Chapter 26

Elena moved mechanically around her room, packing her few personal belongings into her saddlebags for the morning's departure. It was good that she had a task. The task allowed her to push all else from her mind and focus on something concrete and productive. If she kept busy, she would not break. It had worked when Fabien left Ostwick. It would work now. She could feel how unnatural her movements were as she folded, rolled, and stuffed her clothes into her saddlebags. She was surprised by how few things she actually owned, most of her belongings were army-issued and as a result, they were left piled neatly on top of the chest at the foot of her bed to be collected later by the quartermaster.

She found herself running out of things to do as she closed the leather bags and laid them across the back of the singular wooden chair in the room. She straightened the covers on the bed, adjusted the shutters on the window, and even fluffed her pillows, but there was nothing for it. Her packing done, she was adrift in a sea of indecision and avoidance. If she stopped moving, everything would shatter. She could feel herself stretched thin and taut as a bowstring.

She sat on her bed, giving in to the tightness in her body, trying to relax. She let herself fall backwards so that she was staring at the blank, stone ceiling. She sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest as she rolled onto her side, her eyes falling across the door. She waited, hoping someone would come and knock on it and distract her from the pain spreading through her chest like poison. She knew that all that had transpired that day was directly her fault, that she could have avoided it all if she had simply followed orders, but that had seemed impossible at the time. She had never intended for things to go as severely awry as they had. Yet, here she was, curled onto her bed, watching a door, waiting for a knock that would never come.

The door blurred. She scrubbed a hand against her eyes and it came away wet. Had she been crying the whole time? It wasn't like she had never cried before, but it had been so long since it had snuck up on her like this. Now that she realized it, she couldn't seem to stop. The strength of her grief continued to grow as did her weeping. Soon, she was sobbing with such force she was hardly able to breathe. The only thing she found herself able to do was wait for it all to stop, to surrender to the storm. Maker… Andraste… anyone… someone… Help me. I'm so lost.

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Elena breathed in deeply as Erik released her from yet another vice-like hug. "Don't give him too much trouble, Lane." Erik told her nodding towards Fabien who sat astride his pale horse, waiting patiently for them to finish their good-byes. "I'm only sending him because I think if anyone else went with you, you would never actually make it home." Elena rolled her eyes. She really didn't need an escort back to Ostwick. "Don't act like I'm not right. If you went alone, you'd probably wind up in Antiva. If I sent anyone else with you, they'd probably wind up lost in the Hinterlands with you on your way to Antiva."

"Why do you think I'd go to Antiva?"

Erik shook his head, "That's not the point."

Elena smirked at him, "I think it is, though. Are you worried I'll become a Crow without proper guidance?"

"I'm so glad you're taking this whole thing so lightly." Erik chastised her, "Elena, I'm serious. You go straight home, or I'll place a bounty on your head so high the very trees will hunt for you."

"Relax. I'm in enough trouble as it is. I promise not to make it worse." She admitted quietly, "I'm going to miss you." I'm going to miss… everyone.

Erik hugged her again, "I'm sorry things turned out this way." He released her, "You had better get going before it gets too late."

I had better get going before I start crying again. She thought as she nodded and swung up onto her own horse, "Of course; we have a long way to go before dark." She didn't hear Erik's reply as she looked up at the tower above them. The doors remained closed, but really, what was she expecting?

"… and be careful." Erik finished up, slapping her knee.

She looked down at him, smiling bravely. "Don't worry so much. We will be. I'll write as soon as we get home."

"You had better!" Erik told her stepping back as she and Fabien kicked their horses into a trot and clattered out of the stable-yard.

The bridge between gates had never felt so long. She kept casting glances behind her, searching the ramparts, the space beneath the portcullises, the pathway between them, for a splash of gold, a glint of armor buried beneath fur—something that would give away his presence. Fabien remained silent, leading the way in confidence, letting her have this time to search for whatever and whoever she needed to see at this moment. They both knew what she was looking for so desperately as they made their way along, but the object of her search did not appear. As they passed under the second gate, she pulled her horse to a halt and twisted in her saddle as the animal danced beneath her anxious legs, unsure of what she wanted from it. She scanned the battlements, feeling the tears clog her throat and prick at her eyes, as she realized everything was as it should be and free of evidence of—of him.

"Elena?" Fabien's thunderous rumble broke through her desperate searching, the empty sound of her heart thudding in her ears. She whipped her head to him, her horse tossing its head as it adjusted its position quickly yet again, "I—I don't think he's coming."

She swallowed hard and nodded, "I think you're right." She muttered, gathering her reins firmly to herself and kicking her horse forward again, "Let's go." Fabien nodded and joined her as she breezed past him. But what neither of them saw was the man who whipped around the corner, clutching the stone wall in his left hand to bring him to a stop as they disappeared from view.

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Elena dismounted and passed the reins to the waiting stable boy. He bowed before leading the animal away from her. Fabien stood nearby, looking at the back door to her family's home, his stance guarded and anticipatory. Elena followed his gaze and saw her father standing at the entrance to the stone dwelling. His arms were folded across his broad chest in a displeased manner that she wasn't un-used to. She felt her cheeks redden and ducked her head to hide her shame from his piercing emerald eyes. Reluctantly, she walked towards him. She could hear Fabien follow along behind her, see his shadow cast next to hers. How many times had they both approached the house in this same way? Only then, it had been to atone for much smaller grievances than the ones she had carried out across the Waking Sea. She came to a stop before him, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Wordlessly, Bann Trevelyan stepped to the side, allowing her passage into the depths of her home. "Thank you for seeing my daughter safely back to me." He began his voice solemn as usual, "I've sent word to the Circle of your arrival."

Elena stopped, turning to look at Fabien over her father's shoulder, panicked. His eyes met hers and he nodded, "I was hoping, sir, that I might stay here?"

Bann Trevelyan scoffed, "And what gives you the impression that you are welcome under my roof?" Clearly, the Lord Trevelyan did not forget faces as easily as Elena had hoped. Then again, nobody else had caused as much chaos for House Trevelyan as Fabien and Elena had. It was reasonable that her father recognized him even after so many years.

Fabien shrugged, not bothered in the slightest, "I am an agent of the Inquisition, and it is the Inquisitor himself who sent me to return the young Lady Trevelyan to your home. Wouldn't it be considered rude to send me to the Circle for the night without hearing the message I've brought along with your daughter?"

Trevelyan's eyes narrowed at the use of the word rude to describe himself. Fabien had known what button to push to gain his entrance to the house, "Very well, let us convene in my study." He turned and faced Elena, jabbing a finger at her in a warning as he frowned at her, "You are to go directly to your room. We will dine soon, and I will not have you seated at my table in men's clothes."

Elena nodded silently. She knew when to leave her father well-enough alone, and this was one of those times. The fact that he had yet to greet her was enough of a warning, but the rigidity of his spine, the ripple of anger in his voice, and the hard glint in his stony green eyes was inarguable. The last time she had tried to address any subject other than the one he wanted to when he was like this had ended poorly to say the least. She looked at Fabien as he ducked through the doorway behind her father. He smiled encouragingly at her as if to say "We've gotten through worse." She turned and headed up the stairs for her room.

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Elena clutched her bedpost as the maid servant pulled the laces on her corset tighter. It had been years since she had last allowed herself to be subjected to this particular torture, but when the woman had brought it out of her wardrobe her father's words rang ominously in her ears "I will not have you in men's clothes…" The corset really was the worst part of dressing like a proper noble lady, she reminded herself as the woman pulled again letting out a triumphant noise. Elena breathed out fully and found she was unable to do so. She had to settle for a slower release of air limited by the tightness of the garment around her chest. Still, it felt good not to be tugged at any longer. She released her stiff fingers from the bedpost and turned to face the maid servant.

Another woman clicked her tongue from the doorway. "Well, you do have a nice shape, don't you?" She asked in a crisp voice that sent shivers down Elena's spine, "All that fighting has kept you in top-shape. Your father will be pleased." Elena felt a cool, soft hand pick up a strand of her hair, twisting it experimentally as she continued around to Elena's front. Elena looked at her mother, realizing for the first time how similar they looked despite their hair. Still, Elena felt like a cuckoo under her mother's critical gaze. She felt her cheeks flush as she broke eye contact and looked at the floor. Her knees and waist bending on their own as she curtsied prettily for the Lady Trevelyan.

Her mother let Elena's dark hair slide from her fingers, her lips turning downward slightly. "Straighten your back." She directed. Elena obediently did as she was told, though she felt otherwise. "Mmm. That'll do."

"Mother. I—"

The Lady held her hand up, cutting Elena off. "Stop. I don't want to hear it. I can guess well-enough at what you've been up to since you've left. Your brother has kept us abreast of the events of your time playing soldier with his army." She had moved to Elena's wardrobe and was searching through it swiftly. "Let us pray to the Maker that you haven't ruined your chances completely."

"My chances?" Elena asked, raising her hands above her head so Lady Trevelyan could slip a midnight blue gown over her.

"Don't play stupid, girl. There's still the matter of your future to attend to." She laced Elena up with deft fingers, settling the shimmering fabric smoothly against Elena's shoulders.

"You seriously think anyone will have me now?" Elena asked, looking at herself in the mirror as her mother started to pin her hair up.

Lady Trevelyan smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. There are a lot of men who would jump at a chance to build a tie to our House."

Elena rolled her eyes, "Anyone that I might like?"

"What does that matter? Your father and I like them well enough." She spun Elena around to look at her, tugging a few strands of hair loose here and there. She tapped at the pink scar on Elena's shoulder and nibbled on her lip thoughtfully.

"What'll happen when they find out I'm not a virgin?" She asked flatly. The slap stung before she knew her mother had raised her hand. Elena reached up and pressed her hand to her burning cheek, glaring icily at her mother.

"Don't." Lady Trevelyan hissed, "Don't you dare say that ever again. That… isn't your fault." She tugged at the fabric on Elena's shoulders until it covered the scar fully. She patted the fabric so it was free of wrinkles, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it and not a moment sooner." Her mother turned and motioned for Elena to follow her.

Elena remained tactfully silent as she accompanied her mother down stairs. She was relieved to see Fabien waiting for her at their base looking dashing in a burgundy doublet she recognized from Adrian's wardrobe. He grinned up at her, striking a gallant pose with one hand behind his back and the other settled against his stomach. Her mother paused at his side and whispered something that caused his grin to falter as she moved away to the dining room. Elena paused as well, a question on her lips, but he shook his head and walked to the dining room wordlessly. This left her to enter the room alone behind him. When she saw people already seated at the table, she guessed what her mother had said to Fabien and why he hadn't offered her his arm or even walked next to her. There were two extra men seated on either side of an empty chair.

"Maker's sweet Breath…" She murmured as her mother indicated to her that she was to sit between the guests. It was the only bit of personality she was going to be permitted for the remainder of the evening and she was the only one who could hear it. As soon as she was seated, the soup was served. She was introduced to their guests over this course, though their names didn't remain with her beyond her polite greeting. They weren't a terribly unattractive lot, younger than previous suitors that she had met, but lacking in vitality, wit, and charm. They seemed lifeless compared to the men she knew in the Inquisition. Their lives were bland with dull occurrences and problems that were easily solved. They had typical interests for high-class merchants like themselves. Elena found the salad more interesting than them. It had variety at least.

"You were away for some time in Ferelden your parents tell me." The man on her left mentioned, trying to draw her into a conversation. "What were you doing there?"

Elena looked at him; his soft, dark brown eyes were sincere in a face framed with curled golden locks. She blinked, taken aback by his appearance, and answered honestly. "I was with my brother's army."

The man to her right chuckled, "What business could you possibly have had there?" He asked, "Washing and mending laundry?"

Elena glared at him silently while she tempered herself. The man glanced at her and smiled his teeth yellow behind his lips. "We shared chores equally, yes, but I was there as a soldier."

"The young Lady Trevelyan is a fine swordswoman, you know." Fabien chipped in from across the table. Her mother shot him a warning look, "She's also an accomplished embroiderer." He quickly added before tucking back into his salad.

"She won't have need for a sword in my house." The yellow-toothed man stated definitely. "She'll be too busy caring for my children."

"You have children?" Adrian queried from the opposite side of him, drawing the man's attention away from Elena. "Tell me about them."

"I think it's nice you've a hobby of your own." The blonde man said to her. "Sword play is useful these days."

Elena looked at him again, "It isn't a hobby." She said plainly. "I'm a soldier."

The blonde man shook his head, smiling gently at her as if she were a precocious child with a grandiose imagination that he must cater to, "Of course you are."

Elena looked across at Fabien, feeling exasperated. He shrugged apologetically at her as the servants brought in the main course and set it before them. Elena toyed with her food, picking at it moodily. Were these men her only options? One who clearly only wanted her to keep his house and provide him with the status that marrying a noblewoman would give him or the other who seemed slightly more decent but most likely wanted her for the same reasons? Neither man was truly interested in her. Neither man wanted to marry her because they liked her much less loved her. She looked across at Fabien who was chatting easily with her father, laughing, having a nice time. He even managed to coax a chuckle from her dinner companions. His eyes settled on hers and they were full of understanding. He was trying to lighten the mood to help her through this particular ordeal in the only way he could, by keeping the focus on him. She was grateful that Erik had sent him with her. Who else could she rely on in this situation without even needing a word?

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Elena woke with a start. Something had woken her, but she didn't know what. She sat up in bed, letting her subconscious and conscious work seamlessly together in these first few moments of wakefulness. She slid from her warm bed, tapping her feet reflexively on the cold floor of her room. She went to her window and pushed it open. The warm night air kissed her face and wrapped itself around her like a comfortable sweater. She sighed and leaned on the sill, looking up into the starry sky. A breath of breeze wafted across her skin, cooling her. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her upper arms, trying to keep away the inevitable disparaging thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her in the dark of the night.

"You can't sleep either, huh?" The familiar, deep timbre of Fabien's voice drifted up to her from the courtyard below. She looked down at him. He sat on the ground, a candle before him, mace in his lap, and his whetstone in his hand. Had it been the sound of him closing the back door that had woken her?

She shook her head, "I was asleep, but… now I'm not."

He grinned and set his mace to the side. He unfolded himself from the ground carefully. How did he even manage to get down with those legs? He came to stand beneath her window. He held out his arms. "You want to come down?"

She bit her lip and tucked her loose hair behind her ears. "I'm not so sure I should."

He dropped his hands, "Do you want me to come up there?"

She dropped her hands to grip the edge of the window sill and leaned out into the night to look more directly into his face. "Fabien… Do you want my father to kill you?"

"No, but how am I to resist you when you look like that?"

"I look like myself."

"Elena. You look like a damsel in distress waiting on a knight to climb her hair and rescue her." He tugged his shirt down and hooked his thumbs into his belt. "It does things to a man." He gave her a wounded, sultry look.

"You're ridiculous."

"It's unfair of you to be so beguiling. However, it is your prerogative, and I am not one to force my company upon a woman when she doesn't want it. I'll be here if you change your mind." He went back to his spot, sat down, and resumed sharpening the flanges on his mace.

She pondered him from above. The man was an absolute giant; watching him settle himself on the ground was like watching someone felling a tree. "Do you think about what might have happened had I not left? Where we might be? What we might be doing?" he asked her those questions when he had arrived at Skyhold. She had dismissed him outright then, but now… she sighed and sank her chin into her hands, watching him care for his weapons. His black hair caught orange highlights from the candle at his feet while his hands worked confidently on the mace in his lap. He had one corner of his mouth caught between his teeth as he ran his thumb along the edges of the flanges on the weapon. If it hadn't been for recent events, would she have even remembered him asking her that? She thought about him, the person she had known for so many years.

She remembered falling in love with him. The thrill of waking up one day to realize that the words he spoke on the trade ship were the truest words he had ever spoken to her. "I am yours." She had felt those words echo in her own heart and had known that as he was hers, she was his. It had been almost too much to bear, continuing their childish romance. Then, he had kissed her. He used his growing body to shield them from the elements and prying eyes and had created their own private pocket of the world. It had been gentle and tender and full of longing and hope that had set her soul alight. They gave each other a small, permanent piece of their hearts in that kiss. The piece of his heart she had been given had wedged itself into hers like a sliver of glass. It went in painlessly but itched and eluded her whenever she tried to remove it. She wondered if he felt the same. If he, too, felt that he was inexorably connected to her. Hadn't he told her just recently that he was still hers and always would be? Even now, after all of the harm she had caused him and others in the wake of her immature need to prove herself to those around her, here he was… Ready… Waiting… Patient... Willing to let her make her own decisions in her own time. He hadn't renounced her, only her actions. He understood her, and, in his understanding, Elena found acceptance.

Wasn't that what love was supposed to be like?

Why did he love her? She hadn't questioned his love for her since he had arrived in Skyhold. It had been vaguely hinted at, never said outright, but it was still there for those who knew what to look for.

And yet… she was poisoned to his affections by his profession on the day he left. "I am growing weary of this game we are playing. I am leaving Ostwick." He told it to her plainly, his eyes flat as a river stone in a blank face. But… here he was. Patiently, calmly waiting below for her to do whatever she wanted.

"Fabien?" She asked. He paused his sharpening and looked up at her. "Are we playing another game?"

His brow furrowed. He mouthed the question, his lips forming each word carefully as he chewed on the query. Recognition crossed his face, shortly followed by a huff of breath through his nose and a smile that was somewhere between bemused and amused. "You're still holding on to the words of a love-sick boy?"

Elena remained silent. She watched him closely for any signs of duplicity.

He sighed and leaned back on his hands, resting his head on one shoulder. "Oh, Lane, don't you know why I said that?"

Elena nodded, "You didn't answer my question. Are we in the same position now as we were three years ago? Are we just playing a game with each other's hearts again?"

Fabien picked up his mace and stuck it into his belt as he stood. "I have never played a game with your heart, Elena. I have only ever played with my own. I must admit that I am a dreadful player." He came to stand beneath the window again, "Come down to me, please, and ease my weary soul with your attentions." He held open his arms in invitation for her to jump. Elena rolled her eyes at his dramatics and slid from the window, down into his waiting arms. He let out a grunt of effort as he caught and held her tightly against his powerful chest. She looped an arm around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. It felt good to be held by someone so much bigger and stronger than herself, like a balm for her spirit.

"What is to become of us, then? If this is not a game. I confess that the love I hold for you is not romantic." She told him quietly, twisting strands of his dark hair around her fingers absently.

He offered her a gentle, understanding smile. "I burned that bridge when I left Ostwick, I know." He set her down on her feet.

She stepped back and leaned against the wall of the house, "Thoroughly."

"You are worried that by allowing me to press my luck with you in Skyhold, you have hurt me in such a way that I would no longer wish to know you in any capacity?" He bent to peer directly in her face, "You think that you could get rid of me that easily?" He teased.

She flapped a hand at him, shooing his face away from hers. "Yes. I am worried that I hurt you after you have been so kind to me during all this mess I've cooked up for myself."

"But you weren't worried about that before all this mess?"

She shrugged, "Not exactly, no." She admitted, "I hadn't thought about it then. I have now."

Fabien chuckled and leaned against the wall next to her. "No. Lane. You haven't hurt me. I'm a grown man. I knew what I was doing. I still do. And I'm still an idiot with a heart too big and soft for you."

"I'm glad. I do love you."

"I know. It's just going to make this next bit more difficult…"

"Next bit? What next bit?"

"Oh ho! My dear little lark, let me tell you my grand plan to solve just about all of your problems."

"And what is that?"

"You and I get engaged."

If she had had a drink in her mouth, she would have spit it out. Since she did not, she ended up just spluttering air out of her lips as she started laughing. "FABIEN! Come on! You jest! Surely you are not such a glutton for punishment as I am."

"I am serious. Say you'll marry me. All your problems will be resolved."

"How? How does that fix all of my problems? I have so many and you are but one man and I one woman. I don't see how engagement solves any of them."

He ticked them off on his fingers as he rattled happily and readily through a list that he had clearly been waiting a long while to tell her, "Your parents will stop bringing suitors around. I will be in utter bliss until the day we eventually call the engagement off citing 'irreconcilable differences' as a reason. We will keep those differences private, of course, to protect the fabulous. You won't have to marry anyone you don't want to. Erik will let you visit Skyhold from time to time to see me – or at least give me leave to visit you, so you won't be horrendously bored here. Not to mention, every chance you get to come back to Skyhold increases your chance to offer an apology to your brooding Com—"

She clapped a hand over his mouth. Elena could feel her body react to the sudden mention of him. Her throat and chest tightened uncomfortably. Her eyes smarted as tears struggled to fill them. She could hear the tremble in her suddenly thick voice. "No."

"No?" Fabien queried around her hand, his eyebrows rising practically into his hairline, "but I thoug—"

"Well, you thought wrong. I won't go to Skyhold." She swallowed hard, getting a grip on herself. "Erik said I couldn't go back." She let her hand drop. "It seems to me that your proposal is well-thought-out. I accept... on the condition that you ask me properly at a more reasonable hour."