I would write quirky Author's Notes but absolutely nobody is reading this thing past chapter 1 according to my story stats and that is A-OKAY because this project is for me and my inability to accept unresolved plot lines. Slay queen, you crushed chapter 3! Go treat yourself to some ice cream because this one was a lot of work!

Ellana's eyes snap open as she is jolted awake. It's quiet in the Inquisitor's tower and the moon hangs low in the sky. Almost midnight, she blinks away the drowsiness and sits up on the bed, I've been asleep the whole day? The thought of wasting more time while her Clan is out there waiting for her causes a pang of dismay. She stands, eyeing the discarded adventuring supplies littered on the floor. Traveling by daylight is certainly safer, but she's already lost a week. Furthermore, she has no interest in saying goodbye to her peers. She reaches for her pack and begins shoving health tinctures, smoke flasks, and her bedroll inside. She stows the letters safely at the bottom of the pack and runs her fingers over the carvings on the June's Knot. She loops the leather cord around her neck and unwraps the scroll. So, Deshanna thought I was being held against my will? She holds it up to catch the moonlight. The sketch of the Storm Coast seems to match the map in the War Room. There are no obvious signs of a secret message or meeting location. Lines of poetry beside the map read:

She took the gathering storm, trapped its fury in golden limbs
strung it with the screams of the South wind.
Andruil, blood and force, Your people pray to You.
Grant that Your eye may not fall upon us.
Spare us the moment we become Your prey.

She shook the radiance of the stars, divided them into grains of light
then stored them in a shaft of gold.
Andruil, blood and force, Your people pray to You.
Save us from the time this weapon is thrown.
Spare us the moment we become Your sacrifice.

It's the prayer to Andruil, often put to music. Ellana desperatly wants to believe the scroll is more than a simple blessing. How does the poem connect to the Storm Coast? She rakes her brain. To her knowledge, there is no temple to Andruil in that region. She cannot remember seeing any major shrines either. The only reference in the landscape is…

"Gods, the Astrarium!" Suddenly Ellana remembers. There are no shrines or temples to Andruil in that area but there is an Astrarium for the constellation, Fervanis. She solved the puzzle during their trip to recruit Iron Bull. It was complicated, one of the most difficult ones she encountered. It took her and Solas almost twenty minutes to trace the geometric lines correctly. The stars connected to form a mighty oak with twisted roots and branches, but no leaves. According to her fade expert, Fervanis was just a pre-Andrastian deity worshiped by ancient Thedosian cults. He had rolled his eyes when she corrected him. Dalish legend says that Fervanis represents Andruil in the Old God's Zodiac. Ellana remembered explaining that the path of worshiping the Huntress is often called "the way of three trees." She squints at the map again. Sure enough, the location of the Astrarium is marked with a tiny oak tree and Deshanna's flowing script: Morrin's Outlook. A steep peninsula in the North East, it had once served as a marker for ships coming to trade with the dwarves. The mighty statue that guarded the coast had long since crumbled into the sea by the time Ellana and her party arrived. It was an odd addition to the map. There's nothing out there! It's just a hut on an outcrop in the middle of the ocean. She recalled balancing on a narrow ridge, firing arrow after arrow at dragonlings with Varric and Bianca while Cassandra ran ahead, sword and shield raised. It's not the safest refuge, but for a Clan fleeing Venatori any shelter is a blessing. Could it mean something? The slightest flame of hope ignites. Ellana quickly slips into her hunter's mail and secures the brass fasteners on her boots and jacket. She loops the soft sash around her waist until dark bronto leather hugs her torso. Towels from her vanity are stuffed down inot the empty sleeve to give it an illusion of life. She drapes her long adventuring cloak over her shoulders so that no one will notice the mock-prosthetic. Lastly, she hooks her lockpick set onto the belt. Being prepared is more important than wondering if she can use it with one hand. She heaves her pack onto her back and heads down the stairs to the exit, briefly wondering if someone is stationed in the main hall. Soldiers, spies, assassins … Or worst of all it could be Josie, waiting up all night knowing she's the only one who can convince her Inquisitor to stay. As Ellana reaches for the doorknob her fingers stop and hover inches away from the brass. They're pressing against an invisible wall, smooth and cold under her touch.

"Fenedhis. A ward!" She curses and smacks the heel of her hand against the magical barrier. Leliana called her bluff. There are no mages in Skyhold, how did they manage this? She gives the ward one more frustrated shove and stomps back up the stairs. Her mind struggles to believe the discovery. Are they truly attempting to trap me here? Foolish. The brief flicker of hope in her heart is overtaken by a roaring blaze of rage. Her eyes narrow on the open balcony across the room. They're stupid to think that I wouldn't risk life to save my Clan. Blocking the main hall is almost generous. The shadows are her element, especially now that she struggles in combat. The balcony faces the cliffside, away from the courtyard, so no one will see her climb down. She can scale the walls and skirt past sleepy patrols on the battlements. The raised pathways border the entire fortress, providing a clear path to the exit. It couldn't be easier.

Ellana watches herself take a deep, shaky breath through the vanity mirror. Shirking her duties as Inquisitor will make her a deserter. The Chantry will consider it a crime, and enemies of the Inquisition will still see her as the symbol of their downfall. The target on her back is unfortunately hard to miss.

"There's nothing subtle about a one-armed Dalish with no Vallaslin." She grasps the June's Knot and nervously works the interlocking wooden pieces in circles. She's looking around the dark bedroom for anything that she could be forgetting - or maybe for a reason to stay. She doesn't find either. It's time to go. Gods help me. Her eyes fall on her own reflection in the mirror one last time. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her, framed by tangled hair.

"Andruil, grant that your eye may not fall upon me. Spare me the moment I become your prey." She whispers the prayer with her lips pressing against the June's Knot, blessing herself and her parents and Keeper Deshanna and all of the others who she hopes are waiting for her on the Storm Coast. She slips her arms, backwards, into the straps of her pack so that her belongings rest against her abdomen instead of her back. It seems wise to keep her center of gravity as near to the wall as possible.

She walks out onto the balcony, hooks one leg over the railing, and murmurs a final plea "Guide me, Huntress." Then, pushing off with her other leg, she twists her body over the railing. Her left foot clings to the edge of the platform while her right one scrapes against the pavers below. The wall is slightly set back from the edge of the balcony. She takes a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves. This will be the most difficult part. Ellana fights the urge to look down. If I can just get onto the wall, I'll be fine. And if I can't…. The urge wins and a panicked giggle escapes her lips because the rocky slope is soooooo much farther down than she realized. And if I don't I'll be seeing Cole again sooner than expected. Win win. She steals her mind and prods lower on the wall for a foothold. Her toes snag on a slight ledge and she presses down to test it. Safe enough? Slowly and carefully, Ellana lowers her other leg in search of another protrusion. Got it, now for the hard part. She loosens her grip on the gritty stone banister and allows her hand to slide all the way down to the very edge of the platform. I need to switch my grip from the balcony to the wall without tipping backwards and falling to my death. Easy. Her heart is pounding. She looks down at her feet and groans when her eyes focus on the long drop underneath them instead. Just do it, don't think about it. She pleads with herself. Go! She presses down into her toes and rams her left shoulder up against the ceiling. She whips her hand around the platform, her chin tucked against her chest and her eyes squeezing shut with concentration. Her palm slaps against the bottom of her balcony. She pushes up with her arm and down with her legs and it takes all of her strength to hold herself in place. Huffing, she tries to maintain pressure as she shuffles her hand towards the face of the wall. Her stomach muscles scream in pain as they force her body to remain upright. Slowly - too slow! - her palm shimmies closer and closer to the stones. Finally, she is able to wedge her fingers into a crack where the ceiling meets the wall. The sound of her racing heartbeat throbs in her ears.

"See? Easy." She carefully lifts one foot and slides it down the stones, feeling left and right for another hold. She finds it and slowly lowers her body, repeating the process with her other side. Her hand is positioned directly above her head, pinning her bag against the vertical surface. Her shoulders do most of the work as she finds her way slowly down the cobblestones. Even when she finds her rhythm, she doesn't rush. She counts 5 more foot holds and decides it's time to start moving sideways. Working her way around the tower until she's met with another obstacle. Corners. She lets out a groan of frustration and leans her sweaty forehead against the cold blocks. How in the hells am I supposed to make it around a corner? Her arm is fully extended above her head, hand grasping around the stone like a claw. Slowly, she edges closer and closer to the edge of the wall. She reaches around with her right foot first. Got it. Now a hand hold. She finds an uneven brick where the two walls intersect. The hold is unstable. Her fatigue and the pack pinned precisely on the edge where the two walls meet are weakening her grip. Her feet planted far apart, she slowly wiggles from side to side, shuffling her supplies around the corner. Ellana glances down. She's close. The battlement is about 8 feet below her. Just one more step and I can drop - She inhales a sharp breath as her left foot slips off its hold. Moving the backpack without repositioning her left leg has skewed her weight too far to the right.

"No! I'm almost there!" She gasps and kicks out with the left leg, trying to find another ledge. She scrambles to recover, flexing every muscle to stop her body from rotating away from the wall. She's still too close to the outside of the battlement to jump. Her right arm screams and strains and her right leg trembles under the weight of her body and the pack. This isn't the end. It's not over. It can't be over, but her hand is so slippery all of the sudden - is it sliding? Racing thoughts and graphic images flood her mind as she imagines Leliana's ravens pecking at her bloodied body, splattered on the sharp rocks below. Josie would scream if she saw it. Gods please don't let Josie find my body tomorrow.

"Hold on, hold on," Ellana hisses between her teeth. Her face scrapes against the rough stones and everything hurts. The muscles are burning in her wrist and shoulder and stomach and legs and the toes on her right foot that feel like they're skimming off the narrow shelf - did it get thinner? - her left arm reaches up instinctually despite having no hand to assist her. She smashes her left foot on top of the right one, and exhales in sharp, puffs of hot air. It's still too much for her hand to bear and she's unable to regain her balance. A cry of betrayal escapes her lips as her hand releases, fingernails scraping. Falling! It takes everything she has to kick off the wall and propel herself backwards and, hopefully, far enough to the right to land on the battlement instead of the bottom of the cliff. She has just enough time to grip the back of her neck with her right arm, shielding it as her shoulders hit the ground hard. She clears the battlement wall, just barely. Pain explodes in her left heel as it thwacks against the stone barrier. She rolls backwards feet over face twice, until finally tumbling to a stop on the smooth stones. The whole incident begins and ends in seconds, but dangling felt like an eternity. I'm still alive. She inhales a shaky breath and tries to the banish thoughts of ravens plunking eyeballs from her crushed corpse at the bottom of the cliff. I'm still alive. A few more erratic beats of her heart and she begins to tentatively screen her body for injuries. She wriggles her fingers and toes, then her ankles - Her left foot is throbbing from being knocked during the fall, but she can still move it - and her wrist, then her legs and arms. Finally, she presses her fingertips softly against her neck, massaging to check for pain or numbness. Still alive. She rolls to a sitting position and groans because her body feels like it endured a war. Everything aches but she made it. Her jelly legs reluctantly position her into a crouch beside the rampart wall and she begins to limp through the shadows. She presses her ear against the door to the mage tower. It's quiet. Quiet enough to risk cracking the door open and slipping through. Dim embers glow in the fireplace, casting faint light upon an armchair and the elegantly dressed woman sitting in it.

"Finally darling, you're here. I was beginning to wonder if you didn't survive the climb."

"Vivienne, what are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm your gatekeeper."

Ellana searches for a way out, her eyes darting around the room. "You're the one who warded my door." She does not want to hurt Vivienne, but she is too close to freedom to give up now. I won't win a fight. I'm injured and I'm not even armed. "You're here to stop me from leaving."

The Grand Enchanter remains comfortably seated and inspects her nails. "I suppose so. Leliana sent word to The Circle this morning requesting a mage to handle a… sensitive matter. I came as quickly as I could."

"Sensitive matter? That's a nice way to say 'I'm quitting the Inquisition to find my Clan.' They were ambushed by Venatori and the Chantry refused to send help. Leliana said that Cassandra ordered us not to send aid, even though Clan Lavellan has never shown interest in joining the Elven rebellion."

"Oh yes, I'm well aware of Divine Victoria's decision. As I've said before, for those who value survival, sentimentality is not an option. Still, terribly sorry to hear about your family, dear." Vivienne looks up at her with raised eyebrows, "Well, you aren't going to find them in here. What are you waiting for?"

"Aren't you supposed to stop me?" Ellana narrows her eyes, suspicious.

She yawns languidly, "To be honest with you, I don't care much what you do. I have nothing against you nor your decision to leave. I'm here to execute the Chantry's bidding and, for all they know, I have been sitting here uninterrupted all night. I have yet to catch a glimpse of our wayward Inquisitor and I don't expect to, not when I have warded your door and the balcony." Vivienne's lips tilt upwards in a sly smile. "I haven't forgotten who helped me rebuild The Circle when Corypheus fell. I wouldn't be the Grand Enchanter without you. Well actually, I'm sure I would have found a way but you have certainly made things easier for me."

This seems too good to be true. Vivienne is a bargainer, first and foremost. "You're willing to look the other way and you want nothing in return?"

"From you I want nothing. At last, Cassandra has promised to grant me full control of the College of Magi in return for my cooperation. So here I am: Cooperating."

At least she's consistent. Vivienne always looks out for herself first. Ellana is lucky that, this time, their interests seem to align. "Thank you, Vivienne. I won't forget this."

"You are too kind. Convince our dear Solas to forgo his ragtag rebellion and I'll consider the debt paid, darling. Now, run along." The enchantress waves her hand in a shoo-ing motion. Ellana doesn't need to be asked twice. In a blink, she's sneaking across the room and out the door. Her heart quickens again as the taste of freedom fuels adrenaline in her blood and numbs the pain in her heel. It's quiet outside. There are a few sleepy guards milling about in the main courtyard below but no one on the battlements. Perfect. Ellana hobbles in a half-crouch, staying low and near to the shadows inside the short wall. She follows the path behind the quartermaster's barn and pauses at the door to the Herald's Rest tavern attic. The initial plan was to make her way to the bottom floor and slip out through the main gates. Now, hindered by an injury, she's wondering if that route is still the safest option. If I was spotted and had to run, would they be able to catch me? She peaks over the stones to the rows and rows of tent barracks just outside Skyhold. Yes. Their numbers had dwindled since she closed the breach but there's still a few hundred soldiers out there ready to be called to action. Directly below her, wagons full of Inquisition weapons, camp supplies and provisions waited patiently in a train against the fortress wall. Cassandra's cavalcade. Anger gnawed away at her gut. These resources - my resources - could have been sent to the Storm Coast to aid the refugees. Instead, they will sustain the Divine's trek from Val Royeaux. These Inquisition will be more than complicit if the journey they discussed in the War Room comes to pass. They will be collaborating with the Venatori Magistrium to fuel another Elven genocide. Without these carts, Cassandra won't be able to represent the Chantry at the Duke Cyril's council.

"Without those carts Cassandra won't be able to attend the council." She repeats in a whisper. Suddenly, Ellana doesn't feel so helpless. She shoves her right hand down into the backpack, feeling around for the smooth, glass bottles. Clutching two between her fingers, she tugs them free of the other supplies. The flasks of fire glow slightly in her grasp. She worked so hard to earn these: hunting down essence containment apparatuses and mildewy books to complete the Way of the Tempest. In a blink she's watching glistening glass bottles tumble down towards the nearest wagon. Two lilting shatters resonate as the flasks break. The accelerant spatters onto canvas and wood, igniting immediately. Small flickering flames dance happily. It's not enough. Ellana drops her pack onto the cobblestones and roots around for more grenades. She wouldn't even be a Tempest Rogue without the Inquisition - without Cassandra - and the destruction was intoxicating. She wants to be corrupted. She wants to burn down the house she gave her life to build. She wants Leliana and Cassandra to be appalled by her behavior - to think of her with disgust just as she thinks of them. Ellana hurls another flask of fire and another and another. Each smash brings twisted joy to her racing heart. Of the five carts, three of them radiate with light. Fire slowly licks against the tightly packed supplies. Not enough. She grasps the final flask tightly and leans over the edge of the battlement, aiming and releasing. This one shatters forcefully against the wooden rungs of the front wagon's wheels. A carpet of straw on the ground is set ablaze. These flames are hungrier. They spread quickly across the floor, desperate to consume. Her work glows brightly. Shadows dance upon tents of sleeping soldiers and scouts. This won't go unnoticed for long - and she's counting on it. The chaos that is about to ensue will buy her one more essential tool for her journey. She could run now, but she won't get far on a hurt leg. If she truly wants a head start - and a shot at escaping arrest for arson and treason - she needs to move faster. Ellana dons her pack again and quickly slips through the tavern attic, out the other side, down the stone steps stairs, and across the entryway. She creeps silently past empty merchant stalls and a pair of guards quietly chatting. There will be a perfect, fleeting window to escape after the fire is discovered but before the soldier's cries alert Cullen and the others within Skyhold. It will be just enough time to acquire the last thing she needs. Ellana ducks into the barn and unhooks a woven leather harness from the wall. She winces as her favorite mount, Vunin, knickers at her in greeting. Fenedhis, he's awake. She freezes, waiting for the great beast to stop his braying. He must be sensing her nervousness.

"Vunin, shhhhhhh falon" She begs in a whisper.

He thrashes his antlers impatiently and paws at the ground. The longer this goes on, the more likely - She catches movement in the corner of her eye before she hears the guard's voice. Ellana holds her breath and presses her back flat against the barn wall. On the other side of the planks, an unknown person strolls up to her beloved companion.

"What's wrong, buddy?" He speaks gently, catching Vunin's nodding head in his hands, "whatcha' looking at?"

Ellana wrings the leather nervously in her hand. She's debating if it is safer to run or hide at this moment. Too late. By some stroke of terrible luck, the guard turns and walks into the barn. Their eyes lock through the slats in his helmet, his flashing with recognition.

"Um, I just wanted to wish him goodnight." She squeaks, struggling to come up with a convincing lie. Everything I've done, wasted. Her thunderous heart beats loudly in her ears, but not loud enough to drown out the sounds of distant shouting. The soldiers outside have found her surprise. She sees the guard glance beyond her shoulder to the gates of Skyhold. Now! I should silence him before he reveals me. Mere moments before she attacks him the guard steps back, ducking his head respectfully.

"Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris." He speaks quietly, urgently, and then he turns and hurries to the front gates, following the other guards. He's not sounding an alarm, not attempting to catch her, he just… leaves. Ellana stands stunned by what occurred and tries to piece together his message. It's Elvish but spoken with words she doesn't know in a heavy accent that doesn't blend with her own Dalish dialect. She shakes the thought out of her mind. Later. She's almost out of time. High on the hill, the main hall begins to glow with approaching torchlights. Skyhold is waking up. Ellana rushes to secure the halter behind the Vunin's broad antlers. Her fingers fumble as he shoves her with his soft muzzle, rooting around for something to eat.

"Curse all the times I brought you snacks from the kitchen, you spoiled boy," she whispers, tying the reins together near his withers. The yelling outside the walls is growing louder and there is no time to fasten a saddle. Ellana unlatches the stall gate and tugs Vunin into the empty courtyard. He trots reluctantly beside her. She clicks her tongue to urge him past a low, wooden merchant's table. Grabbing the reins and a tuft of soft coppery fur at his neck, she kicks off the table with her aching left foot. At the same time, she swings her right leg and pulls her body up and onto Vunin's back. It only takes a moment to steady herself and she is ready. She squeezes her thighs to send Vunin lurching forward. His large hooves clatter on the stones as they gallop through the courtyard. Just as she turns the corner, she sees Leliana cloaked in torchlight at the top of the Skyhold steps. Then, they bolt down the tunnel and out the gates of the fortress. Outside, the tent barracks are alight with activity. Dozens of soldiers scurry about trying to douse the flames in water and blankets. A few others have donned partial armor and weapons, ready to defend their castle but seeing no one to defend it against. Meanwhile two weeks of provisions blazed hot, radiating heat and smoke. Completely destroyed. Many of the guards realize they're too late to stop it and watch the fire helplessly. A sly smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. The heat makes her feel powerful. Satisfaction quells the rage and despair in her belly. Ellana squeezes again to urge her mount onward and Cullen's men scramble out of their way. They're just as powerless to stop the hulking Red Hart from escaping as they are the flames. The two of them race down the mountain path, weaving rocks and step drops until the patter of Vunin's hooves is all she can hear. She made it.

Elvish Vocabulary:
Fenedhis - (common curse) fuck/dammit all
Vunin - Today
(in context) Vunin, shhhhhhh falon." - Shhh friend…
Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris. - (secret passphrase used by Agents of Fen'Harel)