I established last chapter that this fic has low engagement and Author's Notes are low-key pointless HOWEVER if someone other than me and my Solas-simping heart does happen to find this story later I want to point out there there are some icky moments at the end of this chapter (verbal threats/implied abuse). If you are at all triggered by themes related to SA please take care of yourself and skip the end of this chapter when Ellana leaves Laurel and Johan's cabin.
Ellana is lucky to be making her escape from Skyhold and not Haven. The ancient fortress is located farther North and closer to the coast than the snow-covered village where the Inquisition was born. Although Skyhold is nestled among mountain peaks, it sits at a lower elevation than Haven. It only took Vunin an hour to reach the bottom of the decline and escape into the treeline. Ellana has never been to this span of forest before but she's willing to brave uncharted territory to avoid being tracked. Her advisors will likely send their first search party to Gherlen's Pass, Southeast of Skyhold. They will expect Ellana to follow the Imperial highway along the Northwest shore of Lake Calenhad - which is the same massive body of water that Redcliffe village overlooks in the South. It's the path Ellana and her party would take on their journeys because it is the least mountainous and most direct route to the Storm Coast. Familiarity is risky now. So instead she steers Vunin Northeast. Her goal is to skip Gherlen's Pass, hike over Orzammar, and meet back up with the Imperial highway at the choke point between the Waking Sea and the North point of Lake Calenhad. It's a longer route, but safer.
"Not yet, Vunin. Just a little farther." She strokes his soft fur reassuringly and gives him a gentle squeeze because he's slowing down again. Stones tumble beneath his dragging hooves. He has worked hard to get them here and desperately needs a rest, but this is wolf country. I can't believe I miss having watch shifts… Ellana tips her head skyward and peers at the stars through the sparse canopy. Earlier, she consulted the letter from her keeper but, aside from Morrin's Outlook and its oddly insignificant shack, Deshanna's map only includes major cities and towns. The nearest landmark is Orzammar, but Ellana has no way of gauging how close they actually are to the underground stronghold. Luckily, she has another gift to guide her: knowledge of astronomy. Ellana has been tracking the constellation Visus across the sky to monitor their progress. It's a collection of stars similar to the sigil of the Inquisition. Stories say that early human tribes navigated through the Frostbacks using the 'Watchful Eye' as their guide. Now Ellana is testing the legend. Visus has ascended since they began their journey, allowing her to determine the cardinal directions. They are currently heading Northeast…ish. She tries to visualize the war table map in her mind. There are two teacup lakes to the East - she can't remember the names of either - joined to Lake Calenhad by an expansive river. The larger of the two lakes has a commercial village on its Northern coast. It's the closest known settlement. She steers Vunin opposite to the path of Visus, both of them ducking under low-hanging limbs. Tiredness has dulled their reflexes. The stag occasionally sends willowy branches springing back into place after bending them with his great antlers. Ellana catches the first two but the third one whips her in the mouth instead. Her bottom lip stings and tastes of copper. She halts him with a slight tug of the reins and swings her legs to the ground, wincing from the bruise on her left heel. Continuing on foot is the only rest she can offer him, so they continue that way for another hour. By the time she sees moss on the bark and branches of the trees, Ellana is leaning on Vunin's broad neck to remain standing.
"A lake!" She releases her grip as Vunin lurches ahead of her. He shoves his nose into the surface and gulps deep drags of clear water. She limps after him and drops to her knees in the shallows. Cold dampness seeps into her pants as she cups it with her hand and raises the water, trembling, to chapped lips. It's hard to know which lake she's looking at. She glances up at Visus to confirm which direction is North and squints across the lake. Mist hangs low over the water and there are no signs of a town or village, only - thank the Gods - a small homestead about a hundred yards away. She waits for Vunin to have his fill before standing and leading him towards the barn. Just a few hours, she thinks as she unlatches the heavy wooden door and ushers Vunin indoors. We'll leave before dawn. No one will know that we're here. There are about two dozen sheep inside, bleating softly and ruminating on their supper. The air is dusty but also warm and comforting. Ellana barely has time to curl up in the straw because sleep claims her so quickly. She dreams in fragmented memories from years past. Flashes of conversation from when they were all strangers to each other. She watches herself fighting alongside Cassandra, having been unshackled mere moments before. She sees the two of them approaching the frontlines - running to assist the dwarf (with his complicated looking crossbow) and the tall elven man. He fired a final bolt of chain lightning with a spin of his staff and then he turned to examine her. The first conversation:
"The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all."
"Am I riding in on a shining steed?"
"I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they're extinct."
The first touch. His grip firm around her wrist, raising their hands together to wield her mark - his magic - against the first of many fade rifts. Then later, at Haven. Sickly and sweating, drifting in and out of consciousness while he stopped the anchor from consuming her. It was work not done out of care but necessity. Solas, the mistrusted apostle, relied on her survival to ensure his own freedom. At least, that was the half-truth he led her to believe. Secretly, he was solving the mystery of why his magic clung to her and how he could retrieve it without killing her. Their fates were tied from the beginning. The scene shifts again to snowy training grounds, days later. The breach loomed overhead, reminding all what was at stake. She was being pulled in every direction - her advisors kept summoning her to the War Table and deploying her to acquire agents and horses and missing soldiers - and yet, she still found brief, quiet moments to speak with her new companions. With him.
"You train to flick a dagger or an arrow to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike, because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I."
"So you're suggesting I'm graceful?"
"No, I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate."
The first flirtations. Words spoken so casually and so excruciatingly polite that, even now, it is difficult to know his intentions. She met him stride for stride on the outside but, deep down, she wanted him to speak plainly and tell her outright if the honeyed words were intended as friendly banter or something else. And so she kept prodding, driven by curiosity rather than romantic interest. She asked him questions about his politics, his past, and his explorations in the fade. He was cynical and strangely out of touch with the world, but also full of answers and wisdom. She began to notice the way her curiosity tugged at his stoic demeanor. He liked that she was always asking questions and demanding to know more. Although he detested the Dalish - and wanted her to know it - he was willing to seek common ground among their dueling perspectives. And so, she started to trust him. Watching their story unfold in hindsight, Ellana still wants to believe that he too desired to know her better. The two halves of her broken heart are at war. One side swearing that his romance was a ruse from the start and the other promising that he was as unexpectedly struck by her as she was him. Because when she finally found the ruins of Inquisition after their first defeat and collapsed into the snow, Solas ran to her first. Because, when he lifted her shivering body and carried her to the fire, she heard him saying softly,
"Be Strong, Ellana." He had called her Herald and Lavellan and Lethalin before, but never her true name. Because, this time, when he coaxed her back to consciousness with healing magic he seemed panicked for her wellbeing in addition to his own. Because when they kissed for the first time, it surprised him. How could he have planned it?
"I told myself, one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to fleeing and then… it seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture. Right then, I felt the whole world change."
"Felt the whole world change?"
"A figure of speech."
As always, his words were just innocent enough to pass as friendly. She stepped closer to him, testing to see if he would tolerate her in his space. He shifted slightly, but he didn't move away. She was inspecting his gaze to see if there truly were deeper feelings cloaked within his story, or if it was simply wishful thinking on her part.
"I'm aware of the metaphor. I'm more interested in 'felt.'"
"You… change everything."
For a split second, the mask slipped. His expression softened and he exhaled a shaking breath. Something was stopping him from taking the leap of faith.
"Sweet talker."
Both of them looked away, laughing nervously. The moment almost escaped them until Ellana reached first. Her fingertips tilted his chin towards her and their lips met, soft and fleeting. It was the ghost of a kiss. When she retreated she saw a mix of emotions on his face. He wore an expression of admiration - impressed that she had the courage to do what he did not - and fascination - perhaps baffled that, as she had implied, he did care about her. Could it have been a lie? But then, the way he shook his head when she began to turn away and drew her into his embrace… It had to have been real. His reaction was too genuine. As he kissed her, she felt his shock dissolve into eagerness - hunger - for her touch. She saw an early crack in his carefully guarded demeanor when he pulled away only to lean towards her again, searching for more. It was the first time she witnessed him forget himself. He kissed her with the passion of someone who had waited lifetimes for happiness and maybe - she hoped - they might find it in each other.
Or maybe not. Perhaps he just wanted to remain close to the anchor. Her doubt seems to sour the memory. She watches the scene at Haven dissolve into threads of green rift magic and finds herself back in the cold, lonely present. She is standing in the forest from yesterday's dreams. The trees don't look much different from ones she and Vunin had stumbled through not long ago. It's colder now. Chilly, expansive darkness surrounds her.
"Go back, Ellana. There's nothing more you can do for Lavellan."
The voice echoes from all directions. His voice! "Solas? Why are you here?" She turns and scans the tree line. Nothing. "Show yourself, please." She strides forward into the underbrush, pushing branches aside with one arm.
"You must return to the Inquisition." He insists.
"Not until I know where my people are. I don't care if it's not safe." Despite her aching muscles she starts to run, eyes searching wildly. Every tree looks the same! There is no sign of him anywhere. No sign of anyone. "What do you know of my Clan? Did they join your rebellion?"
"Your Clan is gone."
She freezes. Her chest is so tight that her voice is almost a whisper, "how do you know?"
"Go home, Ellana." The sternness in his voice is so foreign. He's never spoken to her like this before, not even when she drank from the Well of Sorrows against his wishes.
"No! Tell me how you know." She shouts, to no one in particular. There's no point in searching anymore. The forest is endless and his voice is everywhere. "You owe me this, Solas. Please tell me everything." Unsure of where to look, her eyes fall on the frosty ground instead. Her heart feels like it's breaking all over again. Despair.
He sounds disappointed now, "why could you not have listened, Vhenan?"
Rage. "Don't call me that!" She snaps as anger overtakes her sadness. "You have lost the right, you coldhearted coward! You kissed me, you took the anchor, you left me in the Crossroads to crawl back to our friends, and then you watched me from afar for weeks and now you attempt to talk without even facing me? After I've spent the last two years wondering if I ever truly knew you - wondering if what we had was real or a game to you. After I've lost ev- " she swallows a rising sob, "-erything! I have lost everything because of you. My identity and the Inquisition and now my people have fallen to your war and you cannot even stand before me when you tell me! How dare you make demands, Harrelan!"
Silence. He does not respond to his namesake.
"This is too cruel, Solas. Your guilt has driven you to many poor decisions but I- This I cannot understand. Why did you choose to tell me this now, in this way?"
Perhaps he has left her again. All she can hear is the slight rattling of frozen branches in the wind and the reminder: despair and rage. It almost feels like the thoughts are being spoken to her, rather than coming from her own mind. More despair… More rage. A pathetic narration of her new reality, growing louder with each reprise. More… She frowns because, although these words explain how she feels, she realizes that they are being spoken in a strange otherworldly voice. Suddenly, a shiver runs through her whole body.
More despair… More rage… More despair…. More rage… More!
It's growing louder. She looks around and sees that a strange white vapor is flowing towards her from all directions. The fog hovers just above the forest floor and flows over twisting roots like water. It's cold when it laps against her boots. Ellana realizes that the entire space feels so much colder now. The feeling is not new to her, but she cannot place where, when, or why she has felt this way until- she gasps! Just as the recognition strikes, a small green fragment appears in the air inches away from her face. She staggers backwards as the rift opens and a three-pronged hand with pointed claws reaches toward her. The demon's vicious fingers swipe at the air in front of her face. Another gnarled hand appears and scratches at the fade rift, widening it enough for Ellana to see bright purple eyes. It's a Rage Demon unlike any she has seen before. Usually they are burning hot with pulsating, red flesh. This one has the same hulking, amorphous form but it glows white and blue. The creature pries the opening further and more white vapor flows out. Instead of feeling hot, it radiates cold like- "A Despair Demon? You are both?!"
A twisted fissure full of teeth opens up where the creature's mouth should be. She is sickened to hear it speak with Solas's voice. "Always so clever." It chuckles, "We are Rage and Despair, a monster of your own making. Thank you, Ellana."
At once, the abomination lunges for her. She turns to flee, cursing herself for not stealing a weapon from Skyhold but then remembering that she'd be hopeless with it anyways. Speed is typically her advantage but, this time, the sole of her boot slips on an icy patch and she stumbles. A monstrous hand clamps onto her shoulder from behind. The touch is like a cold snap. Her armor freezes in an instant and the chill seeps down into her skin. Her shoulder grows cold and then numb and then incredibly painful as if she's being burned. Ellana cries out in agony and tries to wriggle out of the demon's clutches. Cold carbon vapor fills her mouth, causing her to choke.
"Johan, she is awake!"
Ellana opens her eyes wide, startled by a jostling sensation. Vunin has apparently been snacking on her pillow throughout the night because she feels a flat, hard surface beneath the back of her skull rather than straw. Her head feels fuzzy and she's still exhausted, despite having slept past sunrise. The barn is too bright and it makes the room feel like it's spinning. Her eyes slowly focus on a lady with dark, coily hair who is shaking her awake. She's saying something, but Ellana can barely hear the woman's voice over the ringing in her ears. She has warm amber eyes and a face full of concern as she looks down at Ellana.
"That's right, sit up and drink this."
Her head feels so heavy, Ellana is unable to lift it without help. She feels pressure on the back of her neck and the rim of a wooden cup against her lips. The cold water helps to clear the fuzziness out of her mind. Ellana's senses slowly return to her. She becomes aware of gnawing hunger in her stomach and a blistering pain in her right shoulder. Then, there's the sound of heavy footsteps. Looking around, Ellana realizes that she is in a house now, not a barn, and the firm surface she's lying on is a kitchen table, not a dirt floor. Ellana shuts her eyes and drops her head back onto the wood with a groan. A damp tea towel dabs gently against her sweaty forehead. 'Why do I feel so weak?' she wants to ask but her voice gets caught in her throat.
"Easy now, friend. You are safe here."
The second attempt is slightly improved. "I'm sorry," Ellana croaks, "we just needed a place to sleep." A careful hand on her chest prevents her from rolling to her side and sitting up.
She hears the sound of a man's laughter in the doorway and then "needed sleep? Yeah, sure as shit you did."
"Quiet, Johan. She is still unwell." The woman scolds before lowering her voice again. "There is no need for apologies. Andraste knows you are harmless in this state. You have had an awful fever since yesterday."
"Yesterday?" She almost chokes.
"Mmhmm. Try a bit more water, friend, you need it. That's right, slowly now. You have been through a lot, best not to rush standing. My husband found you in the morning when he went to turn the sheep loose and he called for me right away. I have been trying to wake you ever since -"
"-I told ya I could've had her up last night with a dip in the lake."
"I've been asleep for a day and a half!?"
"Well, it is almost sunset now so it's been two days, I'm afraid. You are lucky that you had me to watch over you. Otherwise my dearest Johan might have drowned you in a fit of impatience. Now that you are awake, what is your name?"
She pressed her own hand against her forehead. It does feel unusually warm. "Ellana."
"It's good to finally meet you, Ellana. I am Laurel. Now tell me, where did you come from?"
She groans again. Ellana's face must have revealed her because it makes both of them laugh. "Oh you poor thing, you are worse off than I thought." Laurel smiles sympathetically, "That's alright, you are among friends. We do not need to know. Although if you tell us where you are heading we may be able to help."
Feeling slightly stronger after drinking, she props herself up on an elbow. "I'm looking for a town on a lake near Orzammar. Not Lake Calenhad… It's on the mountain roads between Halamshiral and Jader. I - I don't know what it's called."
Johan chimes in, "Gotta be Lac d'Argent. You're lucky, it's only about five miles up the bank. Should be a good place t' find a doctor." He steps into view and Ellana is surprised to see that he's not a human like Laurel, but a dwarf. His long blonde hair is tucked into a top knot with a braided tie that matches the one around his thick beard. He's muscled and tan, probably from spending long days working outdoors. "I can hitch up the wagon and take you and the moose in the morning." He flashes a knowing grin, "I've gotta head that way to send our friend a letter anyways."
Ellana shakes her head, "I cannot impose on the two of you anymore. You've already done so much" The pair seem to sense that arguing would be pointless. Laurel dusts her hands off on her apron, ladles up a steaming bowl of lamb and pea stew for Ellana, and then shoos Johan outside to round up the sheep. Ellana is left alone in their single-room farmhouse, stunned by the strangers' kindness. She needs the rest, but she has already lost so much time. Furthermore, the twisting mix of sadness and anger - despair and rage - and the real physical pain leftover from her encounter adds another layer of urgency. What if I don't wake up next time? Ellana carefully lifts the collar of her hunter's mail and winces as the fabric of her shirt peels away from waxy skin. The burnt flesh feels tight and inflamed and there is a strange necrotic tint where the abomination grabbed her. Cole's warning makes sense now. Everything she's endured has left her vulnerable to demonic possession. Her dreams won't be a safe place until she finds Lavellan. Ellana eases her legs off of the makeshift bed and observes the room. The farmhouse is strangely well furnished given its remote location and humble residents. A few dwarven vases and other artifacts decorate the walls. She finds her pack learning against a table leg and roots around inside for her coin purse. Laurel and Johan deserve more than a stack of gold coins, but it's all that Ellana can offer them. She'll need the rest to pay for provisions and potentially a healer. She steps outside, her whole body aching from fever and travel fatigue. Laurel is in the garden, plucking carrots out of the ground, while Johan leads Vunin towards the house. The Hart's auburn fur glistens in the setting sun - has he been brushed? - and he is wearing a shiny leather saddle.
"Got 'em all tacked up for you."
"I don't understand, you're giving me a saddle?" These people are too nice. It's suspicious.
"Please, we don't even have a horse to ride." Laurel offers Vunin a bright carrot before shoving the rest into a leather pocket on the back of the saddle. The stag crunches happily. "Johan acquired it in a business deal and it's been collecting dust ever since."
Johan adds, "bah! You'll be doing us a favor, friend. See how nice he looks? He's like a real horse now." He laughs, warm and authentic.
The way he calls her 'friend' sends a pang of nervousness to her gut. Ellana suddenly remembers Laurel's words 'Andraste knows you're harmless.' The couple has been taking care of her for days, they probably noticed the arm. Do they know that I'm the Herald? We aren't far from the site of the Exalted Council, word of my injury could have traveled. Ellana accepts the reins from Johan, hooks her left foot into the stirrup and lifts her body into the saddle. She has no choice but to count on their discretion. After many more 'thank you's' and a description of how to reach the town, they set off down the road and away from their new 'friends.'
Lac d'Argent is a small, lakeside village protected by a four-foot stone parapet. It rests on the path between Halamshiral, the location of the Winter Palace, and the city of Jader. Infrastructure is sparse and there isn't much for the young people to do besides fish and shake down visitors at the outskirts of town. Ellana has the absolute pleasure of experiencing the latter.
"Woah there! You're not planning on riding into town after sunset, are ya?" The taller one jeers as she and Vunin approach. There's two of them, perhaps brothers, with drunk flushed faces and soiled clothes. Ellana had seen them passing a bottle back and forth from afar and lifted her hood up to hide her ears. She should have known that her mount would draw attention anyways. The other man flashed a toothy grin and stepped into the path. It's clear that they aren't going to let her pass without coin.
She pulls on the reins to stop Vunin, "Good evening, gentlemen."
"Ooh you hear that, Logan? She called us 'gentlemen,' how polite." He's cleaning under his nails with a dagger while the shorter one, Logan, guffaws loudly. Drunk and armed, how delightful. She maintains a neutral expression and looks beyond the men. There doesn't seem to be any other entryway into the town.
"So where'd ya' get it? Only ever seen 'em at the Winter Palace." Logan moves to pet Vunin and Ellana tilts the beast's head away from his grubby hands with a twitch of the reins.
"You've been to the Winter Palace?" She asks coolly.
"Yea, they offer jobs every time they have a party. Those Inquisition finks rode in on these when they came to meet with the Chantry blowhards, the bastards." He hocks a glob of spit from the back of his throat and spit it at the dirt near Vunin's hooves. These men know of the Inquisition. I wonder if by 'bastards' he means the Chantry or us? She thinks wryly. "D'you think he's friendly, Dego?" Logan captures Vunin's reins in his grasp. Damn, these greedy pigs.
The first man, Dego, steps forward to inspect them. "Looks downright feral to me. Worth double the visitor's tax."
Ellana sighs, "how much do you want?"
"How much have you got?" Dego fires right back.
She hadn't planned to lose all of her gold in a scam, especially after repaying Laurel and Johan for their hospitality. After 2 days of rest, they could keep going, but she wouldn't be able to see a doctor for the fever or purchase supplies. Although, without gold the stop would be pointless anyways.
"Fine, we'll leave then."
"Hold on, old broad. We've got an export tariff on all goods too. Hand over everything you've got and we'll gladly send you on your way." Dego is strolling slowly behind Vunin on her left side. They're surrounding me.
"You don't know what you're dealing with. Let us go and we won't cause any trouble." They're edging closer. Ellana tries one final shot at intimidation, "I'm warning you. Leave us alone."
Logan glances at his partner and they both laugh. "Ya hear that Dego, she's warning u-oof!" His head is thrown backwards from Ellana's swift kick and he stumbles away, losing his grip on the reins. Vunin rears backwards and wheels away from Dego, but Ellana is strangely stuck in place. A sharp yank unseats her from the saddle and she tumbles onto the hard dirt below. Her right fist swings wildly, trying to free the other sleeve from whatever it's snagged on. She connects with something warm and sweaty, and she hears a man groan. Dego is standing above her, grasping her towel-stuffed, left sleeve tightly. He half-drags, half-lifts Ellana to her feet, clasping the arm that had just slugged him in the ribs with his other hand. She feels cool air on the back of her neck as the hood of her cloak slides down.
"The little bitch is a knife-ear." He growls. His breath stinks of alcohol.
Behind him, Logan clambers to his feet. A thin trail of blood trickles down from his busted lip. Logan pants, "She's only got one arm, Dego!"
"Yeah? I'm about to take what's left of her as payment. They don't call 'em rabbits because of the ears." Gross.
"Remember what I told ya about the Council at the palace? The Inquisitor bitch came back and her arm was missin'. And this rabbit's got no tattoos on her face, just like the Inquisitor. And she's riding an Inquisition steed!"
Dego hesitates. "Is that right, little elf? Why are you so far from home?"
Fuck you, she wants to shout but she stays quiet.
Dego releases the left sleeve and snatches his dagger out of the dirt. She tries another kick while his head is low but he stops her with a rough shake. His fingers are digging into the flesh on her right forearm. He raises the knife to her face to stop her from struggling. "We've got a problem with those blowhards. Rumors say the king of the knife-ears came from the Inquisition and you folks have been helping him. You got a problem with humans, little elf?"
"I don't know anything about the Inquisition." Her voice is level and firm.
"Dego, I swear she looks just her! Even if she's not the Inquisitor we could lie and say she is. She's got to be expensive, don'cha think?"
"You're better off taking everything in my pack and letting me go. No one is going to pay for a random elf." She argues.
Logan shakes his head vigorously and turns back to Dego, "the Vints will! I've got a mate up in Jader that's been roundin' up Dalish all over Ferelden and shippin' em North over the Wakin' Sea." Damn him. If only she had known he'd be the brains of the operation. She could have aimed higher.