrow.
"To atone," Solas said, offering no further explanation. Briala couldn't know, because she hadn't seen the restored Fade, that Solas' talents could be used to design and erect structures in moments. He had endless uses, ways he could serve the People on and off the battlefield. Celene and Briala might imagine the Dales as a savage nation, wild and war-torn for decades or even centuries to come, but Ellana knew that with the Fade restored they would rival Orlais in just a few short years...but only with the help of Solas' talents.
"That hardly seems a suitable punishment for such a monster," Celene intoned, jutting out her chin.
"It is the only concession we can allow," Ellana said, frowning with irritation and still trying to calm the anxious tightness in her chest, the pain that gripped her heart with deep instinctual fear when she thought about Celene demanding her child as a hostage.
"I believe we have had enough of this for one day," Cassandra pronounced, searching over everyone assembled. Leliana and Josephine behind her nodded slightly while Cullen's expression seemed to droop with relief.
"I'll second that, Most Holy," Varric said, grinning tightly up at Cassandra as he dropped his quill. He'd recorded Cassandra's decree regarding the Dales and nothing else, yet his eyes looked exhausted with the lines around his mouth seeming a touch haggard.
"Is there any reason we should continue this?" Ellana asked, glaring toward Celene and Briala. "Because if you will not work with us again…" She cut herself off before she could voice the threat, but her head was pounding with the rush of blood through her ears. They will never yield, she thought with a dark sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt Solas at her side, as solid and cold as ice. We will have to take what we want. What we deserve.
"It is you who have refused to work with us," Celene reminded her, stiff and cool.
"Enough," Cassandra said in an unhappy tone, "Now, if everyone is agreed, we will return tomorrow when everyone has had time to consider today's events."
"You must not let this rile you," Abelas said in his deep, solemn voice. "I suspect Mythal's goals remain unchanged. She seeks to restrain you as she apparently doubts Lady Lavellan's ability to do so."
Solas glared toward the northwest where the Orlesian retinue was camped. A small trail of smoke rose from their fires into the still air of the spring evening. He could smell the scent of roasting meat from within his own encampment but his stomach was too tight with tension to feel any hunger, though he hadn't eaten anything since morning.
"They are fools for listening to her counsel," Mathrel snarled with a derisive snort. "Have they blinded themselves to our effortless defense of Halamshiral? How can they think they have any chance to resist us?"
"They probably don't understand how it was done," Mahanon said with a shake of his head. "They know only that if they remove hahren from us we will lose our advantage."
How easy would it be for rogues to sneak into camp come dusk and night? Solas' fingers wriggled, then curled into fists as he decided he'd need to ward their campsite or else he'd never be able to sleep tonight. Watching the distant figures moving about the Orlesian camp, Solas made out archers patrolling the edge, their postures deceptively casual. They could easily creep closer come nightfall and pelt the elves with a rain of arrows, bypassing Solas' wards.
Fenedhis. It'd be so much easier if he could restore the Fade in this area and use an Aegis ward to protect them from projectiles.
"That is exactly why we should strike now, tonight," Zevanni put in, hissing the suggestion in a near-whisper. "All of our enemy leaders are here, nestled together like chicks in a nest. Vulnerable." She let out a harsh laugh, motioning across the field toward both hills in the north. "These are not Evanuris warriors. They're not even elven. These are shemlen."
Solas' brow furrowed as he watched an Orlesian archer far off in the distance flexing his bow, testing out the string and drawing it in practice. So much easier with the Fade…
When Zevanni reached out and gripped his bicep, squeezing him and then giving him a little shake, Solas blinked and looked to her. Her brown eyes were dark with determination. "Show these shemlen fools what it is to be an enemy of Fen'Harel—of the People."
It would be easy to do as Zevanni advised. There were only a few dozen Orlesians and Solas could wipe them out almost singlehandedly, even with the Veil restraining him. But Zevanni included the Inquisition and Chantry forces in her plans for annihilation, and rightly so. If Solas were to slaughter the Orlesians the Inquisition and the Divine would doubtless turn against him—and Ellana and the People as well. Unless, of course, Ellana could convince Cassandra and the others she'd known nothing about his plans and if Solas let himself be punished afterward. Killing the Orlesians meant losing any hope he had of keeping some human allies.
Ellana would not approve.
Tugging his arm out of Zevanni's grasp, Solas frowned. "That is not an option."
Zevanni huffed with disappointment but said nothing more. She took a step backward, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at the grass underfoot as Solas glanced toward Abelas, who stood just behind him and to the left. "What do you believe Mythal has offered the Marquise?"
"Apologies," Abelas murmured with a dip of his head. "I do not know."
"Perhaps offering the knowledge was enough of a reward in itself," Mahanon said with a contemplative frown. "Halamshiral was her city and we took it. Many of the city elves are still more loyal to her than to you, hahren. Could she be motivated primarily by vengeance?"
Solas pinched his lips together, considering. Briala should have been an ally. She'd served the People before, acting as a trickster in her own right. When Celene had proven herself an untrustworthy guardian of the People, Briala had put aside her own personal feelings in favor of serving and protecting the elven people. Why was she not doing the same now?
The answer seemed obvious: Briala had deemed him, Solas, an unworthy leader for the People.
"She has never trusted you, hahren," Mathrel said. "During the rebellion Orlesian troops came to your room and fought Lyris and I. We believed they sought Lady Lavellan."
Solas nodded at the reminder. "And ma vhenan has told me she encountered and fought Briala's elves as well." He chuckled to himself. "Never truly pick a side. Felassan taught her too well, it seems."
"What?" Mahanon asked.
Solas blinked as he realized he'd mentioned his old friend in front of someone who hadn't known him. He rubbed over his face with one hand and heaved a sigh. Not for the first time he wished he hadn't executed Felassan. He'd been a powerful mage and Dreamer, rivaling Zevanni in power, and his irreverent sense of humor had constantly brightened Solas' more moody days. If only Solas had been more cautious, less impulsive. More compassionate and less coldly cunning. He'd killed Felassan for the sin of realizing this world was real and might be worth saving and now, years later, had long since been converted to the same thinking.
Felassan… Solas saw again Briala's steely, bitter eyes as she glared at him in the more heated exchanges they'd had that afternoon. Was that the look of a cunning woman bent on serving the People, or was it personal? His gut said Briala had chosen Celene's side now over his own definitively, and it likely had less to do with the foci he'd given to Corypheus or her love for Celene and more with the death of her mentor, something Mythal had likely shared with her to poison her against him.
"Nothing, falon," Solas told Mahanon. "But I suspect you are correct about the Marquise's motivations. She may prove unwilling ever to ally with me."
"And what of ma asamalin?" Mahanon asked. What of my sister?
Pivoting slightly to look toward camp where Ellana sat with her mother, sister-in-law, and several other men and women from her clan, Solas smiled slightly. "A very good question."
"We might convince both the empress and the marquise to give in if we posture a little," Mathrel suggested.
Abelas nodded. "With Lady Lavellan leading."
Solas made no reply, still watching Ellana as she fidgeted with the sling she wore, carrying Sylvun. Since they'd returned to camp she'd been attending to their son with a focus Solas knew was borne of maternal fear and instinct. The threat of the Chantry or the Orlesians claiming their tiny son still made Solas' blood boil.
"But they'll know Fen'Harel is the true threat," Zevanni insisted with a snort. "It isn't Lavellan who raised ice walls around Halamshiral."
"No," Mahanon agreed with a note of irritation. "But it was Lana who made that decision. Just as it was Empress Celene who declared war on us, not the shem-warriors she sent to fight us."
The archer on the hill far away was again going through the motions of drawing his bow, aiming off to the west. The thought of an assassin's arrow kept digging into Solas' mind, making him wish for Aegis. If only he had restored the Fade this far out from the city…
Why can't we?
This was still the Dales. They intended to restore the Fade to this area eventually. Why not do it now and remind the humans that if they wanted to fight for this land they'd have to contend with spirits and a landscape that was no longer solid and unchangeable. Well, no longer solid for someone like Solas.
"What was it you said, falon?" Solas asked, turning and locking his gaze with Mathrel. "With some posturing we might convince the empress and Briala to capitulate?"
Mathrel nodded at him, his lips curled slightly at the corners. "You have an idea, hahren?"
Solas smirked back at him. "I do."
Ellana couldn't believe she was doing this. Standing in a depression a short jog south of their campsite, Ellana kept casting nervous glances northward to the hill where she'd left Sylvun with her mother, Rinaya, Lyris, and Mahanon. The entire camp was at attention, with elven warriors, archers, rogues, and mages keeping watch on all sides. No one knew how the humans might choose to react once they realized their elven neighbors had torn a hole in the Veil.
"We will dispense with the demons quickly," Solas said from her side in a hushed, hurried voice. "Then I will reshape the Fade to match reality. Abelas, Mathrel, and Shila will draw the runes."
"And the others will guard camp and the rift," Ellana finished with a nod. "I understand, emma lath." Glancing to the west, where the sun had begun to slide toward the horizon, Ellana frowned. "We need to do this swiftly or the humans will see the light of the rift in the dark. They may think we plan to summon demons for an attack on them."
Solas' stare was somber and intense, his blue eyes so dark they might as well have been deep brown. "I am willing to take such a risk to ensure our safety with Aegis wards." He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking upward. "As I explained earlier, I also hope this will aid the empress and the marquise in their deliberations regarding the Dales." Pausing again, he licked his lips and laid a hand over her shoulder. "If you do not wish to do this, vhenan…"
"No," she said, grasping his hand on her shoulder. "I can't see any reason not to try it. It's not as if the Orlesians might not try to attack us regardless. Why shouldn't we use everything at our disposal to ensure we are safe?" Her gaze flicked to camp and she swallowed the sudden hot lump in her throat as she immediately found herself worrying for Sylvun.
Solas smiled. "Then we are agreed?"
She nodded emphatically. "Let's begin."
As soon as Solas stepped back from her a few meters, dropping into a tense, battle-ready stance, Ellana drew in a deep breath and called upon the Anchor. It crackled and hissed as it came to life, sparking green in her palm. Gritting her teeth against the inevitable pain, Ellana thrust her hand out, aiming low, and felt the magic snap inside her mind as it gripped the incorporeal Veil and pierced it, latching onto the Fade beyond. Clenching her hand into a fist, Ellana drew it down and with a dull boom that echoed over the hills, the Fade rift sprang open in a flash of green.
Dalish hunters and Firsts assembled around the clearing and on the hillside around camp all readied their weapons in anticipation as the first demons materialized. Lerand was the first to swing his sword at a wisp, scattering its essence and sending it streaming back to the Fade rift. His brother, Samhel, used a spear, thrusting it into a terror demon that'd hauled itself up from the grassy earth, still dripping green Fade ether. Abelas tossed barriers up over both brothers, then Fade-stepped in a blue streak beneath the rift to offer backup to Mathrel, who'd begun chopping at a screeching wraith with his spirit blade.
Three shades moved in their odd undulating, swimming gait and immediately made their way toward Ellana. She readied her bow, ignoring the lingering pain in her left palm, and nocked an arrow, but as she drew it back Solas Fade stepped through two of the shades, freezing and shattering them. With a shout, Ellana let her arrow fly into the third shade's neck. It shuddered at the impact and dissolved into green ether, streaking back toward the rift.
With another booming crack, the rift convulsed and sent out a second wave of demons. This time there were three terror demons, a rage demon, and a host of shades. Ellana gritted her teeth and took aim using a full draw at the more sedate rage demon as it barreled down on Deshanna and Shila. After hitting the rage demon with her arrow, which seemed to ignore her as it blew a spout of flame at Deshanna, Ellana nocked another arrow and took aim again—but a sharp whang-pop sound made her flinch, setting her ears ringing. Blinking, she saw all the demons had collapsed, shuddering as they dematerialized and were sucked back into the rift.
A quick glance to Solas and she knew what'd happened. He looked pale and ashen, shaky from the enormous mindblast, but he'd killed all of the demons with that single massive blow. Their eyes locked and Ellana trotted over to him, gripping his shoulder with her free hand when she reached him. "Are you all right?"
He nodded. "Of course." Motioning at the rift, he said, "We must hurry."
Ellana stepped back from him and motioned at Mathrel, Abelas, and Shila. "You three are with Solas and I." She paused a moment as they moved to obey her, then called out, "You all consent to use your blood for the runes in the Fade?"
Shila made a face of disgust, but nodded alongside both Mathrel and Abelas.
"Good, then let's go," Ellana said and pressed ahead toward the rift.
Next Chapter:
"You waste your breath," Briala grumbled, her head slumping forward. "I'm dying. The least you could afford me is some peace and quiet while I pass."
"There is no need for you to die, lethallan," Solas muttered with a small frown.
"You cannot be serious," Zevanni snarled, gesturing angrily between Briala and Solas before her brown eyes darted to Ellana with something like disdain. "If this is because Lavellan is weak and would disapprove—"
"Disapprove?" Ellana countered with a scoff. "I'm ready to execute her myself!"
"Then do it," Zevanni shot back heatedly and drew a dagger from her belt, flipping it around to hold it by the blade and extending it to Ellana. "Kill this traitorous bitch."