A/N: And...we're entering resolution. Next chapter will be either the epilogue or the last chapter. I've been having a terrible time trying to come up with an epilogue set ten years from the present. I've restarted it three times now and to me that feels like I'm trying to squeeze blood from a turnip, as in I should quit while I'm ahead with the next chapter which definitely feels like an ending. Plus I'm investing in my next story, which is a prequel w/ a VERY different "Lavellan" so trying to switch gears is...jarring.

Let me know what you guys think!

Fifty

One Small Caveat

As usual, Solas thought, this was his fault—inadvertently, of course. How many times had Zevanni shown she was diametrically opposed to peace through deliberation and diplomacy rather than peace at the end of a blade? She'd never been patient, never been placid or accepting. She'd been an agent of chaos, violence, and carnage. She thrived on it and Solas had had plenty of uses for that over the years, pre-Veil and post-Veil alike.

Until now, however, she'd never been anything but loyal.

If he had left her in Tevinter…

But that hadn't been an option any more now that he'd agreed to tone down the rebellion in Tevinter. What was he supposed to do with an agent of chaos when the world was leaning toward peace? The answer was clear enough: eliminate her if she couldn't adapt or be tamed. But he'd denied it and run from it for weeks now, knowing that was the cold, calculating thoughts of the Fen'Harel who'd let Corypheus have his orb, the Fen'Harel that'd killed Felassan and considered leaving Ellana at the Exalted Council before he'd learned she was with child.

Now this problem had returned to bite him, right at the worst possible moment.

He'd sent Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna to try and head off the chaos in the human camps while he sought out Zevanni. Mathrel had told him quickly where she'd be—at the last cardinal point in the rune circle. He reached it in two jumps, though he could have done it in just one, he wanted to conserve his mana as much as possible. Zevanni was a powerful mage and might be able to deflect his petrification spell. As was always the case with a traitor, they always posed the greatest risk because they knew you, strengths and weaknesses alike.

Materializing right at the edge of the rune circle, Solas grimaced at the stench of scorched flesh, blood, and gore. He spotted wounded and dead elves scattered about the grass and on the side of the hill. Scorch marks dotted the grass in spots and acrid smoke burned his nasal passageways. A small brushfire was licking its way up the hill. Solas recognized Shila amidst the bodies of several arcane warriors. She lay unmoving, in a pool of blood. Likewise, Solas saw Samhel lying with a wound in his chest, surrounded by the bodies of five elves in Dalish scout armor.

Lying beside Samhel, clutching his brother close, was Lerand, shaking with silent sobs. He was covered in blood and, seeing no obvious sign of either Abelas or Zevanni, Solas Fade-stepped to be at the warrior's side. "Lerand," he called. "Are you injured? Where is Zevanni?"

Lerand looked up at him, his eyes and face glistening with tears. "Can you save him?" he asked, the words so distorted by grief they were almost unrecognizable.

Solas shook his head. "Ir abelas, lethallin. He has passed. I cannot—"

"Then tell me you're going to kill her," Lerand snarled, his voice catching as he looked down again at his brother, pallid and bloodstained in his arms.

"I am," Solas answered in a low, solemn tone.

"Good," Lerand growled and stabbed a finger up the hill, where fire still crackled on the dry grass. "She fled uphill toward the Divine's camp. Abelas went after her."

"Ma serannas, lethallin," Solas told him and rounded on his heel, Fade-leaping in a blue streak up and over the hill.

Popping out on the downward slope of the opposite side, Solas saw the Divine's camp ahead was burning and brimming with combatants. Tents were burning in an inferno, sending ashes and smoke into the air, spiraling upward. Green orbs flitted at the edge of the camp, wisps that had either been pressed into service by Zevanni's attackers or had flocked to the battle out of simple curiosity. Solas saw dead Templars and Inquisition soldiers scattered about the area, but there were wounded or dead elven and Elvhen as well. Zevanni had taken casualties despite having the Fade and surprise on her side. Ellana must've disrupted her plans.

Below, at nearly the center of the camp, Solas saw a knot of human fighters in a defensive circle, taking mage attacks from all sides. Despite Zevanni's losses, it seemed she was winning. The defensive circle included Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and Varric along with what appeared to be the last of the Divine's elite Templar bodyguards. The three remaining Templars had thrust their swords down, erecting auras of protection to shield Cassandra from the magical attacks of their elven foes. Solas saw Dalish scouts and a smattering of arcane warriors clinging to the edges of the darkness as they flung fireballs and ice along with the occasional arrow as well.

And then, from the south, Solas saw a series of blue-white streaks and a heartbeat later Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna were lunging at the nearest arcane warrior. The quickness of their attack took one of the warriors by surprise as Mathrel sliced him down with a strangled cry. Lyris hurled a massive fireball at another warrior, but he managed to dodge and his barrier withstood the force of her magic. Deshanna aided her companions by erecting barriers over them and casting ice mines.

Where is Zevanni? Where is Abelas?

But even as he hesitated with this question, Solas saw one of the Divine's Templars break, his aura of protection disintegrating with the force of a fireball hurled from one of the arcane warriors. There was no time for questions if Solas hoped to stop further losses—on the human side anyway.

With a breath inward, Solas took in the line of Dalish scouts still continuing the assault against the humans and petrified them with a flare of his eyes. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he conjured a Veilstrike that flattened the other attackers as well as the statues of the petrified Dalish scouts, smashing them to bits. The arcane warriors cried out with surprise and pain, even as several of them cast deflections and dispel charms to try and save themselves—but Solas' power easily obliterated their efforts. With another flick of his fingers, Solas cast an ice wall around the humans to shield them from harm, then he Fade-stepped into the battlefield proper, joining Mathrel, Lyris, and Deshanna.

"Hahren," Mathrel called to him in greeting as he cast winter's grasp on one of the still-prostrate arcane warriors. The Elvhen mage deflected it with a grunt and a wave of his hand. Like most of the warriors, he could not quite rise because the force of Solas' Veilstrike had broken bones and shattered joints. He had to heal himself first.

Solas eyed all five foes still prostrate and flash froze them. Then, clenching his fist and jerking it downward, summoned another Veilstrike to shatter the ice statues. He heard Deshanna gasp behind him, no doubt still stunned to see how easily and how fast he could kill. Solas didn't dare glance at her, knowing he'd hate the expression he saw there.

"Is that the last of them?" Lyris asked.

"Zevanni is still here, somewhere," Solas advised her with a frown.

"And what of Lerand?" Deshanna asked, her voice tight with emotion.

"He lives," Solas told her with a wan smile. "Unfortunately Ellana was correct that both Samhel and Shila were killed." Deshanna nodded, her expression crestfallen. Solas reached out and clasped her shoulder, squeezing firmly. "We will avenge them."

"But what of the humans?" Lyris asked, gesturing up the hill toward where Solas' ice wall still surrounded the Divine and the Inquisition leaders and any other survivors. From inside it Solas could hear their shouts and the metallic clink of their weapons as they hacked at the ice walls surrounding them.

"The empress is also in danger," Solas said with a shake of his head. "And I cannot allow Zevanni to escape." Inhaling sharply, he made his decision and pointed to all three mages around him. "Stay here and try to explain what has happened to the Divine and her people. I must stop Zevanni."

They nodded in obeisance and Mathrel said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Looking to the west, in the direction of the Orlesian camp, Solas reached inward and gripped the Fade, his power snapping somewhere deep inside. With a prickle of magic over his skin and through his blood, he willed himself forward, leaping to the outskirts of the Orlesian camp.

Immediately he saw the situation here was far worse than at the Divine's camp. The Orlesians had brought fewer people and the chevaliers, while exquisitely trained as warriors, had no chance of surviving a sustained attack from mages. The Templars had posed a much stronger threat with their ability to dispel magic. Zevanni's handful of Dalish scouts and arcane warriors had cut through their defenses here like butter. Chevaliers and Orlesian guards lay scattered about the grass at the edges of the camp, scorched or frozen and charred from lightning. Again wisps lingered here, watching the scene and darting between the bodies.

And at the center of it all Solas saw only Empress Celene remained—and she appeared to have been direly wounded. She lay on the grass beside a burning tent, clutching her side and curled in a semi-fetal position as blood pooled between the plates in her armor and into the dirt. Abelas stood in front of Celene, his stance protective and battle-ready while Zevanni stalked just out of the line of orange light from the burning camp, like a wolf circling her prey. Completing the triangle of Elvhen mages was Var, standing off to one side and shouting toward Zevanni, one hand raised in a pleading motion.

"Don't do this," Var yelled. "This is insanity."

"Insanity is you trying to stop me, stop Fen'Harel," Zevanni yelled back at him, still pacing. She jerked a finger in Abelas' direction. "And you. And Lavellan." Then, with the suddenness Solas had always known was her trademark, Zevanni tensed and spun about, sending out a powerful mindblast toward both Var and Abelas.

Without thinking, Solas Fade-stepped in a blur out of the darkness and into Zevanni's line of fire, popping out of the maneuver and deflecting her blow with his own barrier. All three Elvhen mages seemed to jump at his sudden appearance, caught off-guard. Var reacted first, calling his Evanuris name, "Fen'Harel! Zevanni has lost her mind!"

"I am doing what must be done," Zevanni countered, shaking as she stared at Solas, teeth bared and gritted past her plump lips. "You know this is how it must be," she insisted with a shake of her head. "I didn't mean for it to get so fucked, but you can still salvage this." Pointing toward Abelas and Celene, she said, "Let the bitch die of her wounds and tell Lavellan there was nothing you could do. Let me flee and I will serve you in secret."

"Your recklessness has killed dozens of us—Dalish and Elvhen alike," Solas snarled.

"She intended to use blood magic on Lady Lavellan and her escort—including myself," Abelas added in a low, dangerous voice.

"Oh Zevanni," Var said, almost moaning her name with what sounded like despair.

"She wasn't supposed to be there," Zevanni blurted, shaking her head. Her hands raised, palms up, a position for both offensive and defensive casting. "I never meant to kill those stupid bastards. I only wanted to put an end to the shemlen leaders." She stared Solas down, her dark eyes intense and desperate. "Please, hahren, I know it was what you wanted, but you could not do it because of Lavellan. I have only ever served you."

Tears glistened in her eyes, orange in the firelight. The moment of tense silence stretched and the longer it went on the harder and faster Zevanni breathed, bracing herself for the inevitable attack as Solas wrestled with how valuable the bloodthirsty Elvhen woman could be. He would undoubtedly need an agent of chaos again in the near future. He had zero faith that Tevinter would eliminate slavery in Ellana's allotted timeframe. But would Ellana allow him to act ruthlessly in the future to enforce that edict, or would it behoove him to have a secret ace up his sleeve—someone hidden like Zevanni?

The answer was clear: he would find Zevanni useful if he left her alive. But she'd disobeyed him deliberately and defiantly, much as Felassan had. Except Zevanni's betrayal had cost lives: Shila, Samhel, and dozens of Dalish scouts, arcane warriors, and humans. He could never trust her again after this…

Solas reached inside himself, siphoning off a massive amount of mana and performing the same sudden mindblast Zevanni had a few moments ago. The Elvhen woman yelped and dropped to the ground in a roll, flicking one hand as she went to erect a barrier over herself. Solas' magic crushed the barrier, destroying it with a flicker of bluish energy, but the mindblast had expended its strength breaking that barrier by the time it hit her. As a result, Zevanni merely stumbled onto all-fours. She recovered almost instantly, however, lunging into a Fade-leap heading north away from the Orlesian camp.

"Save the empress," Solas shouted toward Var and Abelas, then Fade-leapt after her, deliberately streaking into her path. They collided with an almost metallic bang! Solas used spirit energy in a raw force attack, knocking Zevanni out of her Fade-leap. She tumbled, having come out of it at a relatively steep spot of the hill. Solas Fade-stepped to overtake her, slashing with one hand to try and halt her with winter's grasp.

Zevanni shrieked, erecting a barrier to absorb his attack again. Once more his spell destroyed it but merely left Zevanni coated in a light layer of frost. Sobbing and laughing simultaneously, she glared at him from her crouched position on her knees. "You're toying with me," she snarled.

"No," Solas retorted with a growl. "I take no joy in this, but you have forced my hand."

"You're holding back," Zevanni spat. "You don't want to kill me." Her face was stained with dirt and blood dribbled from her nose. Perhaps Solas' mindblast had done some damage after all.

Drawing more mana from his core, he said, "But I will do so, nonetheless."

Solas' eyes flared as he cast the petrification spell, but Zevanni again flicked her hand in a deflection counter-spell—one he'd taught her himself to protect against the very strongest Dreamer mages. But Solas had anticipated the move and followed the petrification spell with an immediate Veilstrike and a fireball.

Zevanni cried out as the Veilstrike flattened her and had no chance to raise a barrier to defend against the fireball. She screamed as the flames engulfed her, wild and hot, fueled from the ocean of mana reserves in Solas' core. The sound of her agony made Solas feel nauseous and he grimaced, quickly casting the petrification spell again to turn her to stone and end her agony.

In the silence that followed, Solas stared at the still burning statue and cursed under his breath. "Fenedhis lasa, Zevanni. You heartless fool." Remembering Lerand's grief as he held his dead brother in his arms, Solas waved his hand at Zevanni's petrified corpse, summoning a Veilstrike to shatter the remains. The spell snuffed out the fire as well, leaving only a smoking scorch mark in the dry spring grasses.

He Fade-stepped back to the Orlesian camp and saw both Abelas and Var around the empress, their hands glowing with bluish healing magic. The former sentinel registered his approach first, lifting his head and arching an eyebrow. "Zevanni has been dealt with?"

"Indeed," Solas answered, vaguely aware that Var and Abelas could choose to believe he'd allowed Zevanni to escape. He pushed that thought aside as he saw Celene's ashen face, mask-less now, staring up at him. Her pale hair was coming loose out of its militant bun.

"Am I to be your prisoner again?" she asked with a slight sneer.

"I have no interest in holding you prisoner, empress," Solas told her blankly, sighing with weariness. "Just as I had no desire to see these talks end in this manner—again."

Celene breathed faster, nostrils flaring and her eyes narrowing. She winced as Var finished his latest healing spell. "You expect me to believe this was not in retaliation for Bria's attack on you?"

Solas shot her a glare. "If it were, why would I save you?"

Celene's breathing picked up more, her shoulders heaving against the scorched grass beneath her. "And what of Bria?" she asked.

"She lives as well," Solas told her.

The empress' eyes widened and her lips parted. "What?"

"You need not concern yourself with it," Solas told her dismissively with a slash of one hand.

"I did not sanction her actions," Celene blurted suddenly, struggling to sit up with a strangled grunt. Abelas gripped her shoulder, pressing hard on her and forcing her back to the earth. "Bria acted on her own."

That could be true, or it could be a lie. Solas found he didn't care. Staring out to the east, he could see the Divine's camp bristling with moving figures as they collected the dead. "Can she walk?" Solas asked Var and Abelas.

"Shemlen are not as resilient as we are in the Fade, apparently," Var grumbled, huffing as if he'd run a mile. "I've nearly gone to mana burnout trying to heal her." He paused a moment before adding grumpily, "In the restored Fade."

"Can she walk, lethallin?" Solas repeated, a note of irritation in his voice now as he glanced down at the former rogue.

It was Abelas who answered, nodding solemnly. "Yes, hahren."

"Then let us go," Solas said and watched as Abelas and Var moved to help Celene to her feet. She grimaced, clearly in pain, and kept a hand at her side, clutching at her armor.

She shot Solas a look that was both resentment and something else—bafflement. "I thought I was not to be your prisoner, Dread Wolf?"

"I'm taking you to the Divine," Solas said blankly and motioned to the camp some distance away. "Unless you'd prefer to remain here with your dead chevaliers."

"No," she said, sounding guarded.

"Then let us be off." Solas nodded and turned, beginning the walk to the Divine's camp.

The clan was in mourning. Negan and a few of the other hunters had left on Mahanon's orders to find Lerand if he still lived. They returned about an hour later, well past midnight, carrying Samhel's body between them and with Lerand in tow looking wretched with despair. As the night went on, Deshanna returned to camp and called on her hunters to aid her in carrying back additional dead—Elvhen arcane warriors and Dalish scouts from other clans.

Ellana slept through much of it, laying beside the bonfire exhausted and drained from mana burnout. She woke groggily when Sylvun, in his little woven bassinet, cried for a late night feeding and let him nurse. His little grunts and soft breathing sounds filled her mind, pushing out all else, but when she slipped into the realm of dreams she saw again the red mist sizzling against her barrier and felt her heart race with horror. She saw the Dalish scouts turn on Lerand and Samhel, spearing both men through the chests to let their blood flow out in a river of crimson. But when she cried out and tried to save them, Ellana would watch as they miraculously recovered and fought back, letting her realize this was a dream.

When she willed the dream images away she woke with a jolt and saw the gray-blue light of dawn in the sky. The bonfire had died down, letting a bit of the night chill draw closer. She reached for Sylvun in his bassinet, snug and warm beneath several blankets and sighed with relief.

A rustling from behind her made her roll over slightly to see who was behind her and she smiled as she recognized Solas. "Emma lath," she greeted him, struggling to sit up and grimacing at the jittery weakness still in her muscles.

"Shh," Solas shushed her, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. "You overexerted yourself last night. You must rest or you'll prolong the recovery."

She gripped his hand on her shoulder and let her eyes drift shut. Around the fire she could hear the quiet whimpering from Deya as she stirred with a nightmare, likely responding to all the emotions of the grieving adults, carried in the restored Fade. More than a few of her clansmen were quietly sobbing. Samhel had been well-liked and a notable hunter for the clan. His bondmate and two children were still in the Emerald Graves, but his father, Taehon, had come with them to this meeting. Ellana was almost sure she could hear him crying.

Sucking in a wavering breath, Ellana opened her eyes again and turned her head on the ground toward Solas. "Tell me what happened," she said. "Please."

He nodded, his jaw clenching. "Zevanni's attack decimated the Orlesians, but I managed to save the empress. The Inquisition and the Divine fared better." Falling silent a moment, he lifted his gaze to stare out beyond their camp and to the north. "The scouts and arcane warriors who aided Zevanni have been dealt with." He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "And as for Zevanni—I saw to her myself."

"And Abelas? Lerand?" she asked.

Solas' lips curled in a small smile. "Alive. As is Var. He claims to have had no idea Zevanni would do as she did. She sent him and the few scouts she suspected would not aid her away but kept the bulk of their group with her. When you restored the Fade some attacked the Divine and the rest took on the Orlesians. She intended to fulfill what she believed was my unspoken will and expected I would forgive her. She was mistaken."

"She was going to use blood magic on us, Solas," Ellana murmured, her voice small and breathy.

He heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "I know, vhenan." He shook his head. "The fault here is mine. I knew Zevanni was…restless. She is—" He cut himself off with a frown. "She was a creature of chaos, but I had no purpose for her talents currently."

Ellana said nothing, conflicted by the guilt she saw in his expression and her own quiet rage when she thought of how Zevanni had betrayed them. That Solas could still find fault with himself and not Zevanni left her speechless. As ruthless as he could be—taking Halamshiral in rebellion, raiding and inciting violence in Tevinter and across Thedas, letting a monster like Corypheus have his foci, and killing his friend Felassan—he had never been truly bloodthirsty or heartless. He cared deeply and genuinely when it came to his people.

Finally Ellana asked, "Why did you save the empress?"

Solas blinked, his brow furrowing as he met her stare. "It was what you would have wanted, vhenan." He shook his head. "Sadly, it will do us no favors. Any chance at peace through diplomacy has been obviated by Zevanni's actions."

"Did you explain what happened to Cassandra?" she asked quietly.

"I did, yes. Yet without Celene's willing participation in these deliberations, the Divine's support will do us little good." He stared down at his hands, a vertical line forming between his brows over the bridge of his nose. "We will have to take the Dales, which will only lead to more political pressure for the Divine. She cannot continue to support us." His hands curled into fists. "But she cannot stop us."

Ellana reached out for him, taking his hand and squeezing it in her own as she smiled sadly. "I know, emma lath. We tried, but if we must walk the path of war, we will. Together."

The clan prepared to leave, packing up with the speed and efficiency only the Dalish could achieve. The dead were carried on sledges or strapped to the backs of the halla, forcing many who'd ridden in to walk now. Despite the fact that the dead scouts, brought from other clans, had betrayed them, Deshanna was determined to return them to their families for proper funerary rites. Although Ellana still shook with grief and rage at the memory of the scouts killing Samhel, and she saw the agony on Taehon and Lerand's faces at Deshanna's order to treat the dead scouts with respect, she stood by the Keeper's command when Mahanon and others disputed it.

"How can you support this?" Mahanon demanded, his hazel eyes narrowed with anger as he gazed between Deshanna and Ellana. Moisture glistened in Mahanon's eyes—unshed tears for his lifelong friend.

"They were misguided," Ellana said, shoulders slumping. "And they paid for it with their lives."

"So did Sam," Lerand cut in, chin wrinkling and lips trembling with emotion.

"Ir abelas, Ler," she said and closed her eyes, the prickling tears skidding down her cheeks as she did so. She kept one hand wrapped protectively around Sylvun tucked away in his sling, ready for travel. "I know this is hard, but it is the right thing to do."

"We are one people," Deshanna said somberly. "We cannot let this fracture us."

"These scouts were harellan, a disgrace," Taehon spat. "One of them was of clan Ghilath, but he stood by as the arcane warriors killed Shila, his clan's own First."

"Zevanni planned to use blood magic," Ellana said. "They could have been under her compulsion the whole time." She sighed, her throat burning with emotion. She glanced toward Deshanna, deciding to let the older woman fight this battle. The camp was almost completely ready to retreat for the eluvian to the south. Only a few harts and halla carried living riders. Rinaya was mounted on her halla, with Deya strapped to her back and sleeping as she waited for Mahanon to take the reins of her mount. He would be walking while she would ride.

Twisting to look down the hill toward where she had opened the rift the previous night, Ellana saw Solas gathered around the arcane warriors who'd died serving Zevanni. Lyris, Mathrel, Abelas, and Var were with him. Solas' soothing voice drifted up from the depression, murmuring in elven as he raised one hand and with a sweeping motion ignited the bodies. Unlike the clan, it seemed Elvhen funerary rites called for the bodies to be burned rather than buried.

Standing off to one side of the inferno, close to Abelas, was Briala. The Orlesian rogue was bound with her hands behind her back and her eyes downcast. Ellana frowned lightly, wondering just what they'd do with the marquise.

Then, suddenly, from the north, Ellana heard Negan's voice and a few other hunters calling out her name. "Lana! Lana!"

Tensing and with her heart lurching into her throat. Ellana pivoted to watch as Negan and several young hunters jogged to her, their eyes wide and chests heaving. Her old hunting master was the one who spoke when they reached her. "The Divine rides this way—with the empress."

Ellana frowned, shaking her head as her stomach seemed to clench and drop to the ground. Had things taken yet another turn for the worst? She clutched Sylvun tighter, trying to draw reassurance from his weight and body heat. "Do they look as though they have come to attack us?"

Negan shrugged, brow furrowing. "Forgive me, da'len. We did not stay near them long enough to discover their intentions." He paused a moment, cocking his head as he considered. "They are all armed and in armor, as one would expect for an attacking force. Yet they did not show any hostility to us, though we were within range that their arrows could have picked us off."

"Prepare for an attack," Deshanna said, motioning toward Mahanon, Lerand, and the other hunters and warriors. "We must assume the worst to be safe."

Turning to Rinaya on her halla, Ellana said, "Fetch Solas." The elven woman nodded and clicked her tongue as she tugged on the halla's reins and directed it down the hill at a steady gallop, the motion bouncing Deya on her back. Ellana searched for her mother, finding her beside a halla carrying one of the dead scouts over its back and hurried to unhook Sylvun's sling from herself, passing it to the older woman. By the time she'd finished with that, Solas was with the Keeper and Mahanon, directing the Elvhen with him to take up positions further out from camp.

Across the plain, Ellana saw the dust from the horses as the riding party charged past the farmhouse. Even this far away she saw Cassandra's golden armor, resplendent and glittering in the low early morning sunlight. Empress Celene rode at the Divine's side, her armor gleaming silver—but as they drew nearer Ellana realized Celene wore no mask. Her face was bare and pale, exposed.

Solas moved to Ellana's side, his hand brushing hers as he looked on at the approaching riders. Ellana could feel the weight of his presence in the back of her mind—powerful and brooding and deadly. "She has cleaned her armor," he observed.

"The Divine?" Ellana asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No," Solas said. "Celene."

"But she's not wearing her mask…" Ellana observed aloud. The riders below slowed and changed direction to make a wide detour around a harmless wisp. The humans shot the spirit wary glances and Ellana saw Cullen and the two Templars in the group grip their weapons.

"Indeed. Whatever they have come for, it is not apparently to play the Game." When Ellana shot him another sidelong look she realized with a jolt that he wasn't wearing the wolf headdress. She opened her mouth to comment on it but clamped it shut again as Deshanna called out to the approaching humans.

"Halt! What is your intention coming to us?" she shouted. "We seek only to leave and bury our dead in peace."

Cassandra ordered the group to stop, raising a hand. The horses whinnied and tossed their heads, snorting and stamping as they came to a stop several meters out—but well within the range for archers and magic. There was silence for several long beats, then Cassandra raised her voice with authority. "We have come to bid you farewell." She nodded in Ellana's direction and then, a little less deeply, toward Solas. "I also wished to express my gratitude to you, Solas, for your aid in last night's…" She made a face, wrinkling her nose. "Skirmish. I…we are all in your debt."

Ellana swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat. Her stomach twisted with nervousness. She wished she'd seen the fight and judged the odds Cassandra faced. Would all of them have been killed had Solas not intervened?

"I as well," Celene said suddenly, spurring her horse forward a few steps. Its bridle jangled and the beast shook its head as the empress stared down from her mount at the assembled elves, her gaze skipping toward somewhere deeper in the clan. Ellana could guess who she was searching for without having to check—Briala. When her eyes settled in that direction, Celene seemed to shudder, her hands tightening on the reins.

"It would seem I owe you my life, Dread Wolf," she said, tilting her head backward and narrowing her eyes. Inhaling sharply, she added, "In light of this, and in recognition of Most Holy's decree to reward you, Lady Lavellan as former Inquisitor, I have agreed to return the Dales to the elven people."

Ellana's mouth fell open with shock before she could stop herself, schooling the reaction and squaring her shoulders. Beside her, Solas' only reaction was stunned silence. The clan around her shuffled on their feet, shooting nervous or excited looks at one another. A few wore expressions bordering on hostile as they searched over the Divine's group, waiting for the inevitable betrayal. Humans had a long history of doing as much.

Celene cleared her throat and said, "I do have one small caveat," she said, a small, practiced smile on her lips.

Solas returned that smile with a nod. "Name your price, empress." Ellana kept her face impassive, though her heart was against her throat, pounding on her breastbone. She hoped—prayed—she knew what Celene would ask for: Briala. If she asked for Solas to be imprisoned or killed in exchange for the Dales they'd be once more at a ridiculous stalemate.

Celene motioned at the clan. "I believe you have a hostage: the marquise. If I understand correctly, I am indebted to you for her life as well. If you would release her to me, I will abide by the Divine's order—though my people will require time to relocate from the Dales."

"Will a year suffice?" Ellana asked, resisting the desire to frown at how breathless and shocked her voice sounded.

"A year will suffice," Celene agreed with a significant nod.

"In that time we will continue to reclaim the land to the south," Solas said, arching an eyebrow. "Do you agree to these terms?"

Celene's lips curved in a slight smirk. "Do you agree to release the marquise?"

Solas turned slightly at the waist, as did Ellana to gaze back on Briala where she stood with her hands bound with Var and Abelas guarding her. "Do you wish to rejoin the empress, da'len?" Solas asked her.

Briala's eyes flashed as she stared at Solas and then, oddly, she glanced to Abelas. The former sentinel dipped his chin, his golden eyes solemn but with an unmistakable touch of warmth in their depths. Slowly, Briala faced the empress and then Solas as she said, "Fen'Harel enansal."

Ellana blinked, surprised. Something had passed between these three—Abelas, Solas, and Briala. Whether it was gratitude that'd changed Briala or if she merely playacted it, Ellana couldn't tell, but a moment later Solas motioned at Abelas and said, "Release her."

Abelas and Var both reached for Briala, their hands glowing blue and the rogue relaxed, shoulders slumping as she rubbed at her wrists. Watching Solas, she trod forward, through the clan, who glared at her with lingering hostility. Celene edged her mount sideways and extended her hand down to help Briala up onto the horse's back.

"Briala," Solas called to her, a dry smile on his lips. When she peered at him from behind the empress, he said, "Please give my warmest regards to Mythal." Briala frowned at him and Celene's impassive expression flickered briefly with confusion before she schooled it again.

"Very well," Cassandra said. "Then it is settled at last." She twisted in the saddle to search for Varric—who was riding with Josephine. "Varric, if you would please…"

"Yes, Your Holiness," Varric said dryly as he squirmed his way off the mount. He reached for the saddlebags, but it was quite a stretch and after a few seconds a chuckling Josephine dug in the packs to help him. Eventually their efforts produced a rolled up parchment. From his own overcoat Varric produced a quill and a tiny inkwell.

"Always ready to take down world-changing details," Varric commented with a smirk as he unrolled the parchment over the grass. "Now," he said and clapped his meaty hands together. "What exactly do you want me to write?"

"She did not honor her first accord with me," Solas commented as their hart trotted over the plains, heading south for the eluvian. "I hardly expect this to be different."

Tucked in his surcoat was a signed copy of the treaty Varric had whipped up on the grass and Ellana sat close to him on the hart, nursing the ever-ravenous Sylvun in his sling. The baby had cried inconsolably when they left the Fade circle behind, his sensitivity hinting again that the tiny boy would one day be a powerful mage, in or out of the restored Fade.

"I agree," Ellana said with a sigh. "We will have to remain on our guard. I'm glad you thought to include that we will continue expanding during this first year."

Solas hummed in acknowledgement. "Regardless of whether Celene honors this arrangement, there will be endless work for us in the coming years."

The clan and the other scattered elves they'd brought with them were still somber from the recent betrayal, but Celene's gesture had been a solid consolation prize, lightening everyone's spirits with hope. If the humans could truly right the Broken Promise…perhaps anything could be possible.

"What happened between you and Briala?" she asked.

Chuckling, Solas clucked his tongue to urge the hart into a faster trot as they ascended the next hill. "Nothing, vhenan. I merely left her in Abelas' care and instructed him to tell her of his experience under Mythal's rule. She would never believe me, but Abelas' candor is without compare and I know she will be able to verify what he has told her of himself—namely that he was once Mythal's sentinel."

"Hmm," Ellana murmured, sounding skeptical. "Do you really think she can be trusted?"

Solas scoffed, laughing dryly. "I did not say that."

Ellana twisted slightly to peer back at him, her green eyes glinting with playfulness. "What machinations are you planning now, Dread Wolf?"

Leaning forward, Solas nuzzled her ear, inhaling her scent, the natural perfume of her skin, hair, and sweat intermixed now with the sweetness of milk and the smoky smell of the fire she'd slept beside. "I am hedging a bet, vhenan. Briala has chosen to forgive or overlook intolerable personal betrayals by the empress, but she could not bring herself to believe Celene was the best option for the People. I believe that even if she does not deem me a good leader, she will come to see Mythal is no better."

"And how does that help us, emma lath?" Ellana asked.

"If I am not the leader she feels the People deserve, and Mythal proves no better, she may likely support you. Or she may rise to become a leader in her own right." Felassan believed in her, he thought, pushing aside the nervous voice of self-doubt that rose within him when he worried he should have killed her.

"Or she could become a rival," Ellana murmured with a sigh.

"Of course," Solas replied with a nod, though Ellana couldn't see it facing forward. "There will inevitably be rivals and threats." They descended the hill and Solas spotted the copse of trees marking the eluvian. A few Dalish scouts from other clans—like those who'd been drawn in to serve Zevanni in her rebellious attack—patrolled around the edge of the trees. They waved to signal the way was clear as they spotted the hart and the rest of clan Lavellan rounding the hill.

"Yes," she agreed and Solas could hear the frown in her voice. "Like Mythal. She's still out there, somewhere."

"Undoubtedly, but let us not dwell on that." With one hand he checked behind him on the hart, ensuring Ellana's bow and arrow quiver were secured in place within easy reach should they be needed. The smooth wood and metal of the bow reminded him of its unique specifications as a conductor and enhancer of storm magic. It also reminded him of why he'd given it to her in the first place.

As they approached the eluvian and slowed to wait for the rest of the clan, Solas brushed his lips against Ellana's ear again to murmur quietly to her. "When the clan has finished mourning, I wonder if we might perhaps find a moment of peace long enough that your Keeper could perform the handfast ceremony?"

He hesitated a beat as she twisted to meet his stare; her green eyes bright and a warm smile spreading over her lips. Then, returning her smile with one of his own, he added, "If you are still willing to do something as foolish as becoming the Dread Wolf's bondmate, of course. I daresay it will create an amusing double entendre out of many of the traditional Dalish expletives involving me."

Ellana laughed. "Dread Wolf take me."

Solas grinned. "Is that a yes, vhenan?"

Grabbing his surcoat with one arm, Ellana tugged him down for a kiss. Solas opened to it, tasting her and letting her taste him in return. Just as he was beginning to feel his body react, flushing with warmth and longing, she broke the kiss and gazed at him, her eyes crinkling with love. "Ar lath ma, vhenan," she whispered breathily. "Bellanaris."

Breathing deeply as affection swelled in his chest and set his throat tight and aching with emotion, Solas leaned into Ellana and wrapped one arm around her. His palm lay over Sylvun in his halla-skin sling, feeling their son's squirming as he sensed the nearby magic of the eluvian.

Awe and pride brought tears to Solas' eyes, pricking them. "I thought I would walk din'anshiral," he murmured, swallowing to try and ease the pain of emotion in his throat—the sweet burn of bittersweet joy. "I have never been happier to be proven wrong."

With a little whimper even as she smiled at him, Ellana clasped her hand over his, also feeling Sylvun through his sling. "Breath of life," she said, a tear streaking down her cheek. "He's been aptly named." She squeezed his hand tightly. "Because now you walk the vun'anshiral and you'll never be alone again, emma lath."

Solas kissed her, heedless of the tears leaking from his own eyes as her words filled his mind. Vun'anshiral—journey to a place of life.

He vowed to himself he would do everything within his power to ensure it was a place brimming with joy, for Ellana, Sylvun, and as many of the People as he could save.

Next Chapter:

"How strong do you think he will be?" Mahanon asked, observing father and son with a tender expression.

"There is no way for me to be certain," Solas admitted, still smiling and playing a sort of magic patty-cake with Sylvun. The baby's giggling made something bubble in his chest, warm and bright. In truth he had no desire to ferret out that bit of information just yet. Solas had no idea what signs to watch for in talented young children from Elvhenan, but Lyris and Mathrel did. They'd be able to tell him if Sylvun seemed exemplary or if magical presentation in the restored Fade at five months was nothing exceptional.

For now, he chose not to consider how his son would stack up in the magical hierarchy—because in this new world it shouldn't matter. No one would come and take Sylvun away, either to a Circle or to be trapped in servitude in either the upper, or lower, classes.

Pressing close to Sylvun, Solas nuzzled the baby and kissed his little forehead. Sylvun's soft hair brushed his lips. "Shall we find mamae?" he asked softly.

Sylvun reached out for his face, grabbing at his chin and giggling. "Bah," he said.