And find it she did. Ellana couldn't believe it. She only knew scraps of its vast history, of course, the place was unimaginably ancient. The fortress changed hands so many times, reduced to rubble and built up again, it looked like it didn't belong to any known culture, or all of them at once. But before there was even that first, most ancient fortress, the hill was a sacred place to her people. They didn't know why anymore, as most of the history before the Evanuris were worshipped as gods seemed lost, perhaps intentionally erased, or perhaps simply so ancient that no written memory remained of it.

And here she stood, thousands of years later. The fortress was in a decrepit state - who claimed it last, was it Fereldens? - the road leading to it needed to be completely rebuilt before this place could be connected to the rest of the world in any practical sense, but perhaps some old magic still lingered in the overgrown garden that was free of snow when everything surrounding the fortress was completely white.

On the steps leading to the main hall they named her Inquisitor to the cheers of the crowd gathered below. She kept her face carefully controlled as she declared something or other expected on such occasions. And then they celebrated among the ruins - being alive, being in this place they could rebuild and call their own. Cullen was already planning out some defences against a dragon attack. All she really wanted was to scream profanities at them at the top of her lungs.

When she managed to finally, finally get away, her face was tired from the fake smiles, her nerves stretched so thin that she snapped at the first person knocking at her door. Well, not her door and not exactly knocking. The Inquisition had set up camp in the courtyard until the state of the fortress could be assessed and necessary repairs made. No one wanted to have the ceiling fall on them while they were sleeping. In an attempt to get away from people she wandered into the castle proper and ended up on a sturdy looking balcony with the view of the mountains, on the other side from the noise of the courtyard.

"Are you following me?" she rubbed her face with her hands and massaged the muscle not used to continuous smiles and speeches.

"I wanted to see if you were alright," Solas came onto the balcony and looked around. "And that you didn't get buried in the rubble or fall off a wall."

"That would be so ironic after just being named Inquisitor, I'm almost tempted."

"I understand it can feel overwhelming right now…"

"No, you really don't," she leaned against the wall of the building, not trusting the ancient balcony railings to support her weight, and closed her eyes. "Back when we discussed me taking on this role, you said that 'humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting'. I guess you don't know everything from your journeys in the Fade."

"Tell me then." He did not like the emphasis she put on that last statement. But then, it was becoming increasingly clear that he would not be able to keep the truth from her forever. She knew too much all on her own to just believe him. He was already thinking about how he could tweak his legend for her.

"The last time there was an Inquisition, during the Second Blight, do you know the name of the Inquisitor who led it?"

He shook his head, then realised her eyes were still closed.

"I have not sought to find out," he admitted.

"Ameridan. There is a noble family in Orlais by the name of d'Ameride that claims to have descended from this great warrior who was personally granted the position by the Emperor Drakon I", she laughed bitterly. Solas stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. He had not seen her so raw and vulnerable before. For the first time since they met he was being offered a glimpse beyond her composed facade. "Funny thing is, there is a Dalish clan that claims the same, but who cares what some Dalish savages say?"

"You believe Ameridan was a Dalish elf?" he nudged, when she fell silent again.

"I know he was. He was my childhood hero, I would gather every scrap of knowledge about him that I could. An elf who had the friendship of a human emperor and inspired loyalty in everyone, regardless of race or religion," she opened her eyes, but that made little difference. They were looking into the vast distance between the ages. "One day, he and his closest allies disappeared on a mission. The Dales stood for a century afterwards, increasingly at odds with the surrounding humans. The Chantry chose to forget the embarrassment of having an elven Inquisitor just as easily as they erased the canticle of Shartan. As easily as they turned us into sad monsters in the minds of their followers, fit only to serve or to die by their sword."

Quite unusually, Solas was at a loss for words. Her voice lacked that blind pride the Dalish had in the past greatness they had no claim to. Instead, there was a deep sadness that resonated with his own pain. For a moment, his burden felt just a little lighter as if finally shared with another. But he knew he could never let her truly share it, for her own sake if nothing else.

"Do you believe things might have gone differently if Ameridan didn't disappear?" he finally asked.

"I used to. But I am not a child anymore," she smiled sadly, finally looking at him. "Our own pride doomed the Dales. Ameridan may have been a bridge between us and the humans that delayed the fall for a while, but he was one man. It can be too easy to put all the responsibility on one person, like children trusting blindly in their parents to put things right. Perhaps the Dales might've survived if they were wise instead of proud. Collectively, as a people, not just this big bright personality at the head that holds everything together only while being there. But we'll never know now."

Her words cut deep. He thought back to how Mythal once defended the Evanuris setting themselves up as gods. The responsibility they had for the People, to protect them and guide them as parents would. He knew she truly believed it, perhaps she was the only one of them who did. In the beginning, despite his misgivings, he deferred to her and followed. He saw where that path led. And now, he alone was left of them. The man who broke the world trying to protect the People and dooming them instead. The only one left now who could fix it. It was all down to him.

Yet here was this elf, so impossibly young, somehow pointing out the flaws in this notion. She was speaking about a different man, a different time, and he couldn't help feeling as if she was talking about him as well. She looked at the world and saw deeper than anyone he'd met in this age. If the Dalish could raise someone like her, had he misjudged them? Or was it all just her?

"I'm sorry," she said, the calm and capable facade clicking back on as the smile became more cheerful, even if he could see now that it wasn't quite reaching her eyes. "You're right, this is all a bit overwhelming. We need to stop Corypheus and I'm the logical choice for this position. I'll do my part. And hopefully, for a while at least, the world will see us a little differently. We could use a little breathing space."

"Has anyone ever found out what happened to him?"

"Who?"

"Inquisitor Ameridan. You said he disappeared."

"No," she answered, pushing herself away from the wall. "No one ever did. Shall we go back before Cassandra sends out search parties?"

He nodded. There was, perhaps, something he could do for her, a small gift to ease her mind. It would have to wait until the Inquisition had established itself here and began operating again, but he knew where to start.