The Lies We Tell - Pyreite (2024)

Chapter 1: Lady of the Veil

Chapter Text

Ellana watched him turn away. He moved towards the second Eluvian, purpose in every step. He would escape through it, disappearing for years until he surfaced again. Ready to execute his final plan to tear down the Veil. Thedas would burn to ashes, its people doomed to perish in the conflagration he ignited.

“I will never forget you”, he told her with an air of sadness that sounded more like resignation.

Ellana exhaled a weary breath, curling the fingers of her left-hand. She calmed the wild magic of the Anchor, knuckles flexing. It glowed bright like a star then subsided with a thunderous crack. Solas stopped, turned, and looked back. She said nothing when he saw the Anchor recede into the gauntleted palm of her hand.

It flickered beneath the leather and steel, still present but subdued. The agony abated with a thought, leaving her hand hale and whole. She turned it left then right, testing her strength. She wiggled her fingers, the silverite plates clinking. Solas gasped when she made a fist without grimacing.

He stared when she flexed her knees, eyes widening in alarm when she got to her feet without complaint. There was no cry of anguish, no pained hiss of breath. Ellana was calm and composed despite the agony she’d suffered. She returned his startled gaze, brows waggling as she smiled. She saw him glance from her left-hand to her face, the shock as raw as it was unexpected.

She turned away when his mouth fell open to ask a question she wasn’t ready to answer. She took two steps when the grass at her feet turned to stone. She moved around the swards, their myriad thin blade-like leaves stiff, dead, and grey. She managed a few feet more until Solas petrified a patch of shrubs, then a tree when she dared to keep going. His command was like a clap of thunder.

“Venavis!”

Ellana ignored him, slipping passed the frozen Viddasala. The Ben-Hassrath agent’s baleful expression filled her with pity. The Viddasala’s faith in the Qun had meant nothing in the face of Solas’ wrath. She’d been petrified alongside those under her command. Defiant to the last.

Ellana was halfway across the meadow when Solas flung a spell. A bolt of lightning struck the ground, scorching the flagstones black. She’d made it to the landing of the staircase that led down into the avenue of petrified Qunari. An Eluvian stood in the sun, its glassy surface rippling like water. Escape lay that way, through a path of death that grew evermore perilous.

“Ellana!”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. Solas remained before the Eluvian, resplendent in his gilded armour. He was a glittering pillar of bewilderment, outrage, and disbelief. His grey eyes were hard and flinty beneath his furrowed brows. The bridge of his nose was wrinkled like the snout of a snarling wolf. The line of his jaw was tight, his lips were peeled back to reveal gritted teeth.

He glowered, face like thunder when she tutted. The disapproving cluck of her tongue made a muscle in his cheek jump. She raised a hand, putting two fingers against her lips. She blew him a kiss moments before she vanished from sight. She slid into that space between light and darkness, cloaking herself in shadow.

“Fenedhis!”

She ran for the Eluvian, taking the stairs two at a time. Solas neither saw nor heard her passage. He hated the stealthiness of rogues. Her ability to slip away unnoticed, to hide in plain sight infuriated him. Ellana would’ve laughed if she’d seen him scowl, huff, and glare at the very air. She felt the burn of his gaze, a point of heat on her back as he searched for that tell-tale sign of a rogue in-stealth.

She had to make it down the staircase, then across the courtyard to reach the first Eluvian. It would’ve been a clean run if not for the statues of petrified Qunari in the way. Solas was still searching for that glistening distortion in the air. She would be given away the instant he managed to spot her. She wove between the stony Qunari axes, shields, and swords hoping to avoid being cut by a razor-sharp edge.

She would’ve leapt through the Eluvian to safety if not for a thread of silver hair glinting in the sun. It had caught on the edge of a Karashok’s petrified pauldron. Solas saw it fluttering in the breeze like the gossamer thread of a spider’s web. A frantic search and he soon spotted that watery reflection of light inches in front of the Karashok. He sucked in an angry breath when he spotted Ellana, several feet from the Eluvian.

He hissed a second incantation, waving a gauntleted hand in the air. The spell came alive in a frigid burst of ice-magic. Ellana spat an elvish curse when a gleaming wall of ice erupted from the ground. It encased the Eluvian in a coat of ice that would never melt unless Solas wanted it too. She sighed, going still, and let the cloak of stealth fall away.

She shimmered into existence, a ghost standing before that icy wall. She glowered at the mirror, frowning when its icy shell steamed in the sun. She reached out to touch it, the tips of her gauntleted fingers crusting with frost. She snatched her hand back when she felt the bite of cold through the leather of her gloves. She shook her hand, sending a shower of icy crystals over the toes of her boots.

She paused when she heard the thud of Solas’ steel-shod feet on the flagstones. She turned around, suspicious the moment she saw him descend the staircase. He came down, taking each step in stride till he reached the bottom. He crept across the courtyard, cautious lest she turn on him with bow and blade. Ellana neither knocked an arrow to the bowstring, nor drew a dagger when Solas approached.

He paused by the shoulder of the petrified Karashok holding a shield aloft. He reached for the lower edge of the Qunari’s pauldron, plucking off that thread of silver hair. He twined it about a gauntleted finger, admiring its shine against the gilding of his armour. Ellana arched an eyebrow when he regarded her with an uncharacteristic wariness. Her eyes rolled in exasperation when he gawked at her like a fool.

She jabbed a gauntleted finger at the frozen Eluvian.

“Shatter the ice wall!”

Solas sucked in an angry breath. His eyes narrowed at her tone. It hadn’t been a request but a demand. His reply was a single word, a statement of denial as cold it was brief. His outright refusal annoyed her.

“No”.

“Solas!”

He glanced at her left arm, more confused than afraid. “I severed your hand with magic. The Anchor was killing you. It should have worked. You should be maimed but you are not”.

Ellana lifted her hand in response, turning it left and right again. She wiggled her fingers, seeing Solas flinch as if he expected her hand to fall off and leave a stump behind. She was sorry to disappoint him. It would’ve been amusing to see how high he’d have jumped if she’d thrown that dismembered hand at him. She wondered if he would have screamed after she’d left a bloody smear across his gilded breastplate.

“My hand is fine”, she replied with exaggerated sweetness. Her voice dropped several octaves till it was as frigid as his ice-wall. “Now shatter the ice around the Eluvian. I’ve got an appointment to keep in Halamshiral”.

Solas took umbrage. “No!”

“What do you mean – No?” countered Ellana. She flapped her hand at the staircase behind him. She could see the second Eluvian beyond, shimmering in the sun. It was active and waiting for him to step through it into the unknown. She couldn’t fathom why he was wasting time fraternising with her when he could’ve been reshaping Thedas.

“Don’t you plan to tear down the Veil?”

“All in good time”.

“Not today?” goaded Ellana. “Or right now?” She made a shooing motion. “You could get an early start. I’m sure your agents are waiting for you somewhere in Thedas”.

“They will be fine without me”.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes”, affirmed Solas.

“You don’t want to contact them at all? Or even better. Make a personal appearance instead? It’d be convenient for me. Now be a dear and shatter the ice-wall around the Eluvian before you go”.

“I am not leaving!”

Ellana smiled, cheeks dimpling. “Why not?” she goaded. “I thought you were busy getting ready to conquer the world. Or did something happen that you didn’t expect? I bet that’s frustrating”.

“Stop trying to provoke me!”

“You chased me across a meadow, down a flight of steps, and through a courtyard”. She gestured to the Eluvian encased in ice. “You even froze my escape route out of spite when you could’ve let me go. I’m not trying to provoke you, Solas. I’m mocking you for being an arse and killing a bunch of defenceless plants”.

She pointed at the petrified grass, shrubs, and the conifer with its stiff and spiny fronds.

Solas scowled. “I told you to stop running!”

“Are you being serious right now or obtuse?” asked Ellana with dry sarcasm. She waved a gauntleted hand at the nearest petrified Qunari. “You turned the Viddasala’s henchmen, then her to stone with a look. Did you honestly believe I was going to stand around and speak to you after seeing you do that with my own eyes? I’m not still alive after being Inquisitor for four years because I’m stupid”.

Solas was horrified. “You think I would have done the same to you”.

“You were willing enough to cut off my hand with magic”.

“To save your life!”

Ellana wiggled the fingers of her left-hand. “So says Fen’Harel, the Trickster. Dalish legend states you’re a liar by nature. How am I supposed to believe anything you say? For all I know you’re here to kill me”.

“I am not!”

She waved that hand at the stone stairway behind him again. “Then leave me alone. Go back to whatever part of Thedas you’ve been lurking in these past two years. And forget what you’ve seen. I don’t feel inclined to share my secrets today”.

Solas’ lip curled in indignation. He didn’t like the casual dismissal, or the impatient flap of her hand. The arrogance of the gesture reminded him of an Orlesian noble waving away an elven servant. He pocketed the silver strand of her hair, slipping it inside the collar of his hooded surcoat. He would later use it for a binding spell.

“I cannot”, he growled like an irritable mabari. “The danger you represent is real. No one but I could control the Anchor. Or so I thought until you showed me otherwise. Which means that you are more than you appear and that I am not the only liar here”.

Ellana waggled her brows. “Stings doesn’t it? When all your plans are ruined by one tiny detail you overlooked”. She laughed when he glared at her. “The expression of fury on your face right now is priceless”.

“You were always proud, sly even but never petty”.

“Shows what you know about me. Doesn’t it? This is pettiness and revenge. I’m a simple girl, Solas. I like being kissed and told I’m beautiful. I don’t like being strung along then tossed aside because you think I’m an idiot for caring about you”.

He sucked in an offended breath. “That is not what I said!”

“It was implied two years ago to the day after you left me alone in Crestwood without my vallaslin”.

“You agreed to take part in the spell!”

“That’s not why you’re an arsehole”, said Ellana. “You lied to me. Now you’re surprised that I deceived you too. Irony is a bitch, Solas. I might’ve told you the truth about myself if you’d had the courage to do the same”.

“You were waiting for me to confess".

“Look what that got me. A broken heart along with a two-year extension on an already overlong drought”.

“A what?”

Ellana rolled her eyes. “A drought”, she reiterated when he frowned as if he were confused. “Sex, Solas. Maker’s arse. You can’t be that oblivious”.

“You had planned to bed me?”

She gave him a dry flat look. “Don’t make it sound so sordid. You loved me. It made perfect sense that we’d end up dry-humping against a brick wall. Except we never got beyond the kissing and groping to the actual undressing part. You were so disappointing".

Solas was scandalised. “Ellana!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. It’s not like we did anything fun or exhausting. You cast my dignity in the dirt, then made a bullsh*t excuse about being a distraction. I got angry, cursed you in elvish, and left in a huff. I’ve never been so frustrated in my life”.

“I was trying to spare you pain”.

“Bullsh*t”, she countered, calling his bluff. “You were protecting yourself. You didn’t want to get attached to me because it would’ve interfered with your plans. You intended to avenge Mythal. You still do even if it means breaking the world a second time”.

Solas found her foresight unnerving. “You do not understand”.

“I understand fine. It’s you that’s short-sighted”.

The tension between them was palpable. A tangled chain of memory and emotion bound them together. Solas recalled the kiss in the Fade under a winter sun in Haven. He recalled the kiss on the chilly balcony overlooking the Frostback mountains too. And the confession of love that’d come after, though Ellana had never said the same words back to him.

His heart was in his throat when he asked. “Did you love me in return?”

“Why does it matter now?”

“It has always mattered”.

“Why?”

“Ellana”.

“Why, Solas?” she demanded. “You say it matters but it never did in Tarasyl’an Te’las, or in Crestwood. Why today? Why now? What has changed?”

“Everything has changed”, he declared. “Today did not go as I intended. Tomorrow might not either. I need to understand your reasons for revealing yourself to me. You could have returned to Halamshiral, the Dalish huntress I always thought you to be”.

Ellana recognised the stubborn glint in his eyes. “We all have our secrets”, she stated without conceit. “Ir abelas. Some things take priority. I need to attend the Exalted Council”.

Solas shook his head, his brows furrowing. “No”.

“You’re not going to let me leave”.

“You admitted to deceiving me. I want to know why. Tell me who you are”.

“Solas!”

“Only I could have wielded the power of the Anchor without dying”.

Ellana’s disdainful snort gave him pause. She raised her left hand high, palm outward. The magic of the Anchor crackled as she willed it to rise in her defence. It glowed radiant like a star between her splayed fingers. Her warning was frank.

“Shatter the ice around the Eluvian. Or I’ll open a rift and rain demons down on your big bald head”.

Solas contemplated the sincerity of her threat. He was conflicted, unsure of where the lines of loyalty lay between them. They had travelled together as companions for more than a year in the Inquisition. United in their goal to close the Breach, to defeat Corypheus before he brought about the end of the world. Now they were on opposing sides, foes instead of friends.

Adversaries instead of allies.

“Is that how it is to be between us?”

“You made it that way”, she replied without an ounce of haughtiness. It was a cold and simple truth. “You drew a line in the sand. You said I couldn’t change your mind. If you’re so determined to walk the Dinan’shiral alone, then I’ll have to hasten that journey”.

“By endangering us both?” accused Solas.

“I wouldn’t have too”, reasoned Ellana. “If you’d shatter the ice-wall, turn around, and climb up those stairs again. There’s an Eluvian waiting on the hillock above. I know you intended to leave me here, stranded, and in agony after that magical amputation. Yet you linger, indecisive. Why?”

“You know why”.

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Something happened that you didn’t expect”. She smiled, wiggling her fingers again. “Ironic isn’t it? How things don’t always go according to plan”.

Solas frowned when Ellana lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. There was pride in her bearing and an unmistakable candidness he recognised. The humble Dalish maid he’d loved, so amiable, soft-spoken, and kind was gone. The Inquisitor stood in her place, as hard as granite, and as sharp as an assassin’s blade. She resembled Ellana with her dark skin, silver hair, and leaf-green eyes.

But she was colder, cannier, and more pragmatic.

A true Dalish huntress.

“So what’s it to be? A shattered ice-wall or a horde of demons?”

Solas had little choice but to fall back on what leverage he still had. It was a simple thing to draw on the ragged remnants of their relationship. A series of happy memories soured by a love unrequited. Ellana had taken the rejection – badly. Solas remembered the rage that’d followed, and the bitter disappointment.

“Vhenan”, he pleaded. “Be reasonable”.

“Why should I?” she challenged. “You weren’t reasonable when you gave your foci to Corypheus. You orchestrated his rise to power. You handed him the key to the Fade. The existence of the Breach was your fault”.

She was right, though it stung to hear it from the one he loved. He’d had the last known location of his foci relayed to Corypheus, months before they’d met. Too weak to unlock it himself, he’d intended for the magister to die in the attempt. Corypheus had perished in the explosion that’d destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. So had countless others, all innocents summoned there by the late Divine Justinia.

“Hundreds died on that mountainside”, said Ellana. “Templars, mages, priests, chancellors, revered mothers, and cloistered chantry sisters. I almost died with them. Thousands more would be imperilled because of the Breach. Corypheus was the least of our problems when it came to the rifts, the demons, and the risk of possession”.

Solas’ lip curled with indignation. “I made amends”.

“By joining the Inquisition as an apostate mage. How duplicitous of you”.

“It was the right thing to do”.

“Bullsh*t”, swore Ellana. “You didn’t side with Cassandra under the guise of an apostate to help resolve the catastrophe you caused. You joined her fledgling Inquisition in hopes that she’d lead you to the foci you lost. If Cassandra died along the way, all the better. You wouldn’t have had to kill her to regain control of it if she’d expired of natural causes”.

Solas was astonished by her skills of deduction. Had he underestimated her? He couldn’t be sure. Few elves in Thedas shared his confidence. Fewer still had deduced his plans for the orb of Fen’Harel, Cassandra, and the Inquisition.

“That is insightful of you”.

“Darling”, called Ellana. “I’ve been playing this game longer than you’ve been alive or asleep if we count the centuries you spent in Uthenera. It’s been aeons since I’ve had to intervene in anything outside the Fade. I’d still be in the distant outermost fringes, tucked into a shadowy corner if not for that bastard Sigfrost. I’d have been content to pass the next millennium in complete and utter ignorance of your doings in Thedas”.

She lowered her left-hand, willing the Anchor to calm with a thought. It dimmed to a pinprick of light that sparkled like a diamond beneath her gloved fingers.

“But I can’t”, she complained. “All because of you”.

“Me?” replied Solas, his grey eyes wide with incredulity. He had no idea what she was talking about. “I do not understand”. He stared when he saw the woman he loved not a spirit from the Fade. “Are you like Cole? Did you take mortal form to hide among the shemlen?”

Ellana gaped at him, brows arching in amazement. “You never noticed I was different from the average Dalish elf. Now that’s a surprise considering you’re somniari. Spirits are your constant companions in the Fade”. She licked her lips, snickering when Solas blushed. “Which means you didn’t notice the hints I gave away either”.

“What hints?”

She pressed a gauntleted finger against the bridge of her nose, tapping a nostril once, then twice. “That would be too easy. You’re normally observant. Think back on our time together before you left the Inquisition. The clues are there”.

“Who are you?” called Solas with growing trepidation. Everything had gone according to plan except this. The woman he loved. The woman he’d thought he’d known inside and out was finally showing her hand in this game of Wicked Grace. She was calling his bluff with a twinkle in her eye.

“I’ll make you a deal”, she declared, offering Solas an opportunity like it was a pearl plucked from the heart of an oyster. Ellana jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the magic wall of ice, silver-white and cold enough to rival a glacier. “You shatter the ice around the Eluvian, let me return to Halamshiral, and I’ll meet you later in a place of your choosing. I’ll even come alone without an escort”.

“Will we talk then?”

“Maybe but you might have other ideas. I hope so. You left me all alone in Crestwood, two years ago after our little spat. I made do with my hands of course, but yours would’ve been better. It was a pity you didn’t stay around long enough to witness how frustrated I was”.

Her lascivious grin left him flustered. It was hard to focus once he imagined the love of his life naked, on a bed of grass. He envisaged her panting beneath the sun, doing pleasurable things with her fingers. His mouth was dry, his blood stirring. Solas hated himself for being so fallible, so easily led astray by his own base desires.

He had to master himself, to remember what was important. He took several deep breaths when he heard Ellana giggle. She delighted in his suffering, the knowing glint in her eye making him bristle. Solas glowered at her. He didn’t like being reminded of the one thing he’d denied himself since Mythal’s demise.

“You will answer what questions I have”.

She shrugged her shoulders with a nonchalance that annoyed him. “Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t. You’re not my master, Solas. You’re not even my friend. You could’ve been my lover if you hadn’t run away like a craven, tail tucked between your legs”.

“I did not run away!”

“That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing”, said Ellana. “You lied to me in Crestwood, broke my heart, and left me behind to fume in silence. I don’t take it personally, Solas. I understand why you did it. I was a complication you didn’t need, a distraction from your duty to the Elvhen”.

He grimaced at her wording. He recalled the conversation that’d ended their relationship. Ellana was turning the tables, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Solas was insulted by her callousness.

“That is not what I meant!”

“Isn’t it?” she countered. “That’s what I was led to believe. I was a dalliance at best and at worst a convenient outlet for your desires. Not quite a clandestine lover or a concubine sharing your bed. I’d have enjoyed both roles, if you’d been brave enough to try”.

Solas sucked in a shaky breath. “What are you suggesting?”

“That depends on what you think I’m suggesting”.

It was difficult to keep his mind out of the gutter. “Many things”.

“Pleasurable things?”

“Ellana!”

“Be specific. Go on”, she encouraged. “You can do it”.

Solas shook his head, suddenly worried. “I cannot”.

“Cannot or will not? You’re stubborn when you set your mind to something. I’d love to corrupt you, but I promised Sigfrost I’d behave. He doesn’t approve of my fascination with mortals. We’re supposed to help your kind not be enamoured by you”.

“I fascinate you?”

“You’re an enigma wrapped in a promise with roots sown in the foundations of Thedas, thousands of years ago. A walking contradiction, a living memory of an age long passed. If we had the luxury of time. I’d have loved to unravel your secrets, Solas. Layer by layer over several centuries, even millennia if you had no particular place you needed to be”.

“Except in your bed?”

“Our bed. What’s mine would’ve been yours for the asking. If you’d had the courage, but you didn’t. A pity. We would’ve been good together”.

Solas’ heart beat like a drum against his ribs. He couldn’t believe what she was implying. A chance for happiness. An opportunity to indulge in a love he’d denied himself. The promise of reciprocation, of exclusivity ignited a yearning in him.

“Ellana”.

She flapped her hand at him again in a gesture of dismissal. “We have more important things to discuss. Matters of the heart are inconsequential next to the fate of the world. You have business to attend too. While I should return to the Winter Palace”.

Solas was bewildered by her flippancy. She spoke of intimate things then dismissed them without a thought. It was selfish, rude, and inconsiderate. He was offended by her presumptuousness until something occurred to him. He recalled what’d happened in Crestwood, their parting, and his final words to the woman he loved.

He’d treated her the same, a lasting memory that’d left a bad impression. The years they’d spent apart hadn’t lessened the sting of her disappointment.

“You cannot leave yet”, insisted Solas. “We have things to discuss”.

“You’ll have to wait”, corrected Ellana. “I have to go back. Josephine can’t placate the Orlesian and Fereldan nobility forever. She needs me. The fate of the Inquisition will be decided today”.

Solas was hesitant to comply. Ellana saw the indecision on his face, the longer he gawked at her like a startled rabbit. He didn’t quite know what to say. Ellana saw his gaze shift from her to the wall of ice around the Eluvian and back again. Moments passed in a tense silence that stretched on for what seemed like an eternity until he made up his mind.

“You will come to me after the Exalted Council”.

“It could take weeks, even months to resolve this mess with the Inquisition”.

Solas was exasperated by her excuses. “Promise me!”

“I can’t”.

“You will come to me”, he stated with certainty. “Or I will set Halamshiral ablaze”.

Ellana rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You plan to turn Empress Celene and her court into a bunch of garden statues”. She nodded to the petrified Qunari around them. “How original”.

He was offended by her sarcasm. “I do not make idle threats. Halamshiral will burn if you refuse. I will have answers”.

“Of course you will or else”. She considered his point, shrugging her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll meet you after the Exalted Council at a designated time and place. I wouldn’t want all the work I did to stabilise Orlais to be undone by an ancient elven arsehole named Fen’Harel”.

Solas ignored the insult. “How would you find me?”

She ignored his question. “So you’ve chosen a place”. She winked when Solas eyed her as if she might disappear, or burst into flame. “Don’t fret. You have something that belongs to me. I can hear it beat no matter where you are in Thedas”.

Ellana laid a gauntleted hand on her bosom, inches above her own heart. She nodded when Solas gasped. “Love has a certain ring to it. Your love runs deep like a river underground. You’ve loved so little since the fall of Arlathan that I got the lion’s share of your heart. Not even your beloved Mythal means as much to you as I do”.

She smiled, cheeks dimpling. “Does she, Solas?”

He almost choked on his own flustered pride. Ellana was pleased when Solas curled his gauntleted fingers into a fist. His grey eyes glowed a fiery blue. A thunderous crack, a gust of frosty air, and she was showered in snowflakes. The ice-wall shattered into a thousand glittering silver-white pieces. She gave Solas a nod of approval.

“Ma serannas”.

The fiery glow faded from his eyes. He regarded her with apprehension, doubtful that she would keep her word. He grew more anxious when she appraised him from head to toe. A casual nod, a smirk of satisfaction, and she grinned at him with a flash of white teeth. She lifted her left hand in a wave of farewell. The parting gesture was as mocking as it was sincere.

“Until we meet again”.

Ellana turned on her heel with a wink and a smile. She paused when he called to her, voice even though she heard the uncertainty. It was almost imperceptible from the normal timbre of his voice. A natural baritone, Solas lacked the Iron Bull’s rumbling bass. His tone was softer, almost velvety when he implored Ellana to wait.

“Venavis”.

She paused, silver brows arching as she glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

Solas frowned, still unsure. “The peak overlooking the Temple of Mythal. I would meet you there where the Vir’abelasan lies empty. The Eluvian is sealed. There is no way to reach the temple from Skyhold unless I open the way”.

“Will you?”

“No”.

Ellana laughed. “Ma nuvenin, Solas. I will be there in three days”.

“You will keep your promise?”

“To come alone?”

“Yes”.

“Of course, I will. My word is my bond. I hold all oaths sacred until they’re broken”. She snorted when Solas’ eyes widened. “Until then”.

She blew him a kiss in farewell, turning around with the swift grace he’d come to expect from her. Ellana was gone in two bounds, leaping into the Eluvian that would lead her back to her companions. Solas was left shaken by the encounter, his plans in disarray. Everything had been fine until Ellana had played her trump card. He stumbled through the petrified Qunari, vision a blur as tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

He fell against the stony shoulder of the Karashok that’d plucked a strand of Ellana’s silver hair. Solas was breathing hard, chest heaving beneath the gilded plates of his cuirass. He laid a gauntleted hand against the Karashok’s bent arm that held a shield aloft. The Qunari had died facing an enemy he couldn’t have hoped to overcome by physical force alone. Solas gazed into that granite-grey face preserved in imperishable stone.

The Karashok’s eyes were narrowed beneath a pair of thick furrowed brows. His hooked nose was wrinkled in disdain, the curve of his mouth a thin grim line. He looked grave, determined, and ready to face his foe with a focus that seemed unnatural. The prospect of death hadn’t deterred this Karashok from doing his duty. He was petrified like his fellows, another statue in the sun as resilient a perch for the birds as the rest.

Solas pushed away from the Karashok, uneasy as his gaze shifted to the other Qunari. He’d turned them all to stone, one after another without a thought. Now he found their collective silence, their unblinking stares almost unbearable. He ignored them, squaring his shoulders. He lifted his chin, eyes on the horizon, and wove his way between them as Ellana had.

He reached the stairs, confidence in his stride. He didn’t once look back as he climbed his way to the top of the hill. He reached the upper courtyard, when he saw the Viddasala with her spear thrust skyward. Petrified mid-cast, she was as ready for combat as that unfortunate Karashok. The Viddasala didn’t make Solas nervous, but the creature perched on the tip of her spear did.

It was round, grey-feathered, and had a pair of luminous yellow eyes. The owl was as large as a cat and horned like a Qunari with two tufts of feathers on its head. It blinked at him with the languid grace of a nocturnal hunter, head rolling on a short stump-like neck. The owl opened a black beak wreathed in feathers. It hooted at him once, then twice before its head turned on its feathered shoulders.

Solas crept around the Viddasala, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He reached the Eluvian without mishap though something didn’t feel quite right. He looked back, glancing over his shoulder. He was perturbed when the owl watched him. It squawked, black beak snapping at the air with a sudden viciousness that made him flinch.

Solas turned away, feeling the weight of the owl’s gaze boring into his back. He stepped through the Eluvian believing the bird’s presence was more than a coincidence. He could still hear the owl hooting when he emerged on the other side. The next three days couldn’t pass swift enough.

Abelas and a group of sentinel elves met him deep inside the Temple of Mythal. Solas muttered an incantation, hand waving in the air to activate the spell. The Eluvian darkened behind him, its rippling water-like glass turning black. He crossed the dais to the first step leading down to the landing. He sank onto it with a heavy sigh, head shaking.

“Fenedhis”.

The sentinels were unsettled by the sight of their leader so agitated. They’d never heard him swear, or seen him glare at the floor as if it’d offended him. They exchanged worried glances when the Vir’abelasan whispered of trouble unforeseen. Abelas addressed Solas with trepidation, discomforted himself. Something had gone wrong.

“Fen’Harel”.

Solas was too engrossed thinking about what’d happened in Orlais to notice Abelas. He muttered to himself in ancient elvish, irritated by his own carelessness. He was diligent by nature, perceptive, and meticulous in his studies. Yet Ellana had duped him, concealing her true nature beneath the mask of an elven face. He’d found her odd when they’d first met, then surprising after she’d expressed an interest in him.

She’d found his perspective on the Fade intriguing enough to build a rapport with him too. Their tentative friendship had grown in the weeks afterwards. Solas was as fond of those memories as he was disquieted by them. If Ellana had concealed her nature. What else had she hidden from him?

He wondered if his love had been reciprocated after all.

She could’ve strung him along on purpose.

Their most recent encounter unnerved him. Solas thought on their interaction after the Viddasala’s petrification. Ellana had seen the power he’d possessed. The relentless way in which he wielded the magic of Mythal. She’d not shown the slightest hint of fear despite what she’d witnessed.

Had it been Dalish pride or something worse?

“Fen’Harel!”

Solas was jolted out of his thoughts. He gawked at the leader of the sentinel elves, brows arched, and mouth agape. He flushed, cheeks pink. The sentinel’s eyes narrowed. Solas was relieved when Abelas ordered his brethren to leave them alone.

He didn’t feel composed enough to address their concerns.

The sentinel elves protested aloud, their voices as discordant as their opinions. Solas watched Abelas contain the hubbub with astonishment. The leader of Mythal’s personal guard barked an order. “Venavis!” The sentinel elves quietened with an immediacy that was comical.

They glowered at Abelas in their silence, sullen as a pack of stray mabari. The tension between them was like a leash pulled taught enough to strangle. Solas felt it tremble at first with fear then with anger. Apologies would need to be made to soothe bruised egos. The sentinel elves wouldn’t be appeased until their concerns were laid to rest.

That was for later when tempers weren’t flaring hot enough to burst into flame. Abelas was infuriated when one stubborn sentinel dared to open his mouth. A muscle in his cheek twitched when the elf in question demanded answers. Abelas’s golden eyes were hard till the sentinel was elbowed in the ribs. Abelas heard his grunt of pain, and saw him turn around to yell at the twit responsible.

The sentinel shut his mouth when he saw an elven woman scowl at him.

“Venavis!” she hissed. “It is not your place to question! Only to obey!” She looked passed him to Abelas. “Forgive my husband! Ilcen does not know when to shut his mouth!”

“Vhenan!” called her embittered spouse. “We deserve an explanation! Something is not right! Fen’Harel is upset! The spirit of Mythal could be at risk!”

“Be quiet!”

Abelas rolled his eyes when Valoya took her husband by the arm. She yanked him from the crowd, uncaring if their brethren saw. She dragged him to the door of the antechamber, growling all the while in ancient elvish. Abelas arched an eyebrow, giving the rest of those gathered a pointed look. The sentinels dispersed, though not one of them was glad about it.

They shuffled from the room, muttering to themselves. Abelas heard the curses, the grumbling, and the rebukes whispered by the spirits of the Well. The dismissal would sour many, and make even more of them resentful. Abelas was aware of the rising dissension, the growing lack of confidence in him. The tether of his leadership was close to snapping.

Abelas ran a tired hand down his face, more ashamed than annoyed. He aired his frustrations to Solas.

“My people are embittered by your refusal. We guided and guarded Mythal. We gave her counsel and served as her protectors. I had once thought we would resume those duties upon your return to us. Was I mistaken?”

“Abelas”.

“Was I?” pressed the sentinel. “Your continued avoidance of this issue has caused a rift among my people. I must have an answer, Solas. Will we stand beside you when you tear down the Veil? Or will you set us aside when the Evanuris wake in the void and return?”

Solas closed his eyes, brows furrowing as he considered what Abelas asked. He knew that those sworn to Mythal’s service desired vengeance for her death. A grudge was a terrible thing to carry into Uthenera. Solas didn’t doubt the spirits of the Well of Sorrows had whispered of revenge since the fall of Arlathan. Five thousand years was time enough to entrench an idea into the minds of the sleeping.

Neither Abelas nor those of his order would be swayed by words alone. Solas knew he couldn’t undo centuries of conditioning. The broken chains of the Evanuris were still strong enough to bind the last of the Elvhen. Solas opened his eyes to find Abelas awaiting an answer that would decide the course of his life. The sentinel gave him an expectant look, hopeful until Solas returned his scrutiny.

He was silent as the grave.

Abelas broke the stalemate, head shaking in disappointment. “I knew you would do this. I knew yet I tried to convince them otherwise. Fenedhis lasa. You cannot fight the Evanuris on your own”.

“I can”, replied Solas with a certainty that upset him. “I will”.

“So that not another of the Elvhen dies?”

“Yes”.

Abelas countered with a stern argument.

“What of the shadows wearing vallaslin residing in the forests? The nomads wandering the wastes without land or property of their own. Or their bare-faced cousins living in the shemlen cities? The poor and the wretched segregated from society because of the shape of their ears. They are not Elvhen, but they are still elves”.

Solas didn’t like where this was going. He eyed Abelas with suspicion. “How do you know about that?” he demanded. “Not one of the sentinel elves has left the Temple of Mythal in centuries. From whom did you learn of the Dalish and the City elves?”

Abelas regarded him with a quiet sense of self-confidence. “From whom do you think? I am certain you saw her today. I know that she was the likeliest cause of your distress”. He smiled when Solas gaped at him in amazement.

“You know of Ellana?”

“I have always known, as have the rest of the sentinel elves”.

Solas was alarmed by the news. “How?”

“The Evanuris were the gods of the nobility. The small folk had their own gods. Did you not once tell Ellana inside the Winter Palace that servants have their own society?” Abelas nodded when Solas gasped. “I know of your comings and goings across Thedas, of your goals as far as she is concerned”.

“I did not disagree with them until you decided the fate of my people”. He took umbrage, golden eyes glinting. “If you will not allow us to avenge Mythal’s murder. Set us free. We are nothing without our mistress, but with Ellana we can settle the score”.

Abelas noted Solas’ bewilderment. “You are surprised. A novel experience, I am certain for someone of your calibre. It matters not. I have my answer”.

Abelas nodded out of politeness, before turning on his heel.

“Where are you going?” cried Solas.

“To prepare”, he stated, walking away. “I must inform my people of your decision. Our days inside this temple are numbered. If you have forsaken us then Ellana is our last resort. The Lady of the Veil will have a plan of her own to deal with the Evanuris”.

Chapter 2: A Witch inside a Raven

Chapter Text

“Ellana! You can’t leave the city like this! You’re the Inquisitor!”

“Former Inquisitor”, she replied. “I abdicated three days ago. You should remember what happened at the Exalted Council. You were there alongside half of Orlais, a third of Fereldan, and everyone else in attendance. The Inquisition is Cassandra’s responsibility”.

She continued to pack her meagre belongings into her satchel. She’d already spent two days placating a furious empress Celene. Divine Victoria had taken up most of the morning on the third day. Sir Delrin Barris, the Knight Commander of the new Templar Order had demanded an audience at noon. The discussion that’d followed had gone late into the afternoon until Delrin had bid her adieu.

It was a handful of hours from dusk, and she had another appointment to keep. She’d have left Orlais already if not for a persistent bee buzzing in her ear. He’d grown more confident in the last few months, braver too in his attempts to woo her. Ellana would’ve found his clumsy flirting sweet if she’d been in less of a hurry. She didn’t mind that he was shemlen, when his smile stretched that delightful scar on his upper-lip.

He was gorgeous, but timing was everything.

“Cassandra isn’t the Herald of Andraste!” argued Cullen. “You are!”

“She’s better than a Herald”, countered Ellana. “She’s the new Divine”.

“She doesn’t have the same authority! Cassandra is an arse on a seat in a white robe fringed in gold! She’s not the mouthpiece of Andraste! It’s not the same! Compared to you she’s a woman with a fancy hat!”

“That’s sacrilegious talk”.

“It’s true”, insisted Cullen. He thought about the Divine’s hat that sat like a tower on her head. “Maker’s balls. That hat is hideous. Don’t tell Cassandra I said that”.

“I won’t”, promised Ellana. “She’ll be fine. You worry too much”.

“You don’t worry enough. You know what she’s like”.

“Cassandra served two Divines. She can handle herself. If anyone is stupid enough to get uppity with her in the Chantry. She’ll punch them in the throat. It’s better than going toe to toe with her with a sword. They might actually survive the encounter”.

“Maker’s breath”, swore Cullen. “You’re making me feel worse about her being Divine not better”.

“I closed the Breach, defeated Corypheus, and stopped the Qunari from invading. I solve problems, I don’t grant wishes”, stated Ellana. “I can’t pull miracles out of my arse. If you don’t want Cassandra assaulting anyone. Tell the Chantry clerics not to piss her off”.

“It’s not that simple!”

“Sure it is. Have a little faith in her”.

“Don’t put it like that”, pleaded Cullen.

“Like what?”

“I’m not questioning the Maker’s will!”

Ellana squinted at him in suspicion, brows furrowed. “You sound awfully upset about Cassandra being the new Divine. I’m Andraste’s Herald. I have this weird spiritual connection to the Maker and his bride. I could put in a good word if you wanted Leliana to take over instead”.

Cullen was appalled by her suggestion. He looked first left than right, wondering if someone otherworldly was eavesdropping. He wasn’t sure if Ellana was joking or being serious. He decided to err on the side of caution.

“No. That’s unnecessary”.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure”.

“I suppose, I understand”, said Ellana. “Leliana is scarier than Cassandra with that weird spying thing she does. The Chantry would bleed within a year if she were Divine. At least with Cassandra you’d see the punch coming. You’d never see Leliana’s dagger until it was cutting your throat”.

“When you put it like that”, grumbled Cullen. “Cassandra is the better candidate. I have every confidence in Leliana as our Spymaster, but as the Divine with real power. She’d be an absolute terror”.

“Of course she would. Which is why I chose Cassandra. Thedas is more likely to survive her reign as Divine. She’s capable of defending herself if she gets into trouble. Having a strong shield arm and the strength to swing a sword will put off the most determined assassins”.

Cullen still wasn’t convinced.

“That’s what worries me. Cassandra likes to hit things. She has no patience with people. The Orlesians will eat her alive. I’m afraid she’ll assault some noble that was stupid enough to make her angry”.

“Cassandra does have quite the temper”, agreed Ellana. “It could make for sticky situations if she were ever stuck in the middle of Orlesian politics. The Grand Game is a dangerous mix of murder, sex, and scandal. But she has held her own for the two years she’s been on the Sunburst throne. Maybe you’re right to be worried though, Cassandra isn’t one for finesse”.

“Which is why you can’t leave Orlais! She needs you! The Inquisition needs you! You’ve got the cooler head! Cassandra could use your guidance in dealing with the Orlesian court now more than ever!”

“There’s always Vivienne”.

Cullen was displeased by the mere suggestion of relying on Madame de Fer. “Lady Vivienne has her own agenda”.

“Of course she does”.

“You’re needed”.

Ellana shrugged her shoulders. “I couldn’t stay if I wanted too”.

“Why not?”

“Empress Celene and I had something of a disagreement. She isn’t too happy with me. I don’t take orders like a proper servant. I’m not intimidated by her in the slightest. It’s hard to find her frightening after I’ve fought dragons”.

“Is that why you were marched out of her council chamber under guard?”

“Maybe”.

“Ellana!”

“What? I wasn’t going to let her bully me into being her lapdog. I’m Dalish not a flat-eared city-elf she can keep on a leash. My people never submitted to Orlesian rule. I may have lost my vallaslin, but I’ve still got my backbone”.

“I bet the Empress wouldn’t mind beating you with it”, concluded Cullen. He knew what Ellana was capable of when backed into a corner.

“Oh, she tried too. But she forgot. Even a lapdog still has teeth”.

“Did you bite her?”

“Figuratively”.

“Oh, good. I was scared for a moment there”.

“Fair point”, agreed Ellana. “I do tend to stab things that upset me”.

“With knives and arrows that explode”.

“Hush, you”.

Ellana folded her last tunic, added a clean breastband, and a couple pairs of knickers. She smirked when Cullen blushed. He cleared his throat with a hoarse cough, looking away. Ellana was amused when he refused to turn around. His eyes were closed when she tucked her small-clothes away.

“It’s all clear. My lady’s things are in my satchel”.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be seeing something I shouldn’t”.

Ellana resisted the urge to tease him. Cullen was still a boy in many ways, even if he was a man grown. He had little foibles that weren’t due to his Templar training. He loved peaches, disliked spiders, and loathed politics. Give him a sword, a shield, and an order and he was raring to fight.

Give him a breastband, a pair of knickers, and a half-naked woman in his bed and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

His naivety was as sweet as it was tragic.

“It’s quite all right”, called Ellana. “You can open your eyes now”.

Cullen opened one eye wide enough to check his surroundings. He looked left than right when Ellana laughed. He reddened when he spotted her near the bed, looping the strap of her satchel through a leather buckle. She gave it a tug till the prong slid through a hole, sealing away the feminine under-things she’d tucked inside. All was clear as far as she was concerned, though Cullen had other ideas.

“You’re not planning to embarrass me are you?”

“Not today”, promised Ellana. “I’ve not the time for it. I’m sorry to say. I need to be out of Halamshiral by nightfall. Empress Celene was adamant that I make myself scarce as soon as possible”.

“Cassandra was right. The negotiations didn’t go well”.

It wasn’t accurate, but the lie would stand. Ellana was pleased she’d been able to sever her ties to the Inquisition. The Empress of Orlais was unhappy about her abdication, but she’d keep her throne until she lost her head. Gaspard and Briala would betray her given time. Ambition and murder often went hand in hand when it came to ruling an empire.

“Unfortunately not. I tried to convince the Empress that the Inquisition was best left in the capable hands of the new Divine. She didn’t like it one bit”. Ellana giggled when Cullen closed his eyes again, counted aloud to five, then opened both at once. He reddened when she gave him a measure of reassurance.

“Don’t worry. My breast-bands are packed away too”.

“Yes, well. I had to be sure. You have a terrible sense of humour”.

“Don’t you mean scandalous?”

“I do”, chuckled Cullen. “I’m glad you spared my dignity. Arl Teagan Guerrin is still upset about the vial of oil you offered him after the Exalted Council. The court is convinced he’s having a clandestine affair with a member of the Orlesian nobility. They’re uncertain if it’s a Lord, a Lady, or both”.

“Excellent”, replied Ellana with a sly smirk.

“You’re a dangerous woman to cross”.

“Of course I am. When the Arl said what he had to say during the Exalted Council. I was kind enough not to stab him in the eye. I never said I wouldn’t kick him in the balls. He’ll be famous in Orlais for his pursuits in the bedroom, not his position as the Fereldan ambassador”.

“Oh, you’re cruel”.

“The word is spiteful”.

The scar on Cullen’s upper-lip stretched when he smiled. Those honey-brown eyes glinted with boyish innocence. He was handsome, kind, and too sweet to despoil. The truth would hurt him if he knew what she really was. Ellana had to be careful with so fragile a human heart.

Demons had scarred him already.

She didn’t want to add to the bad memories.

“Thank you for staying with me until the end”, she said with sincerity. “I’m grateful for your kindness. It’s been an exhausting few days. I’m relieved the Exalted Council is over. I can finally return to my clan in the Free Marches”.

Cullen’s enthusiasm waned. “You intend to go to Wycome”. The lines of his face hardened, the corners of his mouth turning down. He was unhappy when Ellana revealed her plans. He’d suspected she'd want to leave the city, but the return to Wycome was a punch in the gut.

“It’s long passed time I went home”.

Cullen made the offer, though he knew it would be rejected. Ellana was too much a free-spirit to be tied down for long. “I could organise an escort”.

“Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine”.

“An anonymous elf on the road alone could still fall prey to bandits”.

Ellana didn’t intend to travel by road. “I won’t be alone”.

Cullen was relieved. “Oh. Will you have company?”

“An old friend. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other. He was overjoyed to hear that I’d be going home. He offered to go with me. I’ll be safe with him”.

“An old friend. Have I met him?”

“I wouldn’t think so. He isn’t fond of lowlanders”.

“Of what?”

“City-folk like you, so it’s best I meet with him alone. I mean no offense. But you’re not Dalish. My friend might take affront to that. He has a good heart, but he can be a tad possessive when it comes to me”.

“Possessive”, reiterated Cullen. “What kind of friend is he?”

Ellana arched an eyebrow, and have him a hard look. “You’re being awfully nosy”.

He blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t – I mean – Oh, Maker’s arse. Please. Forget I said anything”.

“If you’re sure”.

“I’m sure”.

Cullen took the news better than the Ellana thought he would. He was quiet and respectful, though Ellana saw the unhappiness tug at the corners of his mouth. The sparkle left his eyes too, that warm honey-brown darkening to a cool muddy grey. His bow was stiff and formal when he said farewell. He didn’t dare touch her, though he did give her one last look of longing.

It was a single glance no longer than a heartbeat. Ellana saw the naked vulnerability, the adoration that had nothing to do with piety. It was gone the instant Cullen turned to face the door of her chamber. He crossed the floor in four strides, putting his hand on the latch. He pulled it open, pausing on the threshold.

He looked back over his shoulder, a question on his lips. “Do you know how I feel about you?”

“I do. I also knew that of all the members of the Inquisition. It would be you that tried to convince me to stay in the city”.

Cullen swallowed his pride, adam’s apple bobbing with sudden nervousness. “Did Cassandra tell you?”

“She said that we needed to talk. She didn’t say why. I figured out that part on my own after you spent an hour arguing with me”. Ellana exhaled a weary breath, brows arching in contrition. “I’m sorry, Cullen. I have to go”.

He tried one last time. “I could escort you to Wycome”.

“Empress Celene ordered me to leave the city not you”.

“You could still stay”, wheedled Cullen. “I could hide you. Somehow”.

“You can’t carry me around in your pocket”.

“We could return to Skyhold”, he suggested. “We’d be safe there. Your friend would be welcomed too”.

“Skyhold lies on the border between Orlais and Fereldan”, reasoned Ellana. “We’d be safe there for a little while until Arl Teagan whined by raven to King Alistair. I bet he’d whine to Empress Celene too. If his death wouldn’t have started a war with Fereldan. I’d have put a dagger in his kidney today”.

Cullen chuckled. “I’m glad you didn’t”.

Ellana frowned. “He’s an arrogant prick”.

“I know he is. But he’s also King Alistair’s uncle”.

She shuddered, grimacing. “Maker’s arse. The poor bastard. Who needs enemies when you have family like that? I almost feel sorry for him”.

“Do you?”

“A little bit”. She smirked, head shaking. “All right. I don’t feel sorry for him at all. King Alistair can keep his crown and his arse of an uncle”.

Cullen smiled though it was bitter-sweet. “The offer still stands. I could smuggle you out of Halamshiral under cover of darkness. We’d make good time on horseback across Orlais until we reached the Frostback mountains. It’d be a week or two until we actually made it to Skyhold but we would arrive well before the onset of autumn”.

“You’re sweet and kind to suggest it”, acknowledged Ellana. “But I can’t allow you to take that kind of risk for me. You’re a good man, Cullen. I won’t tarnish your reputation. I’ll leave Halamshiral on my own, meet with my friend, and together we’ll make the trip to Wycome”.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s for the best”.

Ellana knew it would be unwise to accept Cullen’s offer. Solas had been adamant. She was to leave Halamshiral or risk the city being burned to ash. Ellana didn’t care for Celene or her pit of vipers but she had more to think of than herself. The city elves would burn as readily as the humans if the city were razed.

It was easy to lie.

“I rather like the sun”, she remarked. “And being warm again. It’ll soon be summer in Wycome”.

Cullen gave in with a weary sigh. He knew Ellana wouldn’t budge. If she wanted to leave Orlais than she would no matter what he said. She’d been stubborn as the Inquisitor too. Dalish women – he’d learned – were independent creatures.

“I’d forgotten about the snow. The mountains and the sleet”. He gave her one last wistful look. “I had to try even though Cassandra told me you’d refuse”. He bit his lip and asked her an earnest question.

“It’s not because I’m human?”

Ellana waggled her eyebrows. “You’re gorgeous when you smile, especially when that scar on your lip stretches. Maker’s breath. I almost wet myself the first time you spoke to me on the battlements in Skyhold. I know you were being kind at the time because I wasn’t used to being around so many people. I was still besotted with you for weeks after that little jaunt around the fortress”.

Cullen was surprised. “Truly?”

“Yes”, gushed Ellana. “If I hadn’t had a soft-spot for bookish know-it-alls. Things would’ve taken a different turn. Solas dazzled me with his knowledge, and beguiled me with his charms. He told me things about my people I’d never thought possible”.

“Because you’re Dalish”.

“Elven history of any kind, no matter how tragic is considered a treasure. Solas used his knowledge as bait. I listened to him, believed his lies, and lost my heart like a fool”. She shrugged her shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, Cullen but I’m not ready for any kind of relationship”.

She lifted her left hand high enough for him to see her bare brown skin. The cuff of her shirt slipped down to her elbow, exposing the jagged scar running the length of her wrist.

“Solas tore the magic of the Anchor out of me. I screamed in agony. I begged for him to stop”. Ellana flexed her fingers, grimacing at the stiffness in her joints. “I trusted him. I loved him and he still hurt me”.

“He could’ve killed you”, growled Cullen. That charming smile vanished. He scowled, the line of his jaw tensing. “Don’t make excuses for him, Ellana. Solas was never an ally or a friend”.

“He wanted the Anchor and it’s power not my life”.

“He wanted you far from the safety and security of the Inquisition. He attacked you while you were chasing the Qunari. The Viddasala was a decoy. Solas wanted you to be alone, vulnerable, and without the aid of your allies. All he did had one purpose – to regain the magic of the Anchor”.

“I know. I do, but I can’t help it. I still love him”.

“Solas betrayed you”.

“I said I was a fool”.

“You’re not!” hissed Cullen. “You’re hurting!”

“I know. And you can’t help me”.

“Ellana!”

She sniffled, blinking back the tears. She wiped at her eyes when Cullen made a noise of sympathy. “You should go”, she told him, voice strained. “Divine Victoria will be expecting you. It’d be best not to keep her waiting”.

“I can’t leave you like this!”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, averting her eyes. “It’s for the best. Go. Please, before I start crying. You don’t need to see me bawling”.

“Will you be all right?”

“In time. I hope”.

Cullen shook his head, heavy of heart. “Why do you always make goodbyes so hard, Ellana?”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “It’s part of my natural charm. Now go on. It’s time you were on your way. Don’t keep Cassandra waiting”.

Cullen was torn between his love for her and his loyalty to the new Divine. The indecision lasted a moment until he nodded, remembering his duty. He stepped out into the hall without a backward glance. The door to her chambers closed behind him with a soft click. Ellana heard the thud of his footsteps fading into the distance as he walked out of her life.

“It’s best that he leaves me now than later”, she reminded herself when she felt that first sharp sting of regret. “He’s a good man. He deserves better than I could give him”. It was hard to convince herself of that fact when she knew it was a lie. She could have granted his every wish, and made his wildest dreams come true.

“A pity. He would’ve been fun to seduce. Ah, Solas. You’ve ruined me. Why toy with a shemlen when I could have you for an eternity?”

Ellana wiped away the sticky residue of her tears with deft fingers. Feigning grief and upset always made her uncomfortable. Grief was a mortal concept even if loss itself was something she understood all too well. Ellana doubted Cullen would understand the enormity of what she’d sacrificed. He was human, a retired Templar, and a recovering lyrium addict.

She’d already seen the worst of his addiction for herself. Complications of the mortal heart were best avoided.

“Magic was meant as a gift not a curse”, she murmured to herself. “Or so I’d thought until I met Cullen”. She was perturbed by what she’d learned in the scant few years she’d posed as a mortal. “The mage-born, the Templars, and the dwarves have paid too high a price. Was I wrong to involve myself in their affairs?”

Ellana heard a sharp rapping, the pecking of a beak on glass. She turned, seeing the large black bird perching on the windowsill outside her room. A flick of her fingers and the steel latch unfastened. The window swung inwards, opening wide. The bird squawked, taking wing. Ellana was pleased when it’s feathered shadow fell across the floor.

The clack of a black beak wreathed in feathers made her smile. She snapped her fingers, summoning a gust of wind. The window closed with a rattle of glass, the latch refastening with a clink of steel. The shadow floating on silent wings above the floor of her bedchamber lengthened. The raven shed it’s feathered cape, and two booted human feet settled upon the floorboards.

Ellana admired those fine black boots, the long legs in patchwork breeches. A tasselled leather skirt hung from broad hips. She arched an eyebrow when she saw the bare stomach, the fair unblemished skin. A flimsy scrap of purple fabric scarcely covered that tiny string of a breastband. Orlesian courtesans’ were more modest.

Ellana’s gaze settled on the pale column of a throat. She saw a pair of necklaces wrought in brass. She smirked when she spied the barbarian finery, a glimpse of Chasind wealth. The first necklace was a string of discs, while the second was a collar of thin plates. Ellana knew whom had come to visit her in the guise of a raven.

She studied the pointed chin, the angular cheeks, and the thin bridge of a pale nose. She looked into weary golden eyes beneath a fringe of sweaty black hair. Beads of perspiration trickled down a face drawn with fatigue. Dark ruby-red lips were pursed, sucking in breath after breath into a heaving bosom. Her guest while uninvited was not unexpected.

“Morrigan”, called Ellana. “Sit”.

She gestured to the chair beside the bed covered in brocade blankets. She’d not slept under that embroidered velvet, or the matching silk sheets. Someone had died in that bed even if the sheets had been washed, the blankets changed. She could still smell the faint stink of iron that’d sunk into the floorboards. The assassination had been quick, clean, and clinical.

Ellana had heard the whispers about the court. She’d seen the sidelong glances among the elven servants. They’d shuffled away, avoiding her gaze when she’d been given the bedchamber in the Winter Palace’s west-wing. The view of the palace gardens from the third-floor was spectacular. Not one elf in Halamshiral had warned her about the room’s significance.

Ellana was relieved when Morrigan dropped into the chair with an audible thump. She was quiet whilst Morrigan glanced about the room with narrowed eyes. Her tone was sharp, even accusing. Ellana wondered what Empress Celene had done to incur her wrath. The Witch of the Korcari Wilds hissed like a pit viper.

“What are you doing here? This was the room of the Rivaini Ambassador at court until he voiced support for Gaspard”. Morrigan scowled. “He was found dead in his bed the day after with a six inch blade in his belly. An elven servant was charged with his murder. A crime of passion it was said, though it was whispered that Empress Celene used the servant as a scapegoat”.

“I’m aware the ambassador was murdered for treason”, said Ellana. “I’m also aware that the Empress gave me this room in particular to serve as a warning. I’ve left the Inquisition and turned it over to the new Divine. I’m powerless, a wolf without fangs but Celene still thinks I have value as the Herald of Andraste. If I were to turn against her in the future, if I pose a problem than it would mean my life and that of anyone linked to me”.

She gestured to the luxurious furnishings in the room. The ornate four-poster bed with its silk canopy. The fine oak furniture, the large paintings on the walls. The hardwood floors covered in plush animal pelts and thick handwoven rugs. The room with its single bay window and privacy was meant for foreign dignitaries.

For three days it’d been the home of a Dalish peasant.

“Maker’s breath!” hissed Morrigan. “Are you mad? To antagonise Celene is to draw a murder of crows to your doorstep! She’s dangerous! You can’t die at the hands of her assassins!”

“Sweetling”, cooed Ellana. “I defeated an ancient darkspawn magister and his army of red templars. I’m not afraid of the Empress of Orlais. She’s the least of my concerns if Solas has been meddling. You’re here when you shouldn’t be, which means that he’s been a naughty boy”.

Morrigan panted like a mabari fresh from the hunt. Strands of slick black hair were plastered to her forehead. The clothes clinging to her skin were streaked with grime. Her boots were crusted with mud from toe to heel. She was exhausted in body and spirit.

Morrigan gripped the arms of her chair, fingers dipping like claws into the plush velvet. She doubled-over, nose to kneecap with an anguished cry. She took a fortifying breath to steel her nerves. She failed at first to articulate her distress, too overcome with panic then grief. Her eyes turned watery as she fought to hold onto what composure she had left.

Ellana didn’t push or prod her again. Morrigan sucked in a ragged breath, trembling. Her mouth turned down in misery, the tears leaking out the corners of her eyes.

“He has my son!” she cried. “My Kieran! He ordered me to hand him over to force my cooperation! I didn’t want too! I tried to defy him, but the power of the Well overwhelmed me!”

Morrigan pleaded with Ellana, hoping to find a modicum of compassion. “He sent me to find you! To bring you back! To make sure that you kept your promise! You must return with me to the Temple of Mythal!”

She closed her eyes, breath hitching. “The voices of the Well say that Solas will hurt him if I fail!” Morrigan reached for her in desperation. “I have never begged for anything in my life!” she cried, distraught. “My son is all I have!”

“Please! Halani ma!”

Ellana took pity on her with an immediacy that surprised Morrigan. She was wide-eyed, even fearful when calloused brown hands cupped her face. “Hush”. She tensed when gentle fingers wiped away the briny tracks of her tears. “All will be well”.

Ellana’s touch was warm and reassuring. Morrigan wanted to cry. She was overwhelmed with relief when Ellana said the one thing she wanted to hear.

“I’ll go back with you. We’ll get Kieran out of Solas’ hands together”.

“Will you come now? I’ve flown for two days from the Arbor Wilds. I’m tired, but I can shapeshift again, and be ready to go in a moment”. Morrigan tried to rise from the chair, to push herself up onto her aching legs. “We could make good time if we left as soon as possible”.

Ellana resisted, pressing down hard on her shoulders. A shake of her head was enough to shock Morrigan. Hadn’t she heard a word she’s said? Morrigan slapped her hands, alarmed when Ellana refused to withdraw. Her reply was calm, collected, and enraging.

“I can’t return with you now. You must be patient”.

“Solas has my son!”

“I know, but this is out of my hands. I can’t leave Halamshiral clutched inside a dragon’s claws. I must be seen leaving the city gates at sunset of my own volition”. Ellana offered Morrigan a swift compromise. “Wait here, rest, and catch your breath while I prepare. In two hours meet me a mile outside Halamshiral in a hut off the east-end of the Imperial Highway”.

Morrigan gaped at her. “You can’t be serious!” Her lower-lip wobbled again, the tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve flown from dawn to dusk to get here! Solas gave you three days to come to the Temple of Mythal!”

Morrigan grasped Ellana’s hands hard enough to bruise. “Today is the third day! We’re out of time!” She gazed into her eyes with an earnestness that amused Ellana. Morrigan was infuriated by her lack of concern. That carefree smile made her blood boil.

“Why are you so quiet?” she demanded. “This is serious!”

She was outraged by Ellana’s amusem*nt. She was a mother desperate to save her only child. And all Ellana Lavellan could do was grin at her like a fool. Morrigan raised a hand in frustration, the flat of her palm was a blur of motion. She would smack that fool smile off Ellana’s face.

Morrigan gasped when brown fingers caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. She tensed, horrified when Ellana’s eyes glowed like twin torches of veilfire. Those fingers squeezed hard in warning. Morrigan felt the bones of her knuckles click and grind underneath her skin. She hissed in pain, though the pressure didn’t lessen.

“Venavis”, barked Ellana, voice frigid. “I know you’re upset about Kieran. I know you’re tired and frustrated. I sympathise, but I won’t be smacked like an errant child. Don’t try it again”.

Ellana opened her fingers. Morrigan snatched her hands back as if burned, wrists crossing as she pulled them tight to her chest. She stared at Ellana, eyes wide with fear. She’d seen that kind of power twice before. A mark of inhumanness that’d set first Solas and then her mother apart from ordinary mages. The eyes aglow like two points of light inside a human face was the stuff of nightmares.

Morrigan had seen the same thing in the Fade, on the shoulders of demons with skulls wreathed in flame.

“He was right!” she cried. “You’re not an elf! You’re something worse!” She tensed when that ghoulish light faded from Ellana’s eyes. Morrigan glanced first at her hands, then her fingers with trepidation.

“Checking to see if you’re turning to stone?” teased Ellana. “I’m not in the habit of making garden statues out of people. Even those that irritate me. I’m not an arsehole, Morrigan. Solas sits on that pedestal all by himself”.

“You hurt me!”

“You tried to slap me”.

“I was angry!”

“Right”, snorted Ellana. “You didn’t think that one through. I’m a rogue by profession. I know how to use lock-picks, a bow, and knives. I’m armed to the teeth with every conceivable blade I can hide on my person without looking conspicuous”.

Ellana turned her wrist over to expose the underside of her right-hand. A small blade was concealed in the cuff of her sleeve, strapped to a leather bracelet. She lifted the edge of her skirt to expose her legs. The black hose beneath concealed two more blades, each strapped to the outside of her thighs. Morrigan was alarmed when Ellana pointed to her boots.

“I’ve got two more strapped to my calves. That’s six that don’t include my usual weapons”. She let her skirt fall back over her legs, covering the blades she kept hidden. “Never slap a Dalish rogue, sweetling. I won’t knife you because we’re friends, but another rogue wouldn’t think twice about it”.

“Because I’m shemlem?” spat Morrigan.

“Humans have persecuted elves for centuries. The hatred of your kind runs deep. It wouldn’t take much to spark a rebellion the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a thousand years. After Corypheus and the Breach. Your people are woefully unprepared for war”.

“You’re saying Solas intends to start one?”

“He already has. The die is cast. The board set. All he’s doing now is making a play. I can slow him down, perhaps even stop him but not when my hands are tied”.

Morrigan couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What do you mean?”

“Thousands will die unless I choose a side”.

“I don’t understand!”

Ellana shrugged, head shaking. “I’m untethered and unclaimed. A thing unheard of for one such as I. We’re usually bound in some way, shape, or form. Hobbled to a specific purpose, a duty that’s often prescribed by the people we choose”.

“Choose for what?”

“To guide and protect”.

Morrigan grew more alarmed the longer she listened. Ellana was speaking in riddles. Morrigan didn’t understand much of what she’d said, but parts of it made an eerie sort of sense. She’d met gods that walked in the skin of mortals. Solas and then her mother Flemeth, bearing the soul of Mythal through the ages.

“You’re untethered? But you belong to the Inquisition”.

“I belonged to the Inquisition. I don’t anymore”, corrected Ellana. “That’s also not what I meant. You know it too though you’re terrified of what it might mean for you, Kieran, and poor lost Mahariel. Thedas can burn for all you care as long as your family is safe”.

The statement cut deep, the sting of it sweet agony. Morrigan lifted her chin high, pride in her bearing. She didn’t deny it. Her family meant more to her than life, a fact that Ellana acknowledged with an understanding nod. Morrigan was startled by her lack of condemnation.

“Good. You share my sentiment. It’ll make what’s to come next easier on both of us”.

Morrigan was wary when Ellana released her, rocking back on her heels. She watched Ellana flex her knees, and roll to her feet in one graceful motion. She flinched when Ellana arched an eyebrow. They exchanged a tense look that lasted several moments.

“Still proud even when you’re scared”, remarked Ellana. “I commend your spirit, Morrigan”.

She crossed the floor without a backward glance, pausing by the windowsill. She undid the latch, pushing the window open. A gust of wind ruffled her hair. Ellana beckoned with a smile on her lips.

“Garas ma. I’ve something to show you”.

“Am I supposed to trust you after what I saw?” hissed Morrigan. “Your eyes glowed like those of a demon! Solas uses that trick to turn people to stone! I’m not stupid enough to think for a moment that you wouldn’t do the same! You’re just like him!”

“I’m offended by that comparison. Solas is an arse and I’m not”. Ellana turned around, silver brows arched in contrition. Her face was soft, kind, and understanding. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for frightening you. Alas it couldn’t be avoided”.

She gestured to her eyes with a casual flick of her fingers.

“It’s one of the least terrible ways to reveal myself. Unfortunately it makes me akin to Solas in the worst of ways”. Ellana rolled her eyes, now a clear and dark emerald green. “It makes ordinary folk like yourself wary of me. After all only spirits, demons, and maleficar have glowing eyes in and out of the Fade”.

“Are you a maleficar?”

“It’s a reasonable assumption. But I haven’t attacked you. I’m not spewing vitriol, spitting taunts, or trying to coerce you into doing what I want. Maleficar don’t ask for things, they take them. I’m asking, Morrigan”.

“Asking for what?”

Ellana gestured to the window. “For you to come and see what I have to show you. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s the opposite in fact. I’m trying to help”.

“You’re trying to distract me”.

“Fear is as useful as it is crippling. Will your fear of me rule you, Morrigan? Or will you overcome that fear. Only you can decide”.

Morrigan contemplated a decision for several long moments. She was still nervous, but curiosity soon overcame her apprehension. She set her booted heels on the floor, knees knocking. She was wobbly at first when she got to her feet, still exhausted from her frantic flight. She doggedly placed one foot in front of the other.

Morrigan kept one hand on the back of her chair as she moved around the room. That hand ran across the wall, then along the windowsill until she was within feet of Ellana. She refused to move closer, to put herself anymore at risk. She could see outside the window. She thought it was enough of a compromise until Ellana offered her a helping hand.

“Don’t touch me”.

“You’re exhausted”.

“I can stand on my own”.

“Morrigan”.

“I don’t want your help”.

Ellana frowned. “Were you a stubborn child?”

“So my mother always said”.

“I bet she did”.

“Stop smiling!”

Ellana’s cheeks dimpled. She gave Morrigan a cheeky wink and a toothy smile. She nodded to the world outside her window, saying nothing when Morrigan chanced a look. She watched the witch’s face, pleased when she saw her eyes go wide with delight.

“Maker’s breath! It’s beautiful! The butterflies! The flowers! Is that a Vhenadahl?”

Ellana turned to look out that same window. In the garden below there grew a single tree. It was lush, tall, and green. Its boughs were laden with thousands of tiny silver-white flowers. A plethora of wild-flowers bloomed about it’s gnarled roots in shades of gold, red, purple, and blue. Butterflies flitted, fat bumblebees droned, and somewhere a nightingale warbled.

“Once, long ago, the gardens of Arlathan were beautiful too”.

Morrigan had lost some of her fear but none of her wariness. She kept a watchful eye on Ellana, careful to keep her at arm’s length too. “Once?”

“Once”, affirmed Ellana. “Before the Elvhen grew arrogant enough to think they’d the right to control and influence all things. Living and dead. The Evanuris like Mythal thought herself above the natural order. I would’ve dealt with them before Elvhenan fell to ruin if not for a promise I made to my brother”.

“You have a brother?”

“Once I had many. Now I have one. He’s awfully old fashioned”.

Morrigan was unnerved by the news. “Brothers. Maker’s balls. There was more than one of you. Which means you had a family”.

“It can’t be that surprising. All beings have family of some sort. I had a multitude of siblings”.

“Parents?”

“It doesn’t quite work like that for someone like me”.

“Wait. No sex?”

“Oh, we have sex”, teased Ellana. “But it’s more orgiastic, less exclusive pairings. Or it was until I was born. The gaggle of beings that created me got protective when they discovered I wasn’t like my brothers. I’m the only female of my line, something of a surprise after a slew of sons”.

“That’s perturbing”.

“It was for my brothers. They didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t as strong as them or as powerful. My talents were subtler, more finesse than brute force. But I had the worst temper, the least control, and the greatest propensity for destruction”.

“Maker’s arse”, swore Morrigan. “What were you?”

“A naked flame in a field of grass after a long, hot, and dry summer”.

“A spark to tinder”.

“A disaster waiting to happen”, elaborated Ellana. “My eldest brother had more patience than the rest. He took me under his wing, doling out advice, and lectures in equal measure. He was never unkind or too strict, but he was full of expectation. I hated disappointing him, so I always strove to do my best for him”.

“You respect him”.

“I adore him. I still do”.

“You made him a promise?” asked Morrigan.

“I did”.

“What kind of promise?”

“Never to set Thedas ablaze. I’m not patient or forgiving”, admitted Ellana. “I’m vengeful. I abhor liars, even if I am one. I avoid commitment too, even though I’m an incorrigible flirt”.

“That sounds like every thief, archer, bard, and assassin in Thedas”.

Ellana smirked. “I’m a rogue by nature. It suits me”.

She shuddered, grimacing. “Tell me. Did you kill your brothers?”

“Family means quite a bit more to me than that. No. It was something that happens to all beings. My brothers thirsted for adventure. And I was too young to follow them”.

Ellana went quiet, the corners of her mouth turning down. Morrigan was surprised when she saw that hollow look of loss in her eyes. The light of hope was gone, the spark extinguished. Morrigan had seen that same devastation on Mahariel’s face once he’d learned the fate of his clan. He’d crumpled the letter from Merrill in his hands, torn it to shreds, and left her side without shedding a tear.

She’d found him two weeks later bruised and bloody, surrounded by dead maleficar.

“My brothers grew up, found mates, and had families of their own”, explained Ellana. “They changed, becoming more while I stayed the same. One by one I lost them all to a life I couldn’t comprehend or understand. Only the eldest stayed with me throughout my youth. Until the day came when he wanted the same thing our brothers had wanted”.

“He abandoned you?” assumed Morrigan.

“It was the other way around. He wanted to follow our brothers. He begged me to go with him. I refused. He left me behind, as they had when he realised I wouldn’t change my mind. I could’ve gone with him, but at the time I was reluctant”.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to die”.

“What?”

“I’m not mortal but even my existence can end”.

“Are you Elvhen?” demanded Morrigan.

“No”.

“But you are old, and you look like an elf”.

“Yes and yes”, replied Ellana. “Although why must someone be old and an elf? You already know that appearances can be deceiving. That things are not always what we think them to be. You’ve met spirits, demons, and all myriad of strange beings in and out of the Fade”.

“How do you know that?”

“How do you think I know?”.

Morrigan was quiet for several moments, studying Ellana’s face. The curves of her cheeks, the hard line of her jaw, and the triangular point of her chin. She saw shades of Mahariel in her thick Dalish brows, wide nose, and big elven eyes. Morrigan knew the similarities between them were superficial. Ellana had a wildness about her that was as beautiful as it was unsettling.

She was so discomforted that she unwittingly asked the same question Solas had.

“What are you?”

“Someone that misses her brothers”.

“That’s not an answer”.

“It’s the best you’ll get for now”.

“You’re frustrating”, grumbled Morrigan.

“My brother says that too”.

“Who is this brother you keep talking about?”

“Sigfrost”, said Ellana. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Most mages have”.

Morrigan only knew of one being so named. “You can’t mean the Sigfrost from Avvar myth”.

“Why not?”

“He’s the Avvar god of wisdom that happens to be a gigantic mystical bear”.

“And that’s strange because?”

“Ellana!” hissed Morrigan. “Sigfrost is a god!” She blanched after she realised what she’d said aloud. “Which would make you a goddess”. She gawked when Ellana waggled her eyebrows.

“Don’t be silly. I’m a Dalish elf”.

“In this form, assuming that’s your real face”.

Ellana’s eyes narrowed, her demeanour changing in a heartbeat. Morrigan was uneasy when the corners of her mouth curved upward. The mischievous twinkle in Ellana’s eye was gone and in it’s place was a fox-like slyness that made her skin crawl. There was a sharpness in her gaze too, an intelligence that was as cunning as it was perceptive. Morrigan took a step backward though she resisted the urge to turn tail and run.

She was apprehensive when Ellana smiled, lips peeling back from her teeth. She trembled when she saw the protruding fangs, the jagged line of her incisors. Her skin took on a pearlescent sheen, as if a faint rainbow of light were reflecting off a series of tiny scales. Morrigan took a shuddering breath when Ellana’s shadow fell across the floor. It was amorphous, a cloud of smoke though she saw what looked like tongues of black flame.

Heat suffused the air in a wash of brimstone. Morrigan’s nose wrinkled at the stink of sulphur. Her skin prickled, goose-flesh rising. Ellana giggled, the sound sending a chill of foreboding down Morrigan’s spine. She was perturbed when Ellana spoke to her again.

That gruff Fereldan accent had a rasp that reminded Morrigan of steel grinding on stone.

“Clever girl. You’re more astute than Solas. He’s the somniari, the dream-walker yet he hadn’t a clue about what I was. We didn’t get this far in our little game of intrigue”.

Morrigan tried to keep her voice steady, but there was an unmistakable waver of fear. “I’m not surprised”.

Ellana smiled wide again to reveal her sharp teeth. She winked, the black pupils of her eyes slitted like those of a cat. Morrigan flinched with a thick pink tongue slid out from between her lips. It was large, long, and forked like the tongue of a snake. It lashed left, than right scenting the air until Ellana rolled it back behind her teeth.

“You’re right. This isn’t my real face. It’s one I use from time to time when I wander the world. I have other forms, but this is my favourite. My true form is a challenge to the uninitiated”.

“You stink like a dragon”, complained Morrigan. “It’s most unpleasant”.

“Fire is my element”, stated Ellana. “The smell is the least of what you’d find unpleasant about me. The worst would leave you cooked alive in your own skin like a pig on a spit. It explains my irascibility, mulishness, and my tendency for vengefulness too. Dragons and I have that much in common”.

“Maker’s balls”, cursed Morrigan. “You were a mother to dragons?”

“For a time. I didn’t actually breed with any drakes or lay eggs like a chicken. I kept the nest safe and secure until the dragonlings were old and strong enough to fend for themselves. The experience was beneficial. I learned how to love beings lesser than myself. Lucky for you”.

“Why?”

“If I hadn’t. You’d be a pile of ash”.

Ellana clucked her forked tongue, grinning, and blinked her cat-like eyes. Her slitted pupils shrank inwards until they were small and round again. The shadow on the floor receded, softening around the edges. Morrigan soon saw the silhouette of an elf with pointed ears and a mop of short shaggy hair. She looked up to find the myriad pearlescent scales were gone.

Ellana’s skin was smooth and brown again.

The heat faded too, leaving a chill in air that made Morrigan shiver.

She’d long forgotten about the garden in the courtyard below. She was studying Ellana again, more curious than afraid of that pretty brown face. The green eyes beneath a pair of silver brows were warm and kind again. That grinning mouth had a distinct lack of sharp teeth. Morrigan was unnerved when Ellana winked at her like a mischievous woodland sprite.

“He was right”, she mused aloud. “You’re not what you appear to be”.

“Is that what Solas told you?”

“It was Kieran”, corrected Morrigan. “When he first met you in Skyhold”.

“He always was a gifted child with or without the soul of Urthemiel”.

“You know about that too?”

“I know a lot of things”.

“How?” demanded Morrigan.

Ellana waved away her question as if it were unimportant. “It’s a long story that’d take several centuries to tell. We don’t have that kind of time. Let’s say that I know a great deal about a great many things. Although I do wonder about one thing”.

“What?”

“What else did your son tell you that day in the gardens in Skyhold?”

“That you felt old like the mountains, but were warmer and kinder than ice or snow”. Morrigan remembered her son’s odd little moments of insight. “I thought it was a bit of whimsy. A child’s observation of someone he’d met for the first time. The only other elf he’d ever known growing up was his father Mahariel”.

“You were someone new”, explained Morrigan. “Someone I’d thought harmless until Solas ordered me to hand over my son two days ago. He has Kieran imprisoned under guard in the Temple of Mythal. I didn’t want to leave him, but that bastard used the magic of the Vir’abelasan against me. I am bound to the will of Mythal like Abelas and the sentinel elves”.

“Solas is in possession of her soul”, declared Ellana. “His orders would be hers under the right circ*mstances”.

“Unfortunately, I was foolish enough to drink from the Vir’abelasan”.

“That you were”.

Morrigan eyed her with suspicion. “You knew what would happen”.

“Of course I did”.

“You didn’t try to stop me”.

“Abelas warned you. You still drank from the Well of your own volition”.

“You could have intervened”.

Ellana looked her in the eye. “Would you have listened to me?”

Morrigan reddened, going quiet. She’d waited for years to get her hands on magic powerful enough to use against her mother. Flemeth’s grimoire had been useful, but incomplete. More a diary than a book of spells. Morrigan in fearing for herself and her son had done her best to stay one step ahead of her mother no matter the cost.

“I didn’t think so”, finished Ellana. “Which is why Solas rooted you out from hiding. Took your son hostage, put a boot to your arse, and sent you flying from the Temple of Mythal. All in hopes that you’d bring me back as soon as possible”.

“You don’t sound surprised”, accused Morrigan.

“I’m not. Solas is playing with fire, and he’s not sure if he’ll get burned. He’s trying to find a way to overcome me even now. He took a strand of my hair, and he’s planning to use it in a binding spell. Which would work if I were less than what I am”.

“So, Kieran and I are bait”.

“Of course you are”, agreed Ellana. “My bleeding heart and all. Solas knows I’d never turn away a friend in need. He’s counting on my compassionate nature ruling my head. You and Kieran are the flies in his web, and he’s the spider”.

Ellana arched an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curving upward. A cheeky wink, a smile, and she still soothed the worst of Morrigan’s fears.

“Worry not. I’m still going back with you”.

“It’s a trap”.

“What makes you think Solas is the one that planned it this way?”

“Andraste’s tit*. You don’t care if he did”.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Ellana. He’s powerful”.

“He thinks he is”.

Morrigan shook her head, frowning. “You know what he is. Who he is. You’ve seen what he can do with my mother’s magic. Solas is old, powerful, and a self-proclaimed elven god. And despite all that you’re still planning to return with me to the Temple of Mythal”.

Ellana gave her a long, hard look. “Would you prefer I didn’t?”

“No!”

“Kieran is a child, Morrigan. Solas took him away from you. It wasn’t the smartest way to get my attention. Children are innocents. If he hurts the boy, even a little than he’ll pay for every drop of Kieran’s blood tenfold”.

“You’d kill him?”

“I don’t intend too, but Solas can make the simplest of things difficult”. Morrigan was wary when Ellana smiled like a cat that’d caught a mouse. “If he’s running scared. He won’t know what to expect. I still have the advantage in our little game of Wicked Grace”.

For a brief moment Morrigan saw her eyes flash like emerald fire again. It was gone an instant later quick as the flick of a butterfly’s wing. It still left her shaken, though Ellana cooed an apology like a turtle-dove. It was soft, sweet, and tinged with that selfsame maternal kindness that’d first made Morrigan want to cry. She could feel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes again.

“Ir abelas. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine”, sniffled Morrigan. “Stop worrying about me”.

Ellana’s playfulness ebbed. She gave Morrigan a look of concern. “I can’t do that”.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Morrigan. But I won’t leave you to fend for yourself alone. Solas is dangerous, I agree. He tried to kill Felassan. He’ll do the same to you given the chance”.

Morrigan gaped at her in disbelief. “Felassan is dead. Solas murdered him because he failed to take the Eluvian network from Briala”.

“Is that what the spirits of the Well have told you?”

“Well, yes”.

Ellana snorted, nose wrinkling in disdain. “They’ve been stuck in a pond of water, growing stagnant for five thousand years. The most they’ve seen in that time is how many tadpoles a frog could cram up their noses. They’re dead, sweetling. They lie too, so don’t believe a word they say”.

“Do you lie?”

“Of course I do. At least I’m honest about it. The spirits of the Vir’abelasan are arrogant sh*ts that lived and died before the Fall of Arlathan. They served Mythal until she was assassinated by the Evanuris. They whined about her death for centuries afterwards, stewing in their own misery”.

Ellana rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen Fade sprites with more backbone. The spirits of the Well have nothing but disdain for mortals. Why would you listen to them? They think you’re little better than the weeds growing on the bottom of their sad little spirit- pond”.

“Even if that’s true”, hissed Morrigan. “Why in the world would I believe anything you say?”

“You don’t need too. Felassan will explain everything in due course”.

“He’s dead”.

“No he’s not”.

“How do you know that?”

“Because, sweetling”, said Ellana. “I saved him. You needn’t worry. He’s in a safe place. He doesn’t think so of course, but then again he is an incessant whiner”.

Morrigan needed a few moments to absorb that titbit. “He whines?”

“Like a puppy. Hush now. I need a moment to think”.

Ellana ruminated on all that had happened since her return to Halamshiral. The Qunari – Dragon’s breath plot had gone awry. Solas’ plans had stalled long enough to give her a narrow window of opportunity. It wasn’t as neat as she’d like, but it would do until Korth’s first-born son tracked her down. Sigfrost’s warning hadn’t fallen on deaf ears.

She’d taken his advice to heart.

Ellana wondered if she truly had frightened Solas. “How twitchy is the great Fen’Harel?”

“He was unsettled enough to reach halfway across Thedas to find me”, answered Morrigan. “He combed the Eluvian network from the Korcari Wilds to the Anderfels searching for me. Once he’d found where I was hiding. He dragged me to the Temple of Mythal by the scruff of my neck. Kieran came after he ordered me to tell him where I’d stowed my son”.

“Where were you squatting?”

“In a small village off the west-coast of the Colean sea”.

“So close to Seheron?”

“They were simple fisher-folk not Qunari”.

“I suppose you were smart enough not to use magic in plain sight?”

Morrigan huffed, golden eyes rolling. “I’m an apostate not a fool”.

“Smart girl”. Ellana brought her hands together with a sharp clap. Morrigan flinched at the sound, still anxious after their encounter. She glared when Ellana grinned from ear to ear with a flash of white teeth. “Which brings us back to where we started”.

“I can’t give you more time. It took me two days to get here. It could take us just as long to return to the Arbor Wilds”. Her shoulders sagged with fatigue. “Even if I shifted into dragon-form, I’d fall out of the sky before we cleared the city”.

“So rest”, advised Ellana. “Then find me in two hours. Do you remember where?”

Morrigan gritted her teeth in a fierce snarl. “Didn’t you hear a thing I said? We’re out of time!”

“Not exactly”.

Ellana raised her left hand, pulling the cuff of her sleeve back to reveal the jagged scar on her wrist. Morrigan grimaced at the sight of the puckered pink skin. Ellana muttered an incantation. She watched Morrigan’s face as the scar disappeared in a wisp of smoke. The witch gawked when the emerald light of the Anchor flickered like fire beneath her skin.

“You still have the mark”.

“Of course I do. It’s magic never belonged to Solas”.

Morrigan sucked in a startled breath. “It’s yours. Andraste’s arse. Did Solas know?”

“Of course not. He was too naive to believe Mythal was ever anything but trustworthy. She’s not as you well know. Flemeth wasn’t much better. A pity, really. She was a talented mage until Mythal crawled under her skin”.

Ellana shrugged her shoulders with a nonchalance that perturbed Morrigan.

“Yet another mess I have to clean up. Sigfrost will be ecstatic”. Ellana reached into the shaggy curls of her silver hair. She tweaked the lobe of her pointed ear. “I’ll have to stay a Dalish elf awhile longer”.

“That’s horsesh*t”, hissed Morrigan. “You’re not a simple Dalish anything”.

“Kieran was right”.

“You still haven’t told me what you are”.

“You’ve guessed more of my true nature than most”

“That’s not an explanation!”

“I’ve denied nothing. Lest you’ve forgotten. But we haven’t the time to argue. I have to prepare. So take a seat, catch your breath, and rest. In an hour I’ll leave Halamshiral through the city-gates”.

“And an hour after that?”

“You’ll meet me a mile outside Halamshiral in a hut off the east-end of the Imperial Highway. It’s concealed from the roadside by a thicket of trees. A small white dog will be guarding the front door. When you arrive, tell him you’re expected. He’ll let you in”.

“A dog will let me in?” repeated Morrigan. “And does this dog have a name?”

“Of course he does”.

“What is it?”

“It means slow arrow in elvish”.

“Felassan!” cried Morrigan. “Andraste’s tit*! You turned him into a guard dog!”

“Of a kind”.

“Solas could find him!”

“He won’t”, Ellana assured her. “The dreams of beasts are simple and mundane. Solas tends to ignore them. He wouldn’t deign to sift through the memories of a slumbering mabari. He’s too prideful, and he thinks wolves are superior. Felassan as such is safer as a dog than an elf”.

“Is it permanent?”

“He thinks it is”.

“Maker’s arse. You’re cruel”.

“Solas said that too”.

Ellana whispered an incantation. The light of the Anchor went out like a guttered candle-flame, slipping beneath her skin again. The ugly puckered scar curled its way like a vine from the palm of her hand to the crook of her elbow. The glamour settled back into place. The simple spell impressed Morrigan.

“Are you always so deceptive?”

“Not by choice, but when one such as I walks among mortals. Disguises are necessary”.

Morrigan’s mouth thinned, her jaw tightening. “Are you like Solas?”

Ellana pulled the cuff of her sleeve down over the wrist of her left hand. “What exactly are you asking?”

“You know what I’m asking”.

“I don’t. Be specific”.

Morrigan bit her lip, unsure lest she entangle herself in something unpleasant.

Ellana coaxed her with unexpected gentleness. “A question can be asked in a thousand different ways. Think before you put that thought into words if you want a truthful answer. I tend to lie more often than I tell the truth. A bad habit. So you’ll have to be frank about what you want to know”.

“Fine”, grumbled Morrigan. “I played word games with my mother when I was a child. I can play them with you too”. She lifted her chin with haughty pride, and looked down her nose at Ellana. “Were you a member of the Evanuris like Solas?”

“No”.

“But you can make plants bloom, bees, and butterflies appear. Even birds sing”.

“Yes, I can”.

“That ability isn’t associated with any god from the Elven or Avvar pantheon”.

“No it’s not”.

“But what I saw”, reasoned Morrigan. “It was as if spring had come early”.

“Among the Avvar”, said Ellana. “My legend-mark is First-Thaw. I am the time when the ice breaks and new spring comes to give life to the world. Fire can burn out of control or it can banish the chill of winter. Svarah Sunhair saw more in me than I thought she would. Her Augur did too much to my surprise”.

“First-Thaw”.

“It’s not the worst name I’ve been given on two legs or four”.

Morrigan frowned, sensing something change between them. Ellana was watching her with feline-like curiosity. Those eyes of hers gleamed so bright that Morrigan was reminded of a feral cat she’d had as a child. It’d been black from head to toe, a streak of midnight with piercing emerald-green eyes. She gasped when Ellana smirked.

Her smugness terrified Morrigan.

“D-Duskie?”

“I wondered if you’d recognise me in this form. Your mother never did like cats. They’re too independent. Flemeth preferred obedience to free will. But you’ve always had a tendency to break rules. Haven’t you?”

Morrigan swallowed with sudden anxiety. “Who are you?”

“A friend”, declared Ellana. “I didn’t watch you for the better part of a decade to see you inherit the yoke of Mythal’s ambitions. I wanted you to be free to make your own decisions, to live your own life. You’re doing that. I couldn’t be more proud”.

“You’re not making this easy”.

“It’ll have to do for now. Didn’t you say we were out of time?”

Morrigan’s exasperated groan made her smile.

“I’d forgotten how delightful it is to frustrate mortals. Your people can run a gamut of emotion from sadness and fear to irritation in a heartbeat. It’s entertaining”. She winked when Morrigan scowled. “Do cheer up, sweetling. Things aren’t as horrible as you think they are”.

“You’d better help me rescue my son!”

“I’ve already agreed”.

Her enthusiasm disgusted Morrigan.

“Stop smiling!”

“I can’t help it! This is exciting!”

“Ugh. You’re infuriating!”

Chapter 3: An Owl in the Window

Chapter Text

Ellana felt the weight of Morrigan’s gaze as she drew the strap over her shoulder. The satchel bounced against her back, a comfortable addition to the weight of her bow and quiver. The twin daggers she’d carried in the Inquisition were strapped to her belt. The twin sheaths with their Halla antler hafts crossed at the small of her back. She was armed, cloaked from head to toe in brown, and ready to leave Halamshiral.

“It’s time”.

Morrigan huffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine”.

“Meet me in two hours. Do you remember where?”

“Yes”. She flapped her hand at Ellana. “Go. I’ll find you there”.

“Good. I suppose I’ll see you soon then”.

Ellana left her with a wink and a smile, crossing the room to the door. She put her hand on the latch, pulling the door open, and stepped out into the hall. She looked back once, smiling wide again. She said nothing to Morrigan as she pressed two fingers to her lips. She blew her a kiss and declared aloud.

“At long last”. Ellana exhaled a weary breath, shoulders sagging as if in relief. “It’s time for me to go home. Finally, after all these years. I won’t be alone anymore”.

Morrigan saw the weariness etched into the lines of Ellana’s face. Her eyes were dark beneath her lashes, a splash of forest-green against the brown of her skin. She turned away, head shaking as if she were contemplating coming to the end of a long and lonely road. Her smile was one of relief, but a touch of melancholy curved the corners of her mouth. Morrigan wondered if a god could understand grief, even loss for Ellana had that look in her eyes again.

The hollowness of a soul that’d lost innumerable loved ones.

A shiver of foreboding ran down her spine. Morrigan remembered finding her beloved inside a circle of dead Maleficar. Mahariel's red-rimmed eyes had been as wet and warm as the blood splattered on his cheeks. He’d said nothing when she’d glanced at the blades in his hands. A pair of silverite daggers slick and dripping with gore.

Ellana didn’t weep as he had in frustrated silence. She turned away with a sigh, that melancholic smile softening at the edges. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Morrigan heard her footsteps fade into the distance, that dull thud a comfort until it was gone. She was alone again, her skin prickling with unease.

Could all gods inspire such feelings?

Solas had often filled her with fear, even frustration at her own helplessness. Ellana did too though there was something odd about her. Morrigan thought about what’d happened earlier that same day. Their conversations hadn’t been one-sided like her arguments with Solas. He gave orders. She obeyed albeit with great reluctance.

“Ellana listened to me”, Morrigan mused aloud. “How odd. Since when do gods real or imagined converse with mortals themselves? She doesn’t use an intermediary like the Maker uses the Divine and the Chantry. She addresses things herself, which I doubt for someone like her is considered normal”.

She remembered the firm brown fingers pressing hard on her wrist.

“Thus the necessity for disguises”. She rolled her eyes, realising the irony in the conclusion she’d come too. “How typical of a rogue. It can only be deliberate that she took the guise of a Dalish huntress to join the Inquisition. Perhaps not to deal with Corypheus at all, the Breach, or the rifts in the Veil but to befriend Solas”.

She was lost in her thoughts for a moment, trying to figure out Ellana’s plans when the floorboards creaked. Morrigan stiffened, tense as a drawn bowstring. A frantic glance at the door and the thin gap of light beneath it revealed nothing. There was no shadow in the hall outside, no servant come to check and clean the vacated suite. Had Ellana timed her departure to coincide with staff and guard rotations?

Like those often scheduled throughout the day in the Winter Palace.

“I’ve not been discovered yet. How convenient. Two hours it’ll be then till I’m on my way. Mahariel would’ve planned our liaison like that too. Only he has the decency to be an actual Dalish elf and not a pretender”.

She calmed till the noise of the wind rattling the glass made her twitch. Morrigan exhaled a shaky breath, perturbed despite the quiet. Ellana’s presence had given her a sense of security. Now she was gone. Morrigan felt like a boat unhitched from its mooring. She was cast adrift in a sea of anxiety, the future uncertain despite Ellana’s reassurances.

A sharp bang made her flinch. Morrigan turned around, eyes wide when she saw the still open window. The pane of glass inside its iron-wrought frame slammed against the sill again. The wind had picked up, whistling across the glass in a blast of cold air. Morrigan, shivering, crossed the floor with hurried steps.

She looked out the window, pausing lest she be seen. She stared when she spied a shadow in the garden below. It was late afternoon, the sun hung low on the horizon. The stars were faint specks of light in the sky. The moon was a silvered disc against the burgundy clouds.

Morrigan saw that shadow become two figures then three. She spied two men and a woman beneath the boughs of Ellana’s silver-white Vhenadahl. All were dressed in a servant’s drab browns and greys. The leaves rustled in the wind, the tree’s tiny star-like flowers quivering. Morrigan saw the pointed tips of their ears peaking through the strands of their hair.

The men were of differing ages. The first was older with greying red-brown hair, the second younger with a mop of blond curls. The elder laid a wizened hand on the trunk of the tree. Morrigan heard him suck in a pained breath. His head bowed and his shoulders sagged as if he were bearing a great burden.

“What magic is this?” gasped the old man. “I see a gift unlooked for in the gardens of Halamshiral. A Vhenadahl. How can it be? No oak planted by elven hands has grown and flowered here in seven hundred years”.

The only woman in their group, a brunette turned around. Morrigan tensed the instant she gazed upward, her dark eyes fixating on that open window. Morrigan fell back from view, shuffling sideways with her shoulders against the wall. Once out of sight, she waited with bated breath – hoping she hadn’t been seen. The still open window creaked on its iron-wrought hinges.

Morrigan exhaled a weary breath when she heard two of the elves converse in hushed tones. The first voice was young, brusque, and full of suspicion. The second was softer, feminine, and full of fervent conviction.

“A Vhenadahl! Here? How is that even possible?”

“It’s a gift from Inquisitor Lavellan!”

“How do you know?”

“Up there. That’s her room. Only she could’ve done this”.

“I don’t believe it. This isn’t magic, but a trick of some kind. We all know she’s a rogue not a mage. Rogues are liars, thieves, and murderers. She’s no better than the crows feeding on the corpses hanging from the gibbet in the city square”.

Morrigan grimaced when she heard a sharp smack and a startled cry. They were arguing much to her consternation. They didn’t seem to care if they were overheard too.

“Ow! Shenna!”

“You shouldn’t say such vile things! Ellana Lavellan is the the Herald of Andraste, bride of the Maker! Her path to glory is a holy one! The Vhenadahl in this garden is a sign of her favour! Inquisitor Lavellan remembers her city-born kin!”

“So you say”, grumbled her companion. “You didn’t have to slap me”.

“Oh, yes I did. I’ve told you not to badmouth Lavellan in front of me. That goes for the Warden too. They’re heroes, deserving of your respect. Next time pull your head out of your arse before you open that gaping chasm in your face”.

Morrigan’s heart was in her throat when the old man rebuked them. Every word was delivered with the weight of authority. He had to be a leader of some kind, even a respected elder. The city-elves and the Dalish were known to share some of the same traditions. The command in the old man’s voice was undeniable.

“Be quiet before your raised voices draw unwanted attention!”

“But, Hahren!” whined Shenna. “You said it yourself! A Vhenadahl hasn’t been seen in Halamshiral since the time of the Dales!”

Morrigan noted how the old man’s tone was subdued. He didn’t seem to think Ellana’s tree was a miracle. He was too pragmatic to believe the plight of the elves mattered to the Maker and his bride. He might’ve been an Andrastean, even sang the Chant of Light. He wasn’t fool enough to put the entirety of his faith in a god that’d slain Shartan.

“It’s a simple tree, child. As lovely as the rest in Empress Celene’s garden this time of year. I should know. I’ve been weeding the gardens in Halamshiral since I was a lad. You’re seeing more than a tree here because you want it to be more than it is”.

Shenna’s friend was inclined to agree with him. “He’s right. Even if Lavellan made this tree and the flowers around it bloom. It doesn’t change a thing. You know as well as I do that Empress Celene ordered her to leave the city”.

“She’ll come back, Enro”.

“You don’t know that”.

“Says you”, hissed Shenna. “I have more brains between my ears than you do under that blonde mop you call hair”.

“Stop being childish!” groused Enro.

“Stop acting like an arsehole, then I’ll stop thinking you are one”.

“Hahren! Shenna’s poking her tongue at me!”

“Maker’s breath!” cried the old man. “Be quiet both of you! Shenna! Put that tongue back behind your teeth! Enro! Stop baiting her!”

“But she started it!”

“That’s enough! I’d expect this kind of behaviour from children not a pair of young adults! Maker’s breath! You’re too old to be snapping at each other like two dogs in the street! Show some maturity!”

“Ir abelas, Hahren” apologised Shenna.

“All right. Fine”, complained Enro. “Ir abelas. I’ll behave”.

“Thanks be to Andraste”, finished the old man. “Now let’s talk about what actually matters”.

Morrigan snickered. It was hilarious to think that two full grown elves could bicker like children. She wondered if Shenna and Enro had grown up together. The way they quarrelled would account for a childhood rivalry. Morrigan didn’t doubt they’d have been pulling faces at each other the moment the old man turned his back on them.

Fortunately, he was wiser than that.

“Shenna. You’re not to tell anyone about this tree. Or how you think it came to be here. I don’t want to hear anymore out of you about Ellana Lavellan being the Herald of Andraste. The same goes for you, Enro”.

“But, Hahren!”

“Not another word. Do you understand me?”

Morrigan was certain Shenna would start spitting flames. She was a fervent admirer of the retired Inquisitor.

“But, Hahren! The Vhenadahl is a sign from Andraste!”

“Enough! Promise me you won’t speak of it again!”

Even Enro was puzzled. “If the other palace servants come to the garden. They’ll soon see it for themselves. Why the secrecy, Hahren? I’d never thought you’d be reluctant to give our people hope in times like this”.

Morrigan had to agree with the old man when it came to having a lick of common-sense.

“What do you think the Empress will do if she learns of the Vhenadahl? She’ll have it cut down and burned like she did to our homes in the slums. How many more need to die before you realise that we can’t trust anyone anymore? Celene has her spies among our own people. So does this fabled Fen’Harel”.

Enro was quiet when the old man reminded them of the loved ones he’d lost.

“Lemet was my nephew. Thren my son-in-law. Don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgotten how they died or why. No one hates what’s happened more than I do since that fool boy threw a rock at Lord Mainserai’s carriage. I understand his anger, even his grief but many died for his little show of vengefulness”.

Morrigan was unsurprised when Shenna leapt to the child’s defence.

“That shemlen dog murdered his mother!”

The old man was less than forgiving. “She pilfered from the larder of an Orlesian noble. Worse, she was caught doing it. It’s a miracle Lord Mainserai thought she’d acted alone. If not for her son’s stupidity Lemet, Thren, and many others would still be alive”.

Morrigan could almost taste the old man’s bitterness. The silence that followed his statement was fraught with tension. Morrigan expected Shenna to protest but it was Enro that turned on them. He was livid, spitting invectives in elvish. Had the old man always suspected where his loyalties lay?

“Ma banal las halamshir var vhen! You stupid, old fool! Lemet’s death was an injustice! Thren recognised that and took action! That little boy was the spark that set the tinder alight! He made Thren’s revolution possible!”

Morrigan was wary when the old man countered with the calmness of a seasoned player of the Grand Game.

“What revolution? Thren died. So did thousands of elves when Empress Celene razed the slums. My daughter is a widow. Her children are fatherless because Thren abandoned his family. He started a fight he couldn't win”.

Enro bit back with equal animosity. "He did what was right!"

"You're as short-sighted as he was", replied the old man. "I know you’ve been talking to Briala's agents in the city. I may be old, boy but I’m not deaf or blind. You’re a fool if you believe they’re trustworthy. Don't think for a moment that the whispers about Fen'Harel are any better".

“How would you know?”

“I knew Briala’s parents, both of them were able players of the Game. Briala is too. She can and will sacrifice you to further her own ambitions. Why do you think Thren died? He was a pawn that’d outlived his usefulness”.

“You’re lying!”

“Am I?” countered the old man. “Perhaps the lie is more comforting than the truth you’ve always known. Your life means nothing to Briala. She wants your ears and your eyes not your questions. Think on that when next she asks you to spy for her”.

Morrigan heard Shenna gasp in shock. “Enro! Is it true?”

The boy was mulish, though his tone softened at her question.

“Like Thren, I did what I thought was right. Briala holds sway over Empress Celene. She could help all the elves in Orlais including those here in Halamshiral. If she fails to make our lives better then we could still make the pilgrimage to join Fen’Harel in the Arbor Wilds. It’s better than staying in this cesspit of a city waiting for Ellana Lavellan to give a damn about us”.

Morrigan rolled her eyes when she heard Shenna's fervent praise of Andraste’s Herald. Ellana had gone on her merry way, but she’d made quite the impression. Morrigan didn't doubt Shenna would kiss the ground Ellana walked on given the chance. Her loyalty was more than piety. Her belief that the retired Inquisitor was a Maker-blessed miracle was absolute.

"Briala isn't Andraste's Herald!" cried Shenna. “Ellana Lavellan alone has the ear of the Maker’s bride!”

"Andraste didn't save Lavellan in the Fade!" spat Enro.

“How do you know she didn’t?”

“It’s too fantastical to be true!”

“We’re you there?”

“What kind of question is that?” sputtered Enro. “Of course I wasn’t there! Neither were you!”

Morrigan admired Shenna's spunk.

"Then how did Ellana survive the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes? Or the attack on Haven? I suppose the Maker didn't have her appointed as leader of the Inquisition over a shemlen noble. Or intend that she stop the Mage-Templar war, unite the Templar Order, and stabilise Orlais. Let’s not forget that she closed the Breach, and defeated Corypheus”.

Shenna paused for emphasis. “Oh, yes. She stopped the Qunari invasion of southern Thedas not three days ago too. You might’ve missed the bodies of the dead Karashok piling up outside the Winter Palace. I’m sure the rest of the Orlesian court saw them bleeding all over the marble tiles”.

Morrigan was suspicious when Shenna's voice dropped several octaves, turning icy-cold.

“Ellana Lavellan has done more for elven kind than Briala ever did. She’s trustworthy, kind, and compassionate. She doesn't hide in the shadows or lie to get what she wants. She doesn't wear a mask like Briala or work through agents like this fabled Fen’Harel. She walks among us bare-faced, accepting all elves whether they be city or forest-born”.

Shenna's loyalty made Morrigan suspect something else was going on. Had Ellana been doing more as Inquisitor than plucking heartstrings across Thedas?

"She’s guiding us towards a better life", said Shenna. "I don't care if you don’t believe me. I know in my heart that it's true. Ellana Lavellan hasn't forgotten us. She's preparing the way as she always has".

Even the old man was astonished by her claims.

"What way? What’re you talking about?"

Morrigan could almost see the smile on Shenna’s face, even as she heard it in her words.

"I won't tell a soul about the tree, Hahren. I promise with all my heart. An oath is sacred once sworn. I doubt Briala or Fen'Harel would have the honour to keep a vow like that. I know I do”.

Morrigan frowned with sudden anxiety. She recalled the promise Ellana had made to her supposed brother Sigfrost. If she’d sworn not to set Thedas ablaze than was saving its people a compromise? If Solas intended to tear down the Veil, releasing the Evanuris from the void. It would be disastrous for all Thedosians regardless of race or creed.

Was that why Ellana had made her promises?

First to Sigfrost, then to a city-elf in Halamshiral, and an exiled witch from the Korcari Wilds.

Morrigan wasn’t sure if it was wise or foolish. She continued listening to the elves converse, hoping to glean something useful. If Ellana had plans for the city-elves of Halamshiral. Perhaps she was playing for higher stakes. She was the sort to take risks, no matter how ruinous the consequences if she failed.

Had her defeat of Corypheus been fate, blind luck, or planned with meticulous care?

Morrigan wasn’t sure. She set her musings aside for the moment. Shenna was still talking to Enro, her tone polite though she inferred that he was making a mistake. A common theme of the evening. Morrigan couldn’t help but wonder if the lad was a fool or plain gullible.

"It’s your choice to believe what you want”, stated Shenna. “It’s mine too. When the time comes. I hope you’ll change your mind before it’s too late. If not then I hope Briala values your life more than she did Thren’s”.

The old man was unnerved by what she’d said. Morrigan heard the worry in his voice when he called her name.

“Shenna. You’re frightening me”.

“It’s going to be all right, Hahren. You’ll see”.

Enro was unsettled too. “Shenna. What do you know?"

“My faith will see me through what’s to come”, she replied with unnerving certainty. “Will yours?”

Morrigan knew Enro’s loyalties had been tested and found wanting. The boy was fool enough to think his life mattered to someone like Briala. Elves they might’ve been, but their race was all they had in common. Morrigan had heard of the Spymaster’s past during her time at court. Briala hadn’t grown up in an Alienage like other city-elves.

She’d been raised in the Valmont household, the child of parents sworn to serve Prince Reynaud. The father of the current Empress of Orlais. Briala hadn’t experienced the poverty and strife of being on the lowest rung of Orlesian society. She’d been a servant but not a slave. A distinction Morrigan had learned was the difference between life and death for an elf.

She was unsurprised when one elven woman questioned her own future.

"Shenna!" cried Enro with sudden alarm. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re disappointed!”

“I am”.

“Shenna!”

"You've made your choice, Enro. Now, go. Make your report to Briala, or to Fen'Harel, or to whomever pulls your strings. To think I once thought, I could trust you. I'm glad to be corrected before I made the worst mistake of my life”.

"It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“You’ve drawn the line in the sand. We were once friends, Enro. In a few weeks we could've been something more. Ir abelas. I can’t marry someone, I can’t trust”.

"Shenna! Don’t! Your father will disown you!”

“I can live with that. Can you? Go. I’ll tell my father to call off the engagement. You can tell yours”.

“We can reconcile!” pleaded Enro. “I’ll stop spying for Briala!”

“It’s too late for that. You should’ve trusted me. You should’ve trusted our Hahren”.

“Shenna!”

“My future isn’t a game. It’s my life. I don’t want to be embroiled in Orlesian politics. I don’t want to play a part in Briala’s schemes. I’m a person not a pawn on a chessboard”.

“Shenna. Please!”

“I’m sorry, Enro. I can’t be your wife”.

Morrigan expected them to quarrel. Betrothals were a sticky business when arranged between families. If Orlesian city-elves were anything like their Fereldan cousins. An unfulfilled pledge of marriage would tear their families apart. Shenna was sacrificing more than reputation, she was casting aside her own future.

Morrigan grimaced when she heard several elvish expletives. Enro's outrage made her blood run cold. He continued to swear in elvish, the grass crunching under his heels as he stomped away. She was relieved to still hear two voices beneath the window. Enro’s tantrum hadn’t intimidated Shenna, or frightened the old man.

If anything, Shenna sounded somewhat relieved that her betrothed was gone.

"I'm sorry, Hahren”, she apologised. “I suspected Enro was spying on us but I wasn't sure".

The old man heaved a sigh. “I know, child. Enro's bitterness over Lemet's death deepened when Thren died. His choice was clear when he spoke of Briala. I know what happened to Anira was a tragedy, but if not for her son. My daughter wouldn’t be a widow, and her children wouldn't have to live their lives without their father”.

“He’s a boy. He’s still mourning his mother’s loss”.

“I know but I can’t forgive him, Shenna. I’ve tried a thousand times to convince myself that he’s blameless. I know he is but my heart is broken. All I can see is what his recklessness cost my family. Now all I want to do is leave Halamshiral and the bad memories behind”.

Morrigan was perturbed when Shenna reassured him.

“You’ll have that chance, Hahren. So will I once my Papae learns I’ve decided not to marry Enro”.

“He’ll be furious. You were betrothed to each other at birth”.

“We could've been happy too”, acknowledged Shenna. “Papae will cast me out onto the street to save face with Enro’s family. No one will take me in once the news spreads. The Herald warned me of what would happen if I broke my own betrothal. She said the city-elves in Orlais and Fereldan cling to tradition tighter than a limpet to a rock at low-tide”.

Morrigan could imagine the old man narrowing his eyes.

“Does she now?”

“The Dalish are the same too”.

“How do you know that?”

“Ellana told me”, replied Shenna.

“You call the Herald of Andraste by her first name?” demanded the old man.

“She insisted”.

“When did you meet her?”

“During the Ball at the Winter Palace, two years ago. I was assigned as her chambermaid. I served her again during her stay in Halamshiral these last few weeks. We became good friends. She even helped me realise that I could do more with my life than settle down and have a family with Enro in the slums”.

Morrigan bit her lip, frowning. Shenna was either brilliant or a fool. She didn’t have the guile to lie, a useless talent in a spy. She was outspoken too, a trait that would’ve gotten her into trouble at court. Servants were meant to be seen not heard.

Had Ellana saved her pretty neck from a noose at the gibbet?

The old man seemed to think so.

“Shenna. Do you realise what you’ve done?”

“Yes”.

“Enro wasn’t exaggerating”.

“I know”.

“You’ll be disowned for refusing to marry him”.

“I know that too”, declared Shenna. “I’m fine with it”.

The old man was getting worried. “Why? Because Ellana Lavellan said you’d be all right? You won’t. You’ll be homeless on the street, little better than a vagabond”.

“Oh, is that what you’re getting twitchy about?”

“Of course it is!”

Shenna laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right, Hahren. I’ll be apprenticing to Charter. You know the skinny redhead that worked for the Inquisition?”

“The Fereldan city-elf?”

“That’s her. She offered to mentor me”.

Morrigan smiled, cheeks dimpling when she heard the old man squawk in disbelief.

“The Nightingale’s right-hand?”

“Yes”.

“She’s a terror!”

“I know. Which is why I asked her to teach me her tricks. Ellana thought it’d be a good idea too. I need to be prepared when the time comes. So you needn’t worry. I’ll have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in my belly”.

The old man was as surprised as Morrigan. Finally a nugget of information.

“Wait a moment! What did you mean you have to prepare?”

“To leave Orlais”.

“Where would you go?”

“I’d go with Ellana”, answered Shenna. “I’m not sure where exactly. She said it was best I focus on my training with Charter in the meantime. I can’t lie, I’m too outspoken, and I’m about as coordinated as a drunk sailor in a fight. I’d be pretty useless on an actual life or death mission at the moment thus the need for training”.

The old man was horrified. So was Morrigan.

“You’re mad”.

“Probably”.

“The Herald’s mad”.

“She's mostly sane”, Shenna assured him.

“Only mostly?”

“She’s been in the Fade, twice while alive. Only spirits are supposed to make that journey. Being in the world of the dreams even for a handful of moments would scar anyone. So she's a little mad, and even more eccentric. A tad ironic considering what she's been through in the last four years".

“The Herald of Andraste is only a little mad?”

“Fine, Hahren. You win. Ellana Lavellan is crazier than a chantry full of nugs. Despite losing most of her marbles, she’s still a deft hand at Wicked Grace. I've never seen anyone play with such focus or intensity".

“She gambles?”

“She does, but only ever in fun. Fancy a game?” suggested Shenna. “Ellana gave me a new deck of cards. They’re all dragon-themed. It was a gift from some quirky draconologist called Frederic”.

“Why do you have them then?” asked the old man.

“Ellana found the deck a little disturbing. Each card is backed in real dragon-scale leather. The illustrations are naked too. It's a little too risqué for the esteemed former Inquisitor. Some bullsh*t about maintaining appearances, so Ellana gave them to me".

“Maker’s breath”.

“I know. She did say this Frederic had something of an unhealthy obsession".

"With dragons?"

"And wyverns. He's got something of a kink".

"Ugh!"

"I know, Hahren. I know".

Morrigan heard the grass crunch underfoot as they left the garden. Their feet soon fell on marble with a dull continuous thud that faded into the distance. Their voices grew faint till the wind snatched their words away. Morrigan heard the Vhenadahl’s leaves rustle in the quiet. The bees were gone, though somewhere not too far away. The nightingale still warbled.

Morrigan’s stomach churned with fear. The voices of the Well had been silent since she’d fled the Temple of Mythal. She wondered what Ellana had meant by choosing a side. Thousands would die unless she tied herself to something, or someone. Had she meant a person, a people, or a pantheon?

“Is it one or all three?” she mused aloud. “Fenedhis lasa. What have I gotten myself into?”

She flinched when she heard the click of claws on steel. She whipped around to face her foe with a spell on her lips. Lightning crackled on the tips of her fingers in blue-white sparks. Morrigan gaped when she saw a fat grey owl perched on the windowsill. It regarded her with a pair of enormous yellow eyes.

The lightning fizzled out. The spell was soon forgotten. Morrigan blushed when the owl snapped it’s black beak as if in rebuke for her terrible manners. She slid down the wall whilst the bird stared at her with those unblinking yellow eyes. Her arse hit the floor along with the rest of her tattered pride.

“Fenedhis”, cursed Morrigan. “Things can’t possibly get worse”.

The owl screeched, hoping from one clawed foot to the other like an excitable dog. Morrigan’s eyes narrowed when its feathered head rocked from left to right. Its bright eyes were always on her face as if it were scrutinising her every move. The bird screeched, beak clacking when she rolled her eyes. She was quick to amend her statement.

“I stand corrected by a bird. How tactful of a supposed god”.

Morrigan gazed at the room’s grey ceiling with its exposed beams, and ornate crown moulding. She imagined looking through it to the tiled roof, then the clouds above in the open sky. The sun would be setting soon, the advent of dusk a certainty. Morrigan hoped Ellana was working alone rather than acting on the wishes of a third party. It would’ve been worse than ironic if she were collaborating with Thedas’ greatest deity.

It seemed too convenient when Morrigan considered the species of her visitor.

“The Maker doesn’t use birds or beasts as messengers. So”, she said to the owl. “You must’ve been sent by someone else”. The bird hooted in seeming agreement. “Possibly”, deducted Morrigan. “Someone non-human”.

“Yet”, she stated. “You could be the escaped exotic pet of an Orlesian noble. Or part of a merchant’s lost cargo that happens to contain a menagerie of animals. Owls are mysterious creatures, not sought after, but with a definable worth in coin. Which would explain your presence in the window of this particular room in the Winter Palace”.

The owl squawked, its feathered head shaking as if it disputed her claim.

“If not for one glaring fact”, elaborated Morrigan. “You seem far more intelligent than an ordinary owl. If I were not mistaken it would seem that you even understand the common-tongue”. The owl bobbed its feathered head, beak snapping at the air in seeming satisfaction. “Which implies that you’re a mage with knowledge of shape-shifting magic" she deduced. “Or that you're an actual messenger from a god unrelated to the elven pantheon”.

She knew a little of Avvar mythology. The principle gods, their roles, and spheres of influence had come from the Alamarri. The first human tribe to settle in the south of Thedas. Modern Avvar beliefs had changed little in a thousand years. Chasind legends were similar though Morrigan knew of one difference.

The Chasind had whispered of a benign entity residing in the Fereldan forests. A spirit that healed the sick, gave succour to the destitute, and guidance to the lost. Morrigan remembered her mother's warnings about wandering into the woods alone. One day during her mother's absence from home she'd left their hut to explore the Korcari Wilds on her own. She'd been lost in an hour, in tears after tripping over a tree root.

She’d soon discovered that her bawling had attracted the most peculiar thing.

"A black cat in the middle of nowhere", recalled Morrigan. "Sitting calm as can be amidst the roots of that blasted tree, staring at me with her big green eyes. I was so frightened. She purred, curled about my ankles, and stayed with me until I stopped crying. Moments later she was leading me out of the woods, always pausing long enough to look back and make sure I followed".

“If Ellana is the woodland spirit from Chasind legend. She might’ve been in Fereldan for decades, even centuries if she was spying on my mother. Is that why she resided in the Korcari Wilds? It would explain why she disguised herself as a cat. Mother would’ve been less inclined to deprive me of a companion if it were a pet rather than a person”.

The owl hooted, ruffling its feathers as if in agreement.

Morrigan groaned. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a bird”. She glared at her avian guest, golden eyes narrowing when the owl blinked first one eye than the other. “If the Avvar god of wisdom is Ellana’s brother. I suppose you’re a messenger from the one Avvar goddess that uses birds as her messengers. The Lady of the Skies”.

She rolled her eyes when the owl bobbed its feathered head as if in understanding.

“If that’s true”, proposed Morrigan. “What does the reigning matriarch of the Avvar pantheon want from me?”

The owl hooted, lifting a wing, and ducked it’s feathered head beneath its own pinion.

Morrigan was bewildered when the owl (as if by magic) withdrew something large and pale. She’d expected to see a feather clutched in its beak. She frowned when the owl opened it’s beak, letting the object fall onto the floor. It hit the rug with a dull plink, rolling like a marble. Morrigan was intrigued when it struck the edge of her forefinger, toppling over the tip of her nail.

It was larger than she’d expected, shaped like a triangle, and had rounded edges. She caught it between her fore and index fingers. A nimble turn of her wrist sent it falling into the palm of her hand. The owl was quiet while Morrigan examined the token it’d brought from the Lady. It was harder than she’d expected, rounded on one side, and flat on the other.

It was rough like sand too with an odd colouration.

“White slashed with bands of black and brown”, murmured Morrigan. “The Avvar colours of earth and sky”. She glanced at the owl, eyes widening in alarm. “This is a scale from a High Dragon”. She trembled when the bird hooted as if in affirmation.

“I know Ellana fought such a creature on the shores of the Frostback basin. A frost-breather rumoured to contain the trapped soul of an Avvar god”.

The owl snapped its beak again, feathers ruffling as it fanned its wings.

Morrigan blanched. “Is this scale from that dragon?” She was horrified when the owl hooted. “The first-born son of Korth, the Avvar god of winter and warfare. What in the world did Ellana do to antagonise him?”

Morrigan had one terrible thought. She gaped at the owl with sudden dread. “Is she the reason he was imprisoned for eight hundred years in the flesh of a High Dragon?” Morrigan rolled her eyes when the owl hooted again. “And I suppose I’m to deliver this scale to her when we meet again later tonight”.

The owl bobbed its feathered head again, the horny tufts on its head perking like a dog’s ears.

“I’m a ball being batted about by a bunch of arsehole deities from different pantheons”. Morrigan thought her fate maligned if she were a plaything of the gods. “I’m sure mother would find this amusing if she were still alive”. Morrigan’s disdainful snort showed how much she cared about Flemeth’s judgement. “I’ll deliver your dragon scale to Ellana on one condition”.

The owl puffed up in agitation, its feathers a ball of fluff around its thick grey neck. It screeched at her as if in remonstration.

“I don’t care if you take offense. I’m sick of being stuck in the middle of this sh*t. First Solas takes my son, Ellana reveals that she’s a goddess, and then you drop a dragon scale into my lap. I’m done playing messenger. If you want my help than you’ll have to do something for me”.

The owl eyed her with scornful admiration.

Morrigan brandished the scale like it was a gold sovereign coin. “If you don’t agree. I’ll throw it out the window. Your message from the Lady of the Skies will be mulch for Empress Celene’s garden. So what will it be?”

The bird picked its way across the windowsill until it was within a foot of her. It looked down at her with an imperiousness that rivalled a king. Morrigan bristled when the owl hooted long and low as if it were conferring a favour on her. Morrigan didn’t like the way it co*cked its feathered head, its yellows eyes focusing on her face. The owl opened its beak, throat throbbing as it panted like a dog.

Morrigan considered that her luck might soon run out. She said nothing at first, more suspicious than wary. She watched the owl like a hawk, half expecting it to take wing and tear her to pieces with its beak and claws. Moments passed in a tense silence that grew awkward the longer Morrigan hesitated. The owl continued to perch on the windowsill placid as a cat on a cushion.

Was it waiting to hear her out?

Morrigan hoped so. She glanced from the bird to the scale in her hand, the corners of her mouth turning down. She was starting to hate being Solas’ lapdog. If not for Kieran she’d have shape-shifted long ago, taken wing, and flown back to their hut beside the Colean sea. Morrigan plucked the dragon scale up between her fingers again, turning it left and right.

“If you want my help”, she told the owl. “I want safe passage for my son and myself out of the Temple of Mythal. I don’t care what business the Lady of the Skies has with Ellana Lavellan. I won’t interfere if that’s your concern. If things go wrong with Solas, I want a safe way out of the Arbor Wilds”.

Morrigan regarded the owl with a sense of trepidation. She wasn’t used to bargaining with third parties. Now she had little choice, her hands were tied thanks to the magic of the Vir’abelasan. She could neither escape Solas nor hope to overthrow him. The magic of Mythal was still formidable thousands of years after the fall of Arlathan.

Sometimes alliances were necessary.

“Well?”

The owl’s clawed feet gripped the edge of the windowsill. It screeched like a cat, raising the hairs on the back of Morrigan’s neck. It’s head bobbed up and down as if in excitement. It seemed they’d reached an accord. Morrigan watched the bird turn and flick the thick wedge of its banded tail.

The owl picked its way with that selfsame care back across that windowsill. It stopped at the open window, the wind ruffling its feathers. Its head swivelled like a ball on a stick till Morrigan saw the yellow of its eyes. The owl squawked, batting first one eyelid than the other. A moment later it took flight out the open window.

The bargain was struck.

Or so Morrigan hoped as she sagged against the wall. It took a while for her heart to stop beating like a drum inside her chest. And even longer for her to stop panting for breath as if she’d run a mile. Her blood cooled, the perspiration drying on her skin. Although weary she stayed alert out of anxiety for her son.

Solas had turned her life upside down in a matter of days. Ellana was about to do the same in a matter of hours. Morrigan clenched her teeth, her golden eyes narrowing. She needed to sleep, but the knowledge that her son was still in danger was too infuriating. Kieran was all that mattered.

She would rest when he was safe not before.

Things couldn’t get much worse.

Morrigan felt like a pile of dragon sh*t steaming in the sun. After a furtive sniff here and there she came to a startling conclusion. She smelt like one too thanks to Solas. The bastard. If cleanliness was next to godliness, Morrigan hoped to bathe before she saw her son again.

Even pissed off, sweaty, and exhausted, she would set a good example for Kieran.

She was still his mother.

Morrigan’s gaze returned to the hand that held the dragon scale. It was as large as her thumb, and half as thick as if it’d come from a dragon’s flank. She’d seen scales of its size and larger on the back of the Archdemon during the Fifth Blight. Morrigan wondered what kind of trouble Ellana had gotten herself into this time. Perhaps she would finally endure the consequences of her many good deeds.

“Fenedhis”, cursed Morrigan. “The next two hours can’t pass fast enough”.

Morrigan kept her word, leaving Ellana’s assigned room exactly two hours after she’d arrived. She left the same way she’d come in. A raven flew out the window of a room in the west-wing of the third floor in the Winter Palace. Unbeknownst to Morrigan, an owl perched in the branches of the Vhenadahl in the palace garden. It watched her soar overhead, black wings invisible against the indigo sky.

It was dusk, the stars twinkled, and the moon was high.

Morrigan never noticed the owl take flight, or the shadow beneath the tree. Her passage was marked by a pair of elven eyes. A woman smiling under her cowl, saw the darkness of her winged shape against the moon. The owl was inconspicuous, its banded grey plumage blending in with the play of light and shadow. She neither saw nor heard it pass overhead though she’d seen it enter the window above the garden, two hours ago.

“Well played, Ellana”, she murmured. “You’ve made an ally of Flemeth’s daughter. Morrigan is sure to side with you over Mythal for the sake of her son. It was a risky move, but a clever one. I approve”.

She grinned with a flash of white teeth.

“You’ll make a fine addition to our pantheon”.

Chapter 4: A Dog at the Door

Chapter Text

Morrigan flew over the open road, following the line of the Imperial Highway. She turned off the east end when she came upon a copse of trees. She alighted upon a branch thick with leaves, picking her way across the gnarled bark. She peered through a gap in the foliage, surprised to see the hut exactly where Ellana had said it would be. It was small, fashioned from wood and stone, and had a porch out front.

It wrapped around the hut like a snake, several feet beneath the eaves of the roof. Lanterns wrought in iron and glass hung from sconces above the door. Each shed a warm amber light across the porch, illuminating the pale fur of Ellana’s guard dog. It lounged at the foot of the front door, its considerable bulk stretched out across the deck. The dog was white, full-grown, and large enough to rival a pony.

It was the opposite of small, either a gross oversight from Ellana or a deliberate joke.

Morrigan hated her sh*tty sense of humour. She wondered if the beast was Felassan, a former agent of Fen'Harel. She had little choice but to believe Ellana. Felassan the mabari, lay between her and the door of the hut. Morrigan swallowed her anxiety, taking a leap of faith. She descended the tree in a flurry of black wings, alighting upon the ground.

Morrigan shed the guise of a raven in a swirl of smoke, planting the heels of her boots in the dirt.

She was unsure if her reception would be welcome. She preferred cats to dogs after Ellana’s decade-long jaunt as her childhood pet. Mabari were big, loud, and smelly enough to rival a sewer. They had a formidable bite-strength too. If the hound took an immediate dislike to her, she’d have to shapeshift and return to the trees for safety.

Not a positive thought considering how tired she was. It’d be humiliating to lose half her arse to an irate mabari’s jaws, so Morrigan was careful. She didn’t dare take a step closer when the dog opened an eye. She was surprised when she didn’t see that typical canine-brown iris. Its eye was the soft violet of an amethyst, a trait she’d seen in grey-skinned Qunari but never a dog.

She waited when the mabari lifted its great box-like head. It didn’t growl or snap at her like a proper guard dog. It stared at her as if it were waiting for her to say something. Morrigan remembered her encounter with the owl. They'd shared a one-sided conversation with a few hoots and squawks.

She wasn't sure about talking to a dog, even an elf turned into a dog. How would she know if that was indeed the real Felassan? It could be an actual mabari that slobbered, barked, and smelt like the arse-end of a darkspawn. She didn’t smell much better after a hectic flight across the Arbor Wilds, and two full days without a bath. She took a discreet sniff, grimacing when she smelt the stink of her own sweat and fatigue.

“Ugh”.

Morrigan was offended when the dog barked. “Quiet”, she hissed. “I smell like arse. So what? I’m sure you’ve stuck your snout in worse”. She lifted her nose in the air with a haughty sniff, uncaring if the mabari found her rather fragrant.

“Balls”, she cursed. “I can’t believe I'm doing this again”.

She gazed at the mabari with distaste, nose wrinkling as if she found him abhorrent. No ordinary dog had a snowy pelt or eyes like jewels. If he was an apostate inside a mabari then it wasn’t bizarre to converse with him. Right? She damned well hoped so.

She’d felt foolish enough trying to talk to an owl. Now she had to talk to a dog. If this was Felassan in disguise then he had to understand the common-tongue. She knew all about his adventures with Briala in Orlais. It was a slight comfort that he had four legs and fur instead of wings and feathers.

That owl had looked down its beak at her with its big condescending yellow eyes.

The mabari co*cked its head, tongue lolling as it panted.

Morrigan got the distinct impression that it was waiting for her to make up her mind. She gave in with a sigh of resignation, reminded of her days travelling with Mahariel. And the smelly fleabag that had followed him everywhere. She took a fortifying breath, knowing that real mabari understood human speech. She wasn’t sure about this mabari, but she had little choice but to play along.

She introduced herself, though the salutation came off a little flat.

“Greetings. My name is Morrigan”.

The mabari woofed, a brief rumble of sound that wasn’t quite a bark or a howl.

“Right”, declared Morrigan. “At least you’re not trying to bite me. I can work with that”. She gestured to the hut and its closed door. “I don’t suppose you know if Ellana is home? She asked me to come here. I’m expected”.

The dog woofed again, the stub of its docked tail wagging.

“Wonderful. Would you mind letting me in?”

Morrigan stilled the instant Ellana’s mabari wriggled like an ungainly sausage. Its slab-like shoulders rolled underneath its pale moon-white fur. Its hindquarters followed as it pushed itself upright onto four gargantuan paws. She saw that stubby tail wag again in slow strokes from left to right. Morrigan stilled when it charged forward like a rampaging druffalo.

She was expecting to be trampled when the mabari came to a stop. It paused a foot in front of her, its black nose quivering as it took a cautious sniff. Morrigan knew it was best not to make any hasty movements. She'd had enough experience with the smelly bundle of fuzz owned by her beloved to know to be patient. The dog would warm to her if given the chance.

He was as tall as she'd expected, but leaner than most mabari she’d encountered. He looked almost half-starved, the coat thin around his ribcage as if it were too tight. Morrigan saw the lines of his ribs stick out and even the knobs of his spine along the curve of his back. If he were an ordinary mabari in poor condition, lice-ridden, and stricken with mange. She would’ve been worried, but he was the picture of health and vitality.

His coat was shiny, his eyes bright, and his stub of a tail wagged back and forth. Morrigan was reassured by his relaxed posture and perked ears. She stayed still when the dog came forward, never reaching over to pet him. The dog paused again, inches from touching her, and looked up at her with those exquisite eyes. She arched an eyebrow with that selfsame sense of curiosity.

“I’d prefer that you keep your distance”, stated Morrigan. “Dogs have an excellent sense of smell”. She snorted when the mabari whined. “I know you’re quite able to scent me from there without sticking your snout where it’s not wanted”. She was adamant when he barked, pawing at the ground.

“Not a chance. If you’re the Felassan that once served Solas. I’d rather not get involved with you any more than is necessary. I smell of your former Hahren, but I’m in no way a willing participant in his schemes. I was ordered to come to Orlais to find our mutual friend”.

For the first time since she’d arrived. That pale dog with its amethyst eyes grew agitated. His posture tensed, hackles rising. His pointed, triangular ears flattened against his snow-white skull. His snout wrinkled as his jagged teeth gnashed.

They eyed each other like two adversaries on a battlefield.

Morrigan recalled the owl had been offended by her bluntness too. “I’m sorry”, she apologised with a weary exhale, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve been travelling for two days without respite. As such I’m not the best company at the moment. If you won’t let me in, would you please go and find Ellana?”

The mabari ceased to snarl, its pale ears perking again. It co*cked its head, whining as if it didn’t quite understand what’d happened. Morrigan thought the poor thing was quite bewildered. The dog stared at her with its vivid violet eyes, continuing to whine. Morrigan implored him with a sad and exhausted – “Please, Felassan”.

He turned then without encouragement, retreating to the hut. He bounded up and over the porch, sinking down on his haunches in front of the door. He gave Morrigan a speculative glance, head tilting to the side. He whined like a puppy as he laid a pale paw on the door. His head fell back, and he howled shrill enough to set Morrigan’s eardrums ringing.

The ghastly noise soon roused the hut’s sole occupant.

The front door opened. A shadow fell across the porch, blocking out the lantern’s light. Ellana paused on the threshold, her silver brows arching. “Maker’s balls!” she cried. “What’re you howling about now?”

Felassan barked at her, the stub of his tail wagging.

“Oh, all right. I’ll take a look”. Ellana turned, peering into the darkness beyond. She smiled when she saw Morrigan in the moonlight. “Well”, she called loud enough to quiet Felassan. “I see you’ve arrived at last”.

The barking ceased with an abruptness that troubled Morrigan. She would’ve thought the mabari well-trained if not for the guttural rumble in the pit of its belly. It was low, irritable, and sounded like a shovel full of coal being thrown into a fire. The rattle of pebbles on steel, the hiss of coal dust igniting. Morrigan heard the promise of pain, of lacerated flesh, and broken bones.

She wasn’t sure if that ominous threat was directed at her.

“Oh, don’t worry”, said Ellana. “He doesn’t mean you, sweetling. He can smell Solas on you. Felassan isn’t too fond of him. Betrayal is a terrible thing when it’s a trusted ally that stabs you in the back”.

“It is”, grumbled Morrigan. She thought of Flemeth, grimacing as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “I can attest to that”.

“Of course you could. A mother’s betrayal is the worst of all”. Ellana took a good look at her and said the first thing that came to mind. “Maker’s arse. You look terrible”.

Morrigan shivered when the wind picked up, her skin prickling in the cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay warm. Solas hadn’t given her time to don a cloak during her frantic flight from the Temple of Mythal. She was bedraggled, tired, and hungry. She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.

She was a in a sorry state, but too proud to admit it. She glared at Ellana, lifting her chin, and refused to ask for help. She still had spirit enough to give her host a disgruntled reply. Ellana had asked to meet her in the middle of nowhere. Here Morrigan was on the third night of the third day Ellana was supposed to meet Solas.

“You asked me to come”, Morrigan reminded her. “Here I am”. She nodded to Ellana’s still growling mabari. “Call him off, or send him away. I’ve a promise to keep”.

“To Solas?”

“No. I had a visitor not long after we parted in Halamshiral”.

“I see”.

Ellana seemed to sense that something was amiss. “And I suppose you struck a bargain too. So be it”. She gazed at the trees about the hut, smiling when she heard the distant hooting of an owl. “You’ll have a gift for me then. I should receive it like a proper host”.

Morrigan was glad when Ellana stepped down onto the porch. She reached out with a gentle hand, running her fingers down the mabari’s pale ruff. He calmed at her touch, going quiet much to Morrigan’s relief. A dog or an apostate in the shape of a beast, Felassan was perturbing enough to make her wary. She was uncertain of Ellana’s intentions when she made a request of him.

“A moment if you please. I must speak with Morrigan”. Ellana gestured to the hut’s open door with her scarred left-hand. “If you would give us some privacy. I will attend to our guest”.

Felassan snorted, black nostrils quivering. He eyed Morrigan as if he didn’t trust her. Ellana persuaded him with a gentle pat upon the pale crown of his head. She stepped aside, gesturing again to the hut’s open door. Felassan turned with a frustrated growl, nosing her hand as he brushed passed.

He padded inside, leaving them alone.

“At least he didn’t bite you”, said Ellana. “Felassan isn’t fond of humans. Although from the way he howled. He finds you somewhat unusual, even a little confusing. He’s never gone out of his way like this for any visitor I’ve had”.

“What do you mean?” asked Morrigan.

“He’s a guard dog. He usually chases them off, but he let you stay. He likes solitude, and keeping me to himself. He’s a little obsessive, a habit learned from his former Hahren. Solas doesn’t like to share and neither does he”.

“You said to tell him that I was expected”.

Ellana smirked. “That doesn’t mean he would’ve listened to you. I ask him to guard the house. I don’t order him to do it. Felassan chooses to do what he wants to even if I tell him about the odd guest coming to visit”.

“You mean he would’ve chased me away if he hadn’t liked me?”

Ellana nodded. “Mabari are excellent judges of character”.

“No mabari has eyes the violet of gemstones. There’s a mage inside that dog. You can lie about everything else, but you can’t lie to me about that. I know shape-shifting magic when I see it”.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. It was one of Flemeth’s more useful lessons. Good for spying if you’ve the skill. Bad if you choose to slip into the skin of the wrong animal around the wrong people. I once knew a Dalish First that took the shape of a wolf, only to find himself spitted on the end of a Dalish spear”.

Morrigan was unnerved. “Did he die?”

“No, but he did give the Huntsmaster a fright. He also had a nice new scar and a cautionary tale to share with the children of his clan”. Ellana beckoned with a flick of her fingers. “I’ll tell you the gory details another time. Tell me of this promise you’ve made”.

Morrigan moved towards the porch. She slipped off her boots, not wanting to tread mud and dirt inside. They were crusted from toe to heel. She shivered when she stepped onto the porch, the flagstones were cold underfoot. Morrigan hissed when she felt a burst of ice magic against her hip.

“Fenedhis!” she cursed, fumbling for the pocket of her skirt. She slipped her hand inside, fishing around for the thing near freezing her innards. The chill intensified when her fingers closed around it. Morrigan tore it from her pocket, flinching when she saw her nails turn blue. She’d lost all sensation of heat and pressure in the tips of her fingers.

Ellana grasped her wrist with an immediacy that startled her.

“Twine your fingers with mine”, she instructed when Morrigan sucked in a pained breath. The blue deepened to the purple of a bruise when Ellana pressed their palms together. “Before the frostbite sets in. A mage needs their fingers to twirl a staff. You’ll want to keep yours”.

Morrigan exhaled a mouthful of mist, nostrils flaring as the temperature dropped. She was soon trembling, her golden eyes wide with fear. Morrigan grasped Ellana’s hand, her pale fingers sliding through Ellana’s brown ones. She hissed, teeth gritting when that glacial cold crept toward the joints of her fingers. Morrigan was shaking down to her toes, bosom heaving with each agonising breath.

“It hurts!”

“I know”, acknowledged Ellana. “Give me a moment. The pain will stop. You’ll soon feel a burst of sensation. I need to warm your blood again”.

Morrigan was alarmed when Ellana’s hand grew hot. The brown of her skin gleamed like burnished bronze in the lantern-light. She thought for a panicked second that she might be burned, but all she felt was the tingling of pins and needles. Morrigan gasped when Ellana dispelled the chill. Wisps of steam rose from her skin like fog.

A glance at her purpling fingers and nails revealed an unusual change.

The purple was fast receding, the tinges of blue lightening to a rosy pink. Morrigan was astonished when Ellana released her hand. That bronzed sheen faded until her skin was soft and brown again. Morrigan turned her wrist to expose her hand. She wiggled her fingers, brows furrowing when she pinched the tip of each.

Her nails were pale, pink, and hale again. The skin and flesh beneath prickling with each pulse of her heart, the blood in her veins running hot. She gazed at her saviour, noticing Ellana’s distraction. Morrigan stepped closer, looking over the line of Ellana’s thumb. She saw the brown, black, and white striped dragon scale in the palm of her hand.

Ellana didn’t once take her eyes off it. “Who gave this to you?”

“An eagle owl”, replied Morrigan. “Grey with black banded feathers”.

“Where did it find you?”

“In your room at the Winter Palace not long after you’d left”.

“Sigfrost warned me”, declared Ellana, her fingers closing around it. “I thought she’d give me a wide berth considering what happened last time. She’s persistent. Admirable considering all she stands to gain or lose”.

Morrigan had an inkling about who she meant. “The Lady of the Skies”. She was anxious when Ellana’s focus shifted. Those jade eyes were scrutinising her face and soon narrowing beneath a pair of silver brows. Morrigan wrung her hands.

“How do you know that?”

“You told me that Sigfrost was your brother. Is it so unusual that I would know something about the Avvar pantheon? The Lady of the Skies uses birds as messengers. I knew that owl wasn’t ordinary when it plucked a dragon scale out from under its own wing”.

“You always were observant. Clever too”, praised Ellana. “You still shouldn’t have trusted that confounded bird. Promise or none. It would’ve been better if you’d fried him with a bolt of lightning”.

“Are you mad?” cried Morrigan. “He was a messenger from the Lady of the Skies! I wasn’t about to antagonise her by attacking one of her birds! I’m already mired in this cesspit of a trouble you’re stirring with Solas! I want to save my son not get him killed!”

“Kieran will be fine. The bargain you struck – whatever it is – will be honoured. The Lady will see to that. The owl you saw wasn’t an ordinary bird. He’s a spy and an arrogant one at that”.

“I’d thought as much”, said Morrigan. She exhaled a weary breath, running a tired hand down her face. “It seemed to understand the common-tongue. It had an attitude too. It looked down its beak at me as if I were a slack-jawed peasant begging for alms”.

“I’m not surprised. He’s a temperamental sh*t and more besides. But he can wait, let’s see what you’ve brought to me. I don’t often receive gifts, even if I do recognise whose arse this came from. This is a dragon scale”.

Ellana waggled her eyebrows when Morrigan complained. “Must you be so vulgar?”

“The word is funny, sweetling. Don’t you have a sense of humour?”

“Not when Solas still has my son”. Morrigan gave her a flat judgemental look.

“Patience. We’ll rescue him”.

“Now would be best”.

“Soon”.

“Ellana!”

She looked Morrigan in the eye, a silver brow arching. “You could always make the two-day flight back to the Temple of Mythal on your own. You’ll get there by the end of the week. You’ll be half dead from exhaustion by the time you arrive of course. I’m sure Solas will appreciate you being two days late if he hasn’t fed Kieran to Mythal’s pet-dragon by then”.

Morrigan paled. “Mythal has a pet dragon?”

Ellana’s eyes twinkled. She smiled, soft, dark, and sly. “One of the hatchlings I fostered on the slopes of mount Belenas. Golden scaled, feisty, and fiery enough to set your knickers ablaze. My poor girl was collared by Mythal to serve as a glorified hound guarding that elven sh*thole of a temple”.

She smirked when Morrigan tried and failed not to smile. “I thought you didn’t have a sense of humour?”

Morrigan snorted, rolling her eyes. “You said you’d help me”.

“I will in my own time. Don’t worry. Kieran is quite safe for the moment. Solas is a prat, but he’s not a complete bastard. The boy is more useful to him alive than dead”.

She raised a single stern finger to quiet Morrigan when she tried to protest.

“And if Kieran dies then the Lady will have broken her end of the bargain. Gods do not lightly swear a promise, sweetling. It costs us more to break our oaths than a mortal. What is a string of words to you is a shackle to us until the oath is fulfilled. Even in absentia an oath sworn in our names holds power and is as binding as a rite of marriage”.

“Truly?”

Ellana nodded. “Truly. My word is my bond as it were. I’ll help you rescue, Kieran. But first we prepare. It won’t be easy trying to tear him out of Solas’ hands in one piece”.

“Fine”.

“Good. I have a gift to appreciate first after all. Let's see what you’ve brought me”.

Ellana brushed a finger across that striped dragon scale. She turned, allowing Morrigan to see it too. In the palm of her hand, the black and brown bands flaked away like dried mud. The scale was pale and shining like a pearl until it split in two like a seed. It sprouted a tendril that swelled, producing tiny heart-shaped leaves and a large bud.

It opened with a flourish, curling wide in Ellana’s hand in a spray of blue petals. A single rose, dripping with dew-like crystals sparkled in the lantern-light. It was beautiful. Ellana didn’t react with delight. She gawked at the rose, brows arching as if its existence had come as a surprise.

“How unexpected”.

“That’s deceptive”, remarked Morrigan. “A rose hidden inside a dragon scale. Even if it’s pretty, those petals might conceal thorns. Have you pricked yourself yet?”

“This rose doesn’t have barbs”.

“It’s still unusual. I’ve never seen a blue rose before. Red and pink, but never blue”.

Ellana nodded. “Of course you haven’t”.

“Why not?”

“No flower such as this grows in any Thedosian wood or garden. This rose and others like it aren’t tended by mortal hands. It grows wild on the slopes of Mount Belenas, high above the clouds in the realm of the Lady of the Skies. I know these roses because I planted them there to blossom all year round, even in the deepest winter. These flowers were my gift to Sigfrost, to mark the day I forgave him for siding with Korth”.

“The Mountain Father”, said Morrigan. “You’ve had dealings with him?”

Ellana deflected the question with a statement. “So you know of the Lady’s husband too. Flemeth was more thorough in her lessons than I’d expected”.

Morrigan’s lip curled with indignation. “Fine be secretive”. She was annoyed by Ellana’s continued reluctance to elaborate about her past. “I didn’t come all the way from Halamshiral to bring you presents”, she groused. “It’s a rose. If you’re not going to tell me who it’s from, I can guess”.

“Is that so? Then tell me, sweetling. Who would send me the seed of a rose concealed inside a dragon’s scale?”

“You fought an ice-dragon on the shores of the Frostback Basin. A dragon that housed the soul of an Avvar god. A god that was ensnared by the Jaws of Hakkon, a rogue Avvar tribe dating back more than eight hundred years. That scale was from its flank, white striped with bands of black and brown. The Avvar colours of earth, sky, and winter often attributed to one entity”.

Morrigan was confident. “Hakkon Wintersbreath, the Avvar god of winter and warfare”.

“Astute”, conceded Ellana. “He’s not well known after being away from the Avvar pantheon for so long. Some Avvar have forgotten him. Other tribes that linger in the remotest corners of Thedas still remember his name. You do too which says much about what Flemeth taught you”.

“I may have found my mother's lessons boring, but I still listened".

“That’s a bold assumption on both counts. I remember you drooling like a toddler, half asleep with your mouth open whilst Flemeth droned on and on. A cat remembers everything, even the tiniest details. I posed as one for almost a decade. I should know”.

“That’s perturbing”. Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to distract me”.

“Am I?” teased Ellana. She batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence. “It’s a reflex. I’d apologise, but I’d be lying. We both know that”.

“Are you ever sincere?”

“Sometimes. It depends on my mood. And how much I like the person I’m talking too”.

Morrigan didn’t take the bait. “Stop it. I already know you were involved in Hakkon’s imprisonment. If not directly than through the Jaws of Hakkon. That owl you spoke of confirmed as much when I asked”.

“Did he accuse me in actual words?” demanded Ellana.

“Not exactly. I was able to glean as much from his enraged squawking”.

“He always was overly dramatic. I’ve never liked the Lady’s winged spies. Nuisances, the lot of them. That owl is the worst. He can see through any geas, is immune to most spells, and immortal because he’s the first of his kind”.

“And you wanted me to use a lightening spell on him?”

“He’d have survived albeit with a few charred feathers”.

Morrigan grimaced. “You’re horrible”.

“I’m vengeful, sweetling. You try getting up to mischief with a constant spy on your heels. I’ve often had to behave myself or risk remonstration”.

“From the Lady?”

“No”, said Ellana. “From Sigfrost. The owl tattles on me”.

Morrigan laughed.

“It’s not that amusing”.

“Yes it is!”

“That’s why I’ve never liked him”, grumbled Ellana. “He’s an excellent tracker too. He’s near impossible to elude in the mortal world unless I go underground, underwater, or into the Fade. Since I’m disinclined to fight Darkspawn, become fish bait, or be trackable by Solas. I have to make do even if it means that feathered nuisance is following me”.

“So he’s a tracker, a spy, and an emissary for the Lady of the Skies”, concluded Morrigan. “What does that owl have to do with your rose?”

“It’s not a gift, sweetling. It’s an invitation disguised as a peace offering. A gesture of forgiveness for my supposed betrayal of Hakkon. There will be a price to pay if I accept. Although that will depend on the Lady’s son”.

“What do you mean?”

Ellana tapped the glistening rose. It’s petals unfurled revealing something glittering at its heart. Ellana reached inside with unexpected gentleness. She plucked that shining thing out with the deftness of a thief picking pockets. It was clasped between her thumb and forefinger when she presented it to Morrigan.

“It’s a ring”.

“A shackle”, corrected Ellana. “I’ve never been inclined to wear it”.

It was a simple band, fashioned from a silver-white piece of ice that glistened like a diamond. It glowed with an unearthly sheen when it was turned in the lantern- light. Morrigan was reminded of the honed edge of a blade. A ring that would bind as well as a cut in a union between deities of opposing natures. Ellana shrugged when Morrigan’s eyes widened with sudden realisation.

“You’re betrothed to Hakkon Wintersbreath”.

“That would be the likely assumption”.

“You’re not?”

Ellana sighed, her brows furrowing. “You must understand. I adore my brother, but I sometimes disagree with his judgements. I have never been particularly fond of this one. Would you have been happy with an arranged marriage?”

Morrigan thought of Mahariel and their precious son. Her reply was instantaneous. “If I had. I’d never have met my husband, or had Kieran. Was your betrothal Sigfrost’s idea?”

“A necessity, I’m afraid. Sigfrost was trying to placate Korth, reassure his Lady wife, and keep their wild son in check. Hakkon can be something of a berserker when roused to anger. If he ever lost his temper, Thedas could be locked in an eternal winter. As his natural foil, Sigfrost thought I’d be best able to unfreeze the world if Hakkon ever went mad with rage”.

“You told me that fire is your element”.

“It is”, affirmed Ellana. “I’m his opposite in nature and temperament. A perfect match”. Her nose wrinkled in disdain. “It’s horsesh*t. We’ve never gotten along”.

Morrigan was surprised that a goddess would have trouble courting. “Why not?”

“Hakkon is boring”.

“Boring?”

“Yes”, insisted Ellana. “He’s too damned honourable. I couldn’t play a prank or make a jest in Korth’s presence without him frowning. He always had plenty to say about my terrible manners at his father’s table too. And right in front of Sigfrost”.

“Did he speak up for you?”

“Who?”

“Sigfrost”.

“Always, but he’d still give me that judgemental look”. Ellana flattened her brows, lips pursing as if she were puckering up for a kiss. Her angry fish-face made Morrigan giggle. “The arse. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d have kicked him in the balls”.

“But you forgave him”, assumed a smiling Morrigan. She gestured to the rose in the palm of Ellana’s hand. “Even after he sided with Korth. He’s part of the Avvar pantheon. So he tried to have you join them too”.

Ellana snorted, rolling her eyes. “He did not that it was a good idea. I’ve refused to this day. If I accept this rose. That would change”.

“And you’d be bound to Hakkon. So that’s what you meant by choosing a side”.

“It is, sweetling. Thousands upon thousands of lives would change because I made a simple choice. It’s not easy being a god. We have the power to create and destroy worlds, but with that comes a terrible responsibility. A million threads to consider in a tapestry of a world older than time itself”.

“Fenedhis”, cursed Morrigan. “If you ever made a mistake”.

“Indeed”, agreed Ellana. “I am the weaver. Let us hope I haven’t snipped any threads too short. Or strung others across my loom with haste. Care must be taken now, and all things considered with due diligence”.

“Even a marriage to Hakkon Wintersbreath?”

“To prevent a future age of ice. Yes”.

“He’s formidable”, Morrigan mused aloud. “You got a taste of his temper in the Frostback Basin. It was rather nasty from what I’d heard from Scout Harding. And that was while he was imprisoned inside the flesh of a dragon. I can only imagine how much worse it would’ve been if he’d been at full strength”.

“It was a mere swat on the knuckles”, corrected Ellana. “A true unleashing of Hakkon’s fury would consume Thedas. He’s the primordial god of winter, and warfare. A terrible combination for a deity with a fractious disposition. Fortunately he has a high degree of self-control, and follows a stringent code of honour”.

Morrigan found the combination unsettling. “But he’s easily infuriated?”

“He’s never hurt anyone, sweetling”.

“But he could”.

“Indeed he could with devastating results”, agreed Ellana. “The world would be a wasteland, buried in snow from mountain to mountain. The land and sea frozen in ice from shore to shore. All Thedas would die. Even the dwarves deep in the stone would perish, the roots of the mountains would become their tombs”.

“And the Darkspawn?” asked Morrigan.

“As dead as everything else. Plants, beasts, and every single bird and fish gone alongside the insects great and small. Humans would die, elves, and the horned giants of Seheron too. The world would be devoid of life save for the dragons, the spirits of the Fade, and the gods alone. The dragons would hibernate if they didn’t starve to death first”.

“What of the spirits?”

“They would retreat to the Fade in fear. The death of the mortal world would flood into their own. Many would succumb to despair, others to grief, and some to rage. The Fade would soon become the domain of demons. Their suffering would be eternal, a perpetual cycle of torment”.

Morrigan swallowed nervously. “And the gods?”

“Would hunt Hakkon until his head was torn from his shoulders”, revealed Ellana. “They would murder him with the hope that his death would end the winter. It wouldn’t. Only fire can melt ice, but in doing so. All Thedas would burn”.

Morrigan felt the fear clench in her guts. “You’d break your promise to Sigfrost?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a promise then. Thedas would be dead, a world full of ghosts. What would the gods have to watch over but a graveyard? Any ending even a conflagration of flame would be welcomed. Thedas would be ashes, but it could be reshaped, remade, and reborn into something new”.

Ellana beamed when Morrigan gaped at her in amazement. “You’re frightened again. I was a tad overzealous”. She gestured to the still open door of the hut. “Go on inside. It’s cold out. I’ve had a bath prepared for you, and clean clothes laid out. You’ll find the tub in the back room, the clothes on a chair beside it”.

Morrigan nodded, too shocked to protest. She walked to the still open door, crossing the threshold as she stepped inside. She looked back once, her hand on the door’s latch as she turned to close it. Ellana was still on the porch, glancing from the ring between her fingers to the rose in the palm of her hand. She was aware she had an audience.

Morrigan started, flinching when Ellana spoke again.

“Close the door”.

She hesitated, still unsure.

“It’s all right”, soothed Ellana. “Go. We’ll talk again after your bath”.

Morrigan closed the door, shivering in the sudden burst of heat. She turned around in what was a large front room. A fire burned in the hearth at its centre on a slab of stone. The mantle was a thick slab of granite sitting atop an arch of mortared bricks. The chimney was brick too, extending upwards into the rafters. The roof was wood as far as Morrigan could see, the walls too though the floor was made up of flagstones.

Rugs covered it in an array of dull reds, soft oranges, and pale yellows.

Morrigan rubbed her bare arms, glad to be warm again. She moved towards the hearth, lifting her hands to the fire. There was a stack of wood piled to one side, a small table with two chairs, and a shelf full of crockery. Morrigan eyed the cast-iron pot, the kettle, and the series of wooden cups on the table. She would’ve helped herself if there was time to prepare tea and a hot meal.

She doubted Ellana would’ve minded. The thought of food made her stomach rumble. The knife of hunger, twisting in her guts abated when she thought about Solas. Cold fear replaced what desire she had for eating. Morrigan sucked in a pained breath, her lower-lip trembling.

She sniffed, tensing at the slap of bare feet on stone. She turned, looking down, and saw long pale toes. The arch of the foot was bound in a lattice of brown leather. The pattern continued up a muscular shin to a knee shrouded in black hose. She had company.

She looked upwards from a grey linen shirt to an elven face bearing the vallaslin of Mythal. She studied the man glowering at her with contempt. He was tall and handsome though several shades fairer than her Dalish beloved. There was an odd fragility about him too, as if he were an elven figurine fashioned from pale spun glass. Although he looked Dalish, Morrigan sensed something wasn’t quite right about him.

His features were more refined than Mahariel’s roguishness. He had a thinner nose, higher cheekbones, and a squarer chin. His hair was black, thick, and longer than a Dalish elf would’ve worn it. The silky mane cascaded over his shoulders and down his back in a wave of darkness. Morrigan might’ve believed he was Dalish if not for the colour of his eyes.

No Dalish elf she’d ever met had irises the violet of amethysts. They also weren’t as scornful of humans as the ancient elves of Elvhenan. This elf’s gaze was haughty and condescending as if he were a King beholding his court. Morrigan didn't doubt that if she were a bug, he’d have crushed her under his heel. She was perturbed when the spirits of the Vir'abelasan stirred.

They whispered of a violet-eyed servant of Fen'Harel.

“Felassan”, said Morrigan. “You’re not a mabari”.

He snorted, unamused. “Surprised?”

Morrigan fidgeted under his gaze, wringing her hands. “I was unsure if you were an actual dog or an apostate masquerading as a dog”. She reddened when he blinked slowly as if she were a fool. “Ellana implied that she’d cast a spell on you. I had assumed you weren’t a shape-shifter, but under a geas to elude Solas”.

“Does it matter?”

“It should”.

Felassan considered her for a moment, his amethyst eyes twinkling. “You thought Ellana kept me here by force. How typical of a shemlen to assume the worst”. He looked down his nose at her as if she were a speck of dirt he’d failed to scour away. “She told me that you’d not trust a word she’d said no matter how honest”.

Morrigan didn’t like his tone. “Ellana lies”.

“That’s a matter of perspective, daughter of Flemeth”.

“You know of me?”

He nodded, nose wrinkling. “I know enough. Ellana made certain I was aware of your arrival this evening”. He grimaced as if he found the task distasteful. “She asked that I help you prepare for your departure to the Temple of Mythal in the Arbor Wilds”.

He turned away, beckoning with a flick of his fingers. “Garas ma. There is a bath waiting for you in the back room. Your clothes are laid out. It isn’t much but I have made up a small platter of food. You will be hungry”.

Felassan was astonished when he heard a phrase in elvish. He looked back over his shoulder with curiosity. The phrase had been short, simple, and blunt enough to give him pause. He seemed unsure if she had been sincere. Morrigan exhaled a weary breath, knowing that to come from a shemlen it meant very little. Felassan like most of his people had a healthy distrust of humans.

“You apologised to me again”.

“Yes”, affirmed Morrigan.

“Why?” challenged Felassan, the tone of his voice tinged with suspicion. “It’s not in the nature of your kind to feel sorry for an elf. Your people hate mine. Is that not true?”

Morrigan felt the frayed edges of her temper ignite. She was tired, upset, and worried about her son. Felassan’s arrogance was enough to make her teeth clench beneath her lips. She wanted to snap at at him until she saw that he had that knowing look in his eye. He was waiting for her to lose her temper, and scold him like an errant child.

“You’re baiting me”, she deduced. She compared him to another elf she knew. “On purpose”, she accused. “Solas does that too. It’s infuriating”.

Felassan arched an eyebrow, assessing her with a look of cool indifference. “Of course it is. He was my Hahren for years. It’s natural that I would share some of his less endearing qualities. As such some of his habits have become mine”.

“A case of inheritance?”

“Maybe”.

“Are you as arrogant as he is?”

“On occasion. Are you always this hostile?”

“That depends. Do you make a habit of kidnapping children?”

Felassan's mouth turned down. He regarded her with genuine concern for the first time since they’d met. “I don’t”, he answered with a sincerity that Morrigan didn’t believe. He’d known and served Solas. How could she trust the word of an apostate once involved with the infamous Fen'Harel?

Morrigan waited for him to ask questions but Felassan turned away instead.

“Come”, he urged as he walked through a second doorway into another room.

Morrigan hesitated at first, unsure if she could trust him. She rolled her eyes, shoulders slumping when Felassan disappeared around the corner. She heard water sloshing, and the muttered words of a fire-spell. She steeled herself, taking a fortifying breath. Morrigan followed him after a few moments, passing through the door.

She paused when she saw Felassan leaning over a tub. It was circular, fashioned from slats of wood, and bound by two thick bands of iron. It looked like a large bucket with sloping sides until Morrigan saw something odd. She rose on her tip-toes, trying to get a better look at the steaming water. One side of the bath was raised, the other lower.

Morrigan saw the semi-circular ring of a seat submerged beneath the surface. The rest of the tub was deeper, as if one was meant to sit first to wash then dunk to rinse. She looked from Felassan to the seat beside the tub. It was a plain wooden stool covered in a small pile of folded clothes. Morrigan moved towards it, curious despite herself.

She reached out to touch it only to have her hand smacked.

“Bathe first then dress”, instructed Felassan. He turned around with something in his hands, offering Morrigan a wooden platter. “Take this”. He gave her a hard look when she lifted her nose in the air. Morrigan refused to comply, her lip curling when he snorted.

“Fine. Have it your way”. He set the platter atop her clothes, gesturing to its contents. There was a thick bar of soap, a comb, and a crock of something with a cork in it. “All you need to wash yourself with. The crock contains a special kind of soap for your hair”.

He straightened with a nod, turning away again. Felassan strode out, leaving Morrigan alone. She heard him rummaging around in the parlour. The fire hissing as he tossed another log into the hearth. He was quiet even with his footsteps muffled by the rugs on the parlour floor.

Morrigan listened for a little while, suspicious lest he return. Several moments passed in a tense quiet that went undisturbed. She exhaled a weary breath, golden eyes rolling as she pulled at her clothes. She took them off one at a time, grimacing at the stink of stale sweat. Morrigan stepped out of the clothes pooled about her bare feet.

She swung first one leg than the other over the rim of the rub. She groaned, sinking into the hot water that was several degrees off scalding. “Fenedhis”, she swore, reaching for the platter atop the stool beside it. Morrigan sat on the seat in the tub, hearing the wood creak as she grabbed the soap. She set to work washing off two days worth of fear and grime.

Morrigan knew the moment Ellana returned to the hut. The front door opened and closed with a thud, the tread of her feet muffled when she came inside. Morrigan pulled her shirt down over her breeches, when she heard Felassan bark in elvish. The dialect was too old and obscure for Morrigan to understand, even with the geas of the Vir’abelasan. She was startled when Ellana replied in the same tongue.

Her tone was gentle, though whatever she said didn’t allay Felassan’s concerns. His voice escalated in volume. Morrigan wondered what Ellana had said when she stepped around the tub. The water was cold, her own dirty clothes still in a pile on the floor. She moved towards the door, peering through it into the parlour.

She saw them arguing.

Felassan puffed up like an angry bullfrog when Ellana disagreed. He was outraged by the stern shake of her head. He snarled several elvish expletives, clearly put out by what sounded like a rebuttal. Ellana said something else in that lyrical elvish tongue to soothe his ire. He sucked in an exasperated breath, glowering as if she’d said something offensive.

He turned, spying Morrigan out the corner of his eye.

He caught her staring as if he’d just remembered she was there. He jabbed a finger at her, spitting a sentence in that odd elvish dialect. Morrigan felt the burn of his words even if she didn’t understand them. The way he growled, hissed, and barked was reminiscent of the mabari he’d once been. His agitation doubled when Ellana replied in the negative.

He gestured to Morrigan with frenzied flap of a pale hand. Ellana’s response was the same. Felassan seethed, spewing more elvish epithets. He reiterated his desire with a determined stomp of his feet. He thrust a thumb at his own chest, snarling in elvish to make his point.

Morrigan watched the exchange continue with raised eyebrows. She was curious when Felassan gestured to her again. He made another argument, asserting himself when Ellana tried to dissuade him. She groaned, weary, and frustrated but complied when he nodded. Ellana reacted with a solemnity that belied her playful nature.

She was the Inquisitor again in that moment. Shrewd, cold, and calculating. She was unenthusiastic about Felassan’s idea. The hairs rose on the back of Morrigan’s neck when Ellana expressed her displeasure. She growled like a wolf baring its fangs.

“Sweetling. Felassan wants to come with us to the Temple of Mythal”.

Morrigan wondered what she’d lose if she agreed. She chose the path of least resistance. It was best to navigate this course with care. It was obvious that Ellana was opposed to the idea. She kept glaring at Felassan as if he’d offered her a poisoned apple.

“Why?” she asked.

Ellana’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t trust Solas”. Her lip curled when Felassan snapped at her. She modified her statement, nose wrinkling in annoyance. “He also wants to keep an eye on me while we’re there”.

Morrigan stared at her. “What?” she asked with a sharpness that made Ellana grimace. “Why? You implied that you were a match for Solas. Was that a lie too?”

Ellana ignored the question much to Felassan’s consternation. He scowled when he heard her explanation. While true it didn’t sit quite right with Morrigan. She sensed something amiss. The way Felassan kept trading barbs with Ellana was as suspicious as it was unnerving.

“Power cannot be abused. I will do what is necessary to help you retrieve Kieran. You will leave Solas to me”.

Morrigan glanced at Felassan. He was pacing on a thin strip of the floor. Back and forth he went muttering to himself in that odd elvish dialect. He paused now and again, shooting dark looks at Ellana. He came to a stop when Morrigan addressed him, his mouth hardening into a thin grim line.

“Solas won’t be happy to see you alive”.

“That is hardly your concern”.

“I doubt that”, contested Morrigan. “I don’t care if you have a grudge to settle. We’re going to the Temple of Mythal to rescue my son. If you undermine that goal. You’ll have more than an enraged elven god ready to roast your arse over an open fire”.

The corner of Felassan’s mouth curved upward. He smirked, violet eyes glinting with a slyness that set Morrigan’s teeth on edge. “You’re more honest than your mother”. She was suspicious the instant Ellana’s face hardened. She heard the frustration in her voice when she snapped at him too.

“Venavis!”

A muscle jumped in Felassan’s cheek. He returned Ellana’s scrutiny with a sulkiness that reminded Morrigan of Mahariel. Her husband dug his heels in when he was angry too. This was more than a simple struggle for power. Morrigan had lived long enough in the Orlesian court to recognise rebellion when she saw it.

She could make a suggestion that allowed Felassan to do what he wanted. Ellana wouldn’t like it of course, but she was an advocate of free will. If Felassan was to choose his own fate. Who was she to stop him? Morrigan was confident that even if she opposed the idea, Ellana wouldn’t deny him what he wanted.

“If you intend to come with us”, she called, ignoring Ellana’s reproachful look. “You’ll be risking your life. My priority is to rescue my son. Whatever happens, he’ll be my first concern. If Solas kills you this time around, I won’t mourn your passing”.

Felassan nodded. “I wouldn’t mourn your death either, witch”.

“Then we’re agreed”.

“Are we?”

“You know the danger. If you’re still game. Come with us”.

Felassan was quick to turn the situation to his advantage. He spoke to Ellana, knowing she couldn't refuse without offending Morrigan.

“The witch wants me there".

“Solas thinks you’re dead", Ellana reminded him. "It’s better to keep it that way”.

Felassan shrugged his shoulders. “Than I’ll go in disguise. You taught me the spell to shapeshift. I’ll take on the form I’ve worn these past four years. Solas will see a mabari not an elf when I set foot inside the temple grounds”.

Ellana gave him a flat look, unamused by his scheming. “Am I supposed to introduce you as my pet?”

“If you like”.

“This is a stupid idea”.

“It’s settled, Hahren”, countered Felassan. “I’m going with you”.

Chapter 5: A Serpent in the Water

Chapter Text

Morrigan was furious when Ellana delayed their departure. Although refreshed after her bath and clad in warm clothes. She was frustrated by Ellana’s insistence that she return to the Temple of Mythal at full strength. She was tired, but there hadn’t been time for a nap. Morrigan fumed for an hour as she washed down a meal of cold venison, bread, and cheese with a cup of water.

The food and drink were good, but difficult to enjoy without Kieran. Felassan hadn’t protested the delay when she’d glared at Ellana over the rim of her cup. Morrigan swallowed the dregs with a mouthful of half-chewed meat. She refused when Ellana offered to refill her cup from a wooden ewer, placing her hand over the top. The meal concluded when she slammed that cup down beside her empty plate.

She burped.

“Feeling better?” asked Ellana.

Morrigan pushed the plate aside, the cup toppling over to spill droplets of water. Beads of moisture glistened on the tabletop like pearls. The firelight painted them in shades of amber, ruby-red, and an ominous black. Morrigan was reminded of the eyes of a dead fish. She hoped Solas had an ounce of honour in his withered elven heart.

Her boy was all she had left with Mahariel far from home, seeking a cure for the Blight. She prayed that Kieran was all right.

“Much”, said Morrigan. “Can we leave now?”

“Of course”, agreed Ellana. “After being washed, fed, and watered. You’re ready to face Kieran”. She smirked when Morrigan rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d appreciate my thoughtfulness”.

Morrigan felt much better than when she’d first arrived in Halamshiral. She’d been exhausted, bedraggled, and distressed. Now she was rested, clean, and had a full stomach. It was a relief not to be hungry or thirsty though she was conscious of what she had to do. Kieran was still Solas’s captive for she hadn’t returned to the Temple of Mythal to save him.

The delay was maddening, but she had little choice but to follow Ellana’s lead.

She was the one Solas wanted.

With that in mind Morrigan was unsurprised when Felassan rose from his seat. He groaned as if he’d been sitting stiff and uncomfortable all evening. He rolled tired shoulders and turned his head from side to side to work the crick out of his neck. Morrigan grimaced when he popped his knuckles with several loud clicks. He shuffled his feet next, bare toes wiggling on the plush rugs underfoot.

“Must you do that?” hissed Morrigan.

“Do what?” called Felassan.

“Crack your knuckles”.

He did it again, finger by finger much to her consternation. “Yes. I do”.

“It sounds terrible”.

“So does your complaining”.

Morrigan found his attitude annoying. “Arse”.

“Witch”.

Ellana intervened with a smile before their bickering turned into an argument. “Now, now, children”, she teased. “Let’s keep things civil”. She glanced at Morrigan, brows waggling. “Felassan filled the tub for you, prepared your clothes, and your meal”.

Morrigan was incredulous. “You asked him to help me?”

“It was more of a suggestion. Felassan took it to heart as he does all things I say. The bath could've been for me, but you surprised him tonight. He did let you into the house instead of chasing you off. He hasn’t done that for anyone I’ve invited home”.

Morrigan didn’t like the way Felassan folded his arms across his chest. He snorted, nose wrinkling in disdain as if he thought she wouldn’t deign to thank an elf. It wasn’t something a human woman that’d served Empress Celene would’ve done. Morrigan appreciated his help though she was loathe to acknowledge it. Felassan was looking down his nose at her again as if he thought she was an uncouth barbarian.

“Perhaps Flemeth didn’t teach her manners”, he declared as if it might be true. “She was raised in a woodland backwater with the Chasind folk for company. They're uncivilised boorish louts. Like them your guest doesn’t know the difference between gratitude and ingratitude. I can tell she’d rather spit on me than bother to thank me for my considerateness".

The remark was scathing. Morrigan felt the burn of it like a whetstone grinding away her dignity. It was an outrage to be accused of prejudice. Her husband was Dalish, a woodland elf born and raised in the wilds of Fereldan. Her son was half-elven too.

It was on their behalf that Morrigan took offense. “I was raised in the Korcari Wilds, but I wasn’t taught to detest elves. My mother was an eccentric hedge-witch with a penchant for chewing on elfroot stalks. She wasn’t a hateful Tevinter magister that kept, bought, and sold elven slaves like livestock. Your assumption that I’m intolerant of elves because I’m human says more about you than it does about me”.

Felassan took umbrage. “Are you implying that I’m a bigot?”

“Of course. Solas was once your Hahren. It’s obvious to me that you share his contempt for anyone that’s not elven. Lest you forget. Ellana befriended humans, elves, and dwarves when she led the Inquisition".

"Out of necessity".

"Only an arrogant fool would assume that", countered Morrigan. "I saw her move among the refugees that flocked into Skyhold. Nothing that Ellana did for them was out of necessity. A quiet word here, a smile there, a gift of food and clothing, or a chance to provide reassurance. All that she did for them was done out of compassion".

She gave Felassan a piece of her mind. "If you can’t learn from her example then you’ll stay conceited, self-absorbed, and small-minded”.

“Fenedhis!” cursed Felassan. “You call that gratitude? She insults me, Hahren!”

Morrigan sniffed like a haughty Orlesian dowager. “You started it. I finished it. Stop whining like a spoiled brat. You’re a grown man not a child in need of coddling”.

Felassan didn’t quite know what to say to that. He fumed in silence, lower-lip curling with sullen indignation. He scowled when Ellana grinned from ear-to-ear. She was delighted by Morrigan’s assertiveness. Felassan was annoyed when she reminded him of his own folly.

“I did warn you not to meddle with her, da’len”.

He eyed Morrigan with distaste. “I had to test her mettle. We’re going up against Solas. Now isn’t the time for niceties. I can attest that she’s got the courage to face him again”.

“Such is a mother’s love”, concluded Ellana with a wistful sigh. “To face the evils that dare to harm our children. We find our courage even in the throes of grief and despair. Sometimes it’s enough to save them, sometimes it’s not. All a mother can do is try”.

She quietened, her eyes losing focus as she stared into space. Morrigan and Felassan noticed the moment her composure lapsed into grief. They shared a worried glance when Ellana sucked in a pained breath. She looked so sad and forlorn in that moment it was as if she were recalling a past traumatic event. It passed with a brevity that perturbed Morrigan and filled Felassan with foreboding.

“Hahren?”

Ellana shook off her melancholy with a strained smile. The light didn’t quite reach her eyes. Morrigan saw that familiar hollowness again. The ashes of loss after the grief had burned out. She wondered if Ellana had mourned for more than her brothers. Perhaps she’d grieved for a lost husband and children too.

“I’m fine, da’len”, Ellana assured her worried apprentice.

Felassan wasn’t quite convinced. “You’re sure?”

“Old pains. Older scars. I’m all right”. She considered Felassan, noting his restless shifting from foot to foot. He was nervous. Ellana supposed that facing Solas again would make anyone twitchy.

“Are you still determined to come with us?”

“You’re not leaving me behind”.

She sensed his unease. “You’re worried about me”.

“Of course I am!” snarled Felassan. He lowered his voice when he felt the weight of Morrigan’s scrutiny. “So much is at stake. Tell me. Do you intend to engage Solas in battle?”

It sounded more like an accusation than a question to Morrigan.

“If I must to protect you”, declared Ellana with certainty. “Don’t try to stand between us. You don’t have the strength to fight him. I do. You’re to leave me and get Morrigan and her son out of there”.

Morrigan was as startled as Felassan. He gaped at Ellana in wide-eyed disbelief, appalled by her suggestion. It plucked a chord in him, rousing an old deep-rooted fear. Felassan refused to comply, dashing Ellana’s hopes to pieces.

“I won’t abandon you!”

“You’ve chosen to face Solas. If he finds out you’re alive then you won’t be safe anywhere in Thedas. He will hunt you to the ends of the world to ensure your silence. I will be forced to counter his efforts, even to slay his agents out of necessity”.

“You’d kill them?”

Her slow nod of ascent frightened Morrigan too. “If he sends them after you. I’ll have little choice. You’re my ward, my responsibility. I disagree with your decision, but that doesn’t absolve me from doing my duty to protect you”.

“Ellana!”

“Da’len”, she soothed. “Our path is set. There’s no turning back now. This is the price you must pay if fate demands it. Your safety means more to me than my own”.

Felassan’s expression was pained as if she’d asked him to cut off his own hand. “If things go wrong at the Temple of Mythal! I won’t leave you alone with Solas even if it means my life!” he exclaimed despite the slow shaking of Ellana’s head. He glowered at her as if she’d said something abhorrent. “I don’t care if the witch and her brat have to fend for themselves!”

“Lethallin”.

“I can’t do it! You’re too important! To lose you a second time would devastate my people! We’ve already lost so much! Don’t ask me to sacrifice our future!”

“I’m not Mythal”.

“Nae”, agreed Felassan. “You’re so much more”.

“Da’len”.

He was adamant. “I won’t change my mind”.

Ellana sighed. “You’re being unreasonable”.

“So are you”.

The silence that followed was fraught with tension.

Morrigan wondered what Felassan had meant. She regarded Ellana with curiosity, though her stomach churned with dread. She saw an elven maid as pretty as a flower. Morrigan might’ve thought her Antivan by the bronze of her skin. The silver of her hair wasn’t that unusual, not even when combined with the green of her eyes.

It was the brightness that burned there like a flame inside a lantern that set Ellana apart. Morrigan might’ve thought it ambition if she hadn’t known better. Ellana had abdicated her position as the Inquisitor. A seat of power that had once brought the Empress of Orlais to her knees. Ellana was an ordinary elven woman again with as much clout as an Orlesian chambermaid.

She would always be respected, even feared but her name didn’t have the political weight it once had. She was plain old Ellana now, a Dalish elf without vallaslin. A wanderer and a vagrant, not belonging to anything or anyone. It had never occurred to Morrigan that it might be an intentional disguise. She thought of the black cat that had looked at her with those selfsame jade-green eyes.

No elf had ever returned her scrutiny with that bold feline wildness. There had always been a kindness there too, an empathy that had often made her feel small, young, and helpless. And for a moment it was as if she were that little girl again, lost, and crying in the woods all alone. Morrigan shook off the nostalgia with difficulty, her skin goosepimpling in shame. She felt her face heat when Ellana glanced her way.

“Are you all right?” she asked with an earnestness that made Morrigan feel self-conscious.

“I’m fine”.

“You don’t look fine”, deduced Ellana, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m not the one you should be worried about”, replied Morrigan with more sharpness than she’d intended. It did the trick. Ellana wasn’t offended, though she did frown as if she wasn’t quite convinced. Morrigan was relieved when the weight of her gaze eased. Ellana’s attention shifted to Felassan quicker than a bird fluttering its wings.

“You’re right of course. Some things must be a compromise despite my own misgivings. I might be old and powerful, but I don’t always get what I want. How infuriating. I’d been under the impression that a celestial being could do anything they bloody well wanted too”.

Felassan was grim. “You could force me to do what you wanted”.

Ellana snorted. “Where would be the fun in that?” she teased. “You know I like a good argument. But you’ve made your point, da’len. I concede. I don’t like it, but I can accept your decision with grace”.

Morrigan was surprised by Ellana’s willing capitulation. Her reply was still a little stiff even if she’d acknowledged Felassan’s opposition to the idea. He wouldn’t budge even with the shadow of Solas looming over them. The danger was real, but something about Ellana made this elven recluse want to risk his life. The significance of Felassan’s gesture intrigued Morrigan.

“So be it”, said Ellana with unexpected sadness. “Garas ma”, she called, beckoning to them. “Let’s be on our way”. Ellana turned away from the table, moving towards the hearth. She paused near the mantle, knees bending as she crouched down before the grate.

She ignored Morrigan’s fearful hiss when she reached inside barehanded.

Flames licked her skin, the embers popping when her fingers closed around them. Ellana withdrew a fistful of glowing red-hot coals. She blew on them as if they were the fluffy-white seed heads of dandelions. The coals ignited in a swirling flurry of yellow sparks. Ellana invoked a spell in a language Morrigan didn’t recognise.

It wasn’t harsh like the common-tongue or lyrical like the elven language. It was more akin to the roar of frothing white-waves crashing onto a beach. Less pronounceable vowels, syllables, and consonants and more a rush of sound. Morrigan thought her ears might bleed when she heard the grinding of stone. She gaped in astonishment when the bricks of the hearth rolled backward.

A hole appeared in the chimney’s rear wall, growing larger by the moment. Morrigan rose from her seat when that hole became an archway. The stones stilled in their shifting, settling into a new configuration. It took Morrigan’s breath away when the fire licking about Ellana’s fingers froze. Each tongue of flame grew long and jagged like a piece of stained glass in an iron-wrought frame.

Morrigan stared, crossing the floor to investigate. She gasped when Felassan grabbed her by the arm. She studied the pale fingers digging like claws into the sleeve of her shirt. She felt the callouses on his skin through the thin fabric. The heat of his hand, the wiry strength of it reminded her of Mahariel.

Morrigan blushed. She wasn’t offended by Felassan’s forwardness. She was a married woman but she didn’t mind his attention. She was loathe to admit that Felassan reminded her of Mahariel. The husband she loved, and missed with all her heart.

Felassan’s concern was almost too painful to bear.

“Not a step closer. You’ll be cut to pieces”.

Morrigan yanked her hand free. “Don’t touch me”, she grumbled, more furious with herself than with Felassan. She gave him a dirty look until he stepped away, his hands raised to pacify her. Morrigan’s indignation was an adequate disguise for her embarrassment. She eyed Felassan as if he were some kind of pervert intent on flipping her skirts.

His apology irked her.

“Ir abelas”.

Felassan reddened when Ellana glanced over her shoulder, interceding on his behalf. Her explanation was crude. Morrigan couldn’t believe her audacity. Ellana’s honesty suggested Felassan had done something wrong. A fact that flustered more than it infuriated him. Morrigan was appalled when he didn’t deny that he found her attractive.

“She’s married, Da’len”, called Ellana. “I doubt Mahariel would appreciate another man trying to woo his wife”.

“She’s pretty for a shemlen I agree”, replied Felassan. “But I wasn’t taking advantage of her. I was preventing her from stomping into the hearth after you. The fire is frozen, but not contained. It’s better that she doesn’t set herself alight”.

“I suppose”.

“You don’t think so?”

“She’s a mage and so are you”, declared Ellana. “Throwing fire-spells is something mages do on a daily basis. Setting oneself on-fire is an occupational hazard. Solas often set himself alight on the battlefield when he was with the Inquisition. Vivienne used to take the piss out of him every time she saw the tails of his coat burning”.

Felassan was dumbstruck by the news. “Really? He was that clumsy?”

“With frequency. He’s an arsehole, but he’s not fireproof”.

“And you are?”

She laughed. “Jealous, da’len?”

“Not in the slightest”.

Ellana paused, going quiet again. She eyed Felassan in the slow considerate way of a predator sizing up its prey. She snapped her fangs, grinning when he flinched. She chortled when he cursed in elvish, delighting in his discomfort. Her smile was wicked as she turned to the hearth.

Felassan sulked in silence, glaring at the back of her silver head.

Each tongue of frozen flame was as long as Ellana’s forearm, and transparent like a piece of stained glass. Morrigan saw shades of yellow, vermillion, scarlet, and a rusty burgundy. She was intrigued when Ellana flicked one with a thumb, the sound high and sweet like the tinkling of a silver bell. Morrigan was fascinated when her fingers unfurled to reveal the hot coals in her hand. Ellana cast them at the flames, whispering in a language softer than silk.

The flames shattered into a thousand red-gold shards that scattered without falling. Morrigan was amazed when each fragment hung in mid-air as if suspended inside a spider’s web of magic. She couldn’t see the shining threads, but she felt the thrum of power pulsing like a beating heart. It lasted a single glorious moment until Ellana waved her hand.

The shards flew into the darkness like shooting stars. Their blazing trails illuminating the cavernous hall beyond. Morrigan glimpsed a sandy floor with sheer rocky walls. Ellana flicked her fingers as if she were directing a choir. The shards shot upward like meteors to reveal a plethora of crystals embedded in stone.

Light reflected across a thousand facets in dazzling flashes of silver and gold. It was as if the hall’s high ceiling was covered in a sea of mirrors. Crystals protruded from the stone like horns. Some were sharp and pointed, while others were flat and rounded. Morrigan gaped when Ellana snapped her fingers.

And one by one each of those glassy shards of flame entered the gleaming facets of the largest crystal. It was gargantuan, thrusting downward from the cavern roof like a Chantry steeple. All about it grew smaller clusters of crystals, each of varying shades and colours. Morrigan didn’t see Ellana’s eyes aglow like twin furnaces in her bronzed face.

She did see that enormous crystal burst into flame like a lantern with a heart of fire. Light flooded the stone corridor. Morrigan squinted in the brightness, near blinded until her eyes adjusted. She heard the ruffle of fabric, the spitting of sparks as if someone were trying to strike a flame to tinder. Morrigan watched Ellana rise to her feet.

She stepped over the hearth’s iron grate, kicking up ash. The heels of her boots crunched the still smouldering coals underfoot. Ellana didn’t pause or look back. She kept moving forwards, uncaring if Morrigan and Felassan were hesitant to follow. She goaded them with a simple question.

“Are you two coming or staying behind?”

Felassan rolled his eyes when Morrigan proved reluctant.

“The coals are still hot. Not everyone can walk through fire without getting burned”.

“Not everything is as it appears to be”, advised Ellana. “You’ll have to show her, Felassan. I did tell you that she doesn’t trust me. Be kind. It’s been a decade since Morrigan has had to rely on anyone other than Mahariel”.

Felassan snorted. “I’m not holding her hand”. He shouldered passed Morrigan, his head shaking as if he thought her a fool. He moved towards the hearth, lifted a leg, and stepped over the iron grate. He ignored Morrigan’s pained hiss when he planted a bare foot in the blazing coals.

Morrigan expected to hear a cry of agony, and to smell the stink of charred skin, hair, and leather. Felassan walked through the fire, the coals rolling away beneath his bare feet. He ambled down what appeared to be a lengthy hallway, completely unaffected. He had neither screamed in pain nor found himself set aflame. His faith in Ellana was frightening.

Morrigan scowled when she heard his taunting.

“I thought you wanted to rescue your son? You won’t do a damned thing standing there”.

Morrigan watched him grow smaller as he walked into the distance. He soon joined Ellana at the end of that hall, speaking with her in hushed tones. Morrigan couldn’t hear what was said. She suspected that they were conversing in that obscure elvish dialect. What better way to hide a secret out in the open?

She was still unsure when Ellana turned around. Morrigan saw her raise a single stern finger to silence Felassan. She said nothing as she looked back. There were no encouraging words, or the hasty beckoning of her hand. Ellana peered at her as if she were gazing through a window.

Morrigan continued to tarry, still indecisive until Ellana mouthed a name. Kieran. Her feet were moving before she could stop herself. The heels of her boots clicking until she came upon the hearth’s iron grate. It was sooty and stunk of ash.

Morrigan swallowed her fear, stepping over that grate into the unknown. She braced herself for the wash of heat through the soles of her boots. She paused, feeling nothing, and glanced down at her feet. There was no stink of burning leather. No flames crawling up her calves.

Morrigan bent her knees and crouched inside the hearth. She reached into the coals, frowning when her fingers closed around them. They were warm to the touch, not hot as she’d expected. The coals were hard, gritty, and large and small in size. Morrigan opened her hand, fingers splaying wide.

Grey sand trickled away to reveal a fine dust and a handful of translucent red and yellow pebbles. Each was the size of a fingernail, hard, and rounded like a piece of broken glass with its edges ground smooth. Each pebble glowed as if it were aflame. She studied the supposed ash beneath her feet too. Morrigan sniffed, bewildered when she smelt the briny tang of salt on the air. She co*cked her head when she heard the distant rumble of thunder.

She was likely somewhere high enough to overlook the sea. Morrigan felt as if she were out of place. She looked from the sandy floor to the walls, wondering if a mortal had ever set foot here. Stone rose all about her high and steep, its surface ground smooth like the pebbles. There wasn’t a line of mortar, or a stack of bricks, or a mound of rounded river stones in sight.

These walls hadn’t been erected by elf or man. They rose into a narrow arch high above her head, forming a natural channel of carved stone. Morrigan saw what years of flooding and near constant erosion had done in an enclosed space. The hall was wide enough for ten men to march abreast. The ceiling over forty feet up to its narrowest point and thirty feet across at its widest.

It’d been underwater at some point, submerged in a sea of brine for years if not centuries. It should’ve been daunting, even terrifying but it wasn’t. The stony walls had an odd beauty when Morrigan considered how they were lit. That gigantic central crystal high overhead blazed in shades of amber and scarlet. The hall was better lit than a dungeon by firelight.

Morrigan looked behind herself. She saw the iron grate, the stone hearth, and the candlelit parlour beyond. The transition from mortared stone to sheer rock was seamless. The coals glowing in the hearth were little more than bright sun-kissed pebbles. The steaming ash was grey sand flecked with black.

Nothing was as it’d appeared to be.

“It’s a façade”, whispered Morrigan. “A lie within a lie”. She recalled what Ellana had told her earlier that same day. It made an eerie sort of sense considering her circ*mstances. She was promised to a deity of the Avvar pantheon, and the beloved of an apostate that’d posed as a god.

When one such as I walks among mortals. Disguises are necessary.

Ellana must’ve found the irony delightful.

“No wonder she likes Solas”, muttered Morrigan. “They’re the same”.

She was discomforted by that notion, grimacing as she rose to her feet. She cast the glowing pebbles back into the sand, wondering if Ellana could be trusted. Felassan seemed to think so, though Morrigan thought him biased. If Ellana were as important to the elves as he’d declared than the argument in the parlour hadn’t been about her at all. It’d been about something Ellana was trying to hide.

Had Felassan been sworn to silence?

Morrigan dusted off her hands, head shaking as she peered down at her clothes. She wore her own ragged black boots, though her skirt, breeches, belt, shirt, and mantle were new. Morrigan had always preferred dark colours. Her wardrobe reflected that in shades of black and burgundy. She might’ve thought Ellana’s choices were too reserved if not for the way the fabric shimmered when she moved.

It was subtle but Morrigan noticed the faint iridescence. Whether black or that deep earthy red, her clothes had the faint sheen of a rainbow in a pool of oil. It was beautiful if subtler than Morrigan was used too. There was no plunging neckline, no bare midriff, or the chill of cold air down her back. Ellana had her covered from neck to navel.

Morrigan wasn’t sure if it was an exercise in modesty or a critique of her wardrobe.

Knowing Ellana it was likely both.

Morrigan steeled her nerves, and walked down that stone corridor. She soon rejoined her host and Felassan, noting how the sandy floor gave way to bedrock. A stairway was hewn into the stone, leading down into a pool filled with something dark and viscous. Morrigan was wary when she saw what stood at the foot of those stairs. It was broad and deep, with a rim that extended outward in a broad circle.

Morrigan was reminded of the Vir’abelasan, though this pool made her skin prickle with unease. She wasn’t sure if it was water, so she ventured closer to take a better look. She was surprised when Felassan grabbed her arm again – his fingers tight about her wrist. His warning was immediate.

“Not another step”.

“I was curious”.

“Enough to die?”

Morrigan was anxious when he shook his head, slow and deliberate as if he were sharing a terrible secret.

“The creature that guards this cave is old, hungry, and vengeful. It only abides our presence because Ellana is with us. Don’t tempt fate, witch. You and I would be torn to pieces if the Watcher had its way. Its lair is Ellana’s abode not ours”.

Felassan yanked on her arm, dragging her back from the stairs. Morrigan pursed her lips, intent on protesting until Ellana echoed Felassan’s warning.

“Heed him. This isn’t the Vir’abelasan filled with the souls of Mythal’s deceased acolytes. This pool is the pathway between worlds. While I can traverse it in safety, you cannot without my help. The Watcher is ravenous enough to swallow you whole. Let’s not tempt it more than we already are. Stay away from the water until it’s safe”.

Ellana left them and made her way down the stairway. She reached the lower landing, and walked to the water’s edge. Its tar-like surface rolled and washed about the toes of her boots as if in anticipation. Morrigan was nervous when Ellana stepped into that pool. Morrigan remembered the hidden knives, the weight of steel on Ellana’s person.

She was sure to have drowned in the sea, a lagoon, or a river.

Morrigan was intrigued when Ellana didn’t sink into the murk.

Something rose out of the water, solidifying beneath the soles of her boots. Her footfalls were muffled as if she were walking on something soft and spongy. Morrigan recoiled when she glimpsed raw-red sinew strung between struts of black bone. Felassan slapped his hand over her mouth. He hissed in her ear, voice tinged with alarm.

“Don’t scream. Whatever you see”.

It was long, thick, and sturdier than anything fashioned by the hands of men. Morrigan trembled when the thing Ellana walked on lifted her clear of the water. It was bone, but colossal in size, each vertebrae locked to the next by coils of muscle. It bled that viscous blackness like water though Morrigan didn’t see a wound. There wasn’t skin, but a moving lattice of sinew, bone, and muscle that contracted to bear Ellana aloft.

Morrigan panted, chest heaving when she heard something strange. It was soft at first, a dull repetitive sound like rain pelting a rooftop. It grew louder with each breath she took as if it were approaching from a great distance. She stared at Ellana’s back, the silver strands of her hair fluttering about her shoulders. They were inside a cavern, surrounded by stone on all sides yet Ellana was being buffeted by the wind.

Morrigan gave Felassan a fearful glance, the whites of her eyes rolling.

"Don’t move, or speak", he cautioned. “You don’t want to draw its attention. Let Ellana deal with the Watcher. It adores her but it would sooner devour us given the chance. Be calm, be quiet, and trust her to keep us safe”.

Morrigan nodded when she saw how pale Felassan was. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead too. His eyes were thin slits beneath his furrowed brows. He kept his hand clamped tight over her mouth. Morrigan was aware of the strength in his fingers, and the warmth, weight, and smell of him.

Felassan had pressed himself tight to her side. The sharp point of his elbow dug into her belly. Morrigan might’ve blushed like a maiden if she hadn’t felt the bones of his wrist jammed into her cleavage. She nudged Felassan in the ribs trying to get his attention. He ignored her in favour of watching Ellana.

Morrigan bit his thumb in retaliation.

Felassan endured the pain. He didn’t dare raise his voice whilst there was a mass of moving muscle and sinew beneath Ellana’s feet. It expanded and contracted like blood pumping through an artery. The thick oily blackness poured from it like water. The grotesqueness might’ve been easier to stomach if not for that wretched noise.

It was steady, rhythmic, and repetitive.

Morrigan went still when the pool rippled. Felassan heard her sharp intake of breath when something breached the surface. He felt her go still against his arm, her jaw slackening in his grip. He swallowed his own trepidation, bracing himself lest she scream. He was relieved when Morrigan froze instead. He kept a firm hold on her whilst a gigantic dragon-like skull emerged with a wet gurgle.

It was fashioned from that same oozing black bone. A lattice of muscle and sinew criss-crossed its vertebrae like wire. Felassan trembled when its jaw unhinged to expose two rows of jagged black teeth. A slick red tongue lashed at the air as it inhaled a deep breath as if it were alive. The enormous skull turned, its neck coiling as if to strike. Felassan saw the flash of green in the bony hollows of its eye-sockets, though he didn’t see any fleshy white orbs.

There burned instead twin balls of emerald flame. The creature had eyes of Veilfire, a magic as ancient as it was volatile. Felassan didn’t blame Morrigan in the least when she drew back in fright. She kept still, neither batting an eyelid, nor shuffling her feet. She was quiet as a mouse too.

Felassan lifted his hand from her mouth, pressing a calloused finger to her lips. He shared a single look with her, asking for her continued silence without words. Morrigan nodded when she heard the stretch and twang of sinew. A drum-like beat filled the air, thrumming like a living thing. Felassan gave her a stricken look, bracing himself to face the beast Ellana had roused.

Morrigan glimpsed fear in the violet depths of his eyes. He took a fortifying breath. In a rare moment of camaraderie, they were both afraid of what lay before them. They shared a companionable nod, and as one they faced the horror. Morrigan saw a ribcage of black bone, and inside it a heart as red as fresh blood. It glistened in the light shed by the crystals high above, wet, warm, and full of unnatural life.

Morrigan at first thought it a nightmarish example of necromancy. A fell creature fashioned from reanimated flesh by dark magic. Yet there was a notable absence of that foul stench of death. She couldn’t smell rotting meat, or see any tell-tale signs of decay. The creature’s bones, muscle, sinew, and its giant beating heart were hale. These were no fresh pickings from a corpse, but something more perturbing.

Morrigan gaped when Ellana lifted her hand as if to pet it. The creature purred with a guttural rumble like steel grinding on stone. The vertebrae of its neck was a sinuous curve arching high over that pool of black water. That gargantuan skull swayed back and forth as Ellana waved her hand from side to side. Morrigan heard the click of its black bones, the twang of its sinewy muscle, and the pulsations of its heart.

It made for a hypnotic if macabre lullaby.

There was visceral twist of wrongness in her gut when Ellana called to the beast. The timbre of her voice was soft and sibilant like the hissing of a serpent. There were words, though none Morrigan could understand. The creature’s veilfire eyes smouldered like torches insides its skull. That same intelligence she’d seen reflected in Ellana’s gaze was present there too.

Morrigan tensed when Ellana’s hand stilled. The creature paused, its neck outstretched until she called out again. The beast was docile as a lamb as it lowered its great black skull, the vertebrae of its neck bending with it. Ellana went quiet when its jaw unhinged like that of a snake, exposing the fleshy insides of its mouth. Rows of serrated teeth became bony black stairs that flattened for an easy climb.

The thick scarlet mass of its tongue became a glistening red carpet. Its gargantuan canines, dripping gore framed the doorway of its open mouth. The fibrous walls of its jaws, oozing oily saliva were still as stone. The hollow of its throat that should have led down into a dark abyss was pale instead. Morrigan glimpsed daylight in that arch of flesh and black bone.

She saw the familiar gilded rim of a pool filled with water.

It was the Vir’abelasan, surrounded by yellow paving stones crusted with lichen.

Morrigan couldn’t believe it when the creature’s lower mandible sat atop the bony bridge of its spine. She was bewildered when Ellana moved forwards not once looking back. It had to be another test of their fortitude as she climbed those black steps alone. Morrigan saw how Felassan hesitated for a moment as if he were unsure. His indecisiveness didn’t last long, and he soon left her side.

He inhaled a shaky breath as he climbed down those stone stairs. He came to the pool’s edge, took another deep breath, and braced himself. He placed first one bare foot and then another atop that bridge of black bone. He paused at first as if to check if the Watcher had moved. The beast was still as stone, its maw open wide, and its jagged teeth as flat as wooden planks.

Morrigan’s heart was in her throat as she watched Felassan cross the bridge. He was soon climbing into the Watcher’s mouth, his bare feet slapping on those bony steps. He followed Ellana without once looking back to check if Morrigan would do the same. His ascent was slow and measured as if taking each step took every ounce of his will. He was being braver than Morrigan thought she would be.

And as Felassan climbed, she was alone. A hairsbreadth away from running, she considered her options. She could retreat to the hut or follow Ellana up those grisly stairs. She thought of Kieran, left alone at the mercy of Solas. She gazed at the Watcher and its enormous mouth. The decision was easy even if summoning the courage wasn’t.

Morrigan followed Felassan’s example, though every step was agony.

Her feet dragged as she forced herself down that first flight of stairs. It seemed to take an eternity to reach that pool of rippling black water. She ignored the visceral twist of fear in her guts when she set a booted foot atop that bridge of bone. She took one step, than another, and in a blur of motion ran across it until she reached the Watcher’s mouth.

Her worst fear had come alive in a matter of moments. She was about to be devoured by a nightmare as large and vicious as an ogre. Morrigan placed a booted foot on the stairs made from the Watcher’s own teeth. Each was as large as a boulder and flat as a paving stone. They were thick like the trunk of a tree though Morrigan didn’t linger long enough to count growth rings.

She flew up that bony stairway as if a fire had been lit under her arse. It might’ve taken a second or an eternity for her to ascend it. Morrigan’s only concern was to keep going, not to think about where she’d placed her feet. She would’ve kept climbing if a gentle hand hadn’t clasped her shoulder. She stiffened, head snapping upwards.

She was startled when a pair of jade-green eyes regarded her with concern. It was Ellana rather than Felassan that met her on the bony landing between the Watcher’s jaws. Morrigan trembled whilst Ellana gauged her reaction. She was glad to be reunited with them. It still wasn’t any less frightening to be inside the Watcher’s mouth.

But it was a relief to be in Ellana’s company again. She felt safer.

Morrigan nodded, careful to keep her silence. She followed when Ellana beckoned, climbing one last set of stairs onto a dais. It was there that Felassan stood, facing an archway of flesh fused with bone. Its surface was like that of an active Eluvian, rippling like water as if it were ruffled by the wind. Ellana and Morrigan joined him there to watch the scene unfolding at the Temple of Mythal.

Solas, a contingent of sentinel elves, and Kieran were gathered about the Vir’abelasan. Although it wasn’t what Morrigan had expected. Abelas and Solas were arguing whilst the sentinel elves surrounded Kieran. Morrigan had expected to see them keeping her son under guard, but they were not. They’d arranged themselves about Kieran in a wall of gilded steel, their eyes not on the boy but on Solas.

“They’re protecting him”, said Felassan. “A shemlen child. How unlike them”.

Morrigan was horrified. Weren’t they supposed to be quiet lest the Watcher hear them?

“It’s all right, sweetling”, soothed Ellana. “The danger is passed. The Watcher will sleep until I release it from my spell. It’s quite safe for us to converse as we watch them through an Eluvian overlooking the Vir’abelasan. On Solas’ side the glass is shattered, but here it’s whole as if the pane were unbroken”.

“How is that possible?” asked Morrigan with trepidation. She didn’t believe that the Watcher was asleep. The thing still had ears didn’t it? She glanced upwards, aware of the powerful jaws open above their heads. Although she was reluctant to risk her neck, curiosity won out over common-sense.

“All Eluvians are interconnected like the roots of a plant spread across Thedas. Where one leads, another can be found not far away”. She gestured to the archway lodged inside the Watcher’s gargantuan throat. “If we’re able to look through this mirror as if it were a window. Does that mean it’s an Eluvian too?”

Ellana smiled. “Of a kind, I suppose. It will get us to the Temple of Mythal without mishap”. She shook her head when Morrigan tried to ask another question. “There’s no time for the how and why of it, sweetling. We’ve got more important things to do”.

She gestured to the Watcher’s mirror before them, and the occupants within it. Solas arguing with Abelas. The sentinel elves and Kieran. A snap of her fingers and they were still as if frozen in time. Solas’ lips were peeled back from his teeth as if he were snapping at the air like a wolf baring its fangs. His grey eyes were gleaming in the afternoon sunlight like silver coins.

He glowered at Abelas as if he were an enemy. Morrigan saw the furrow between his brows, the wrinkles in the bridge of his nose. The air in front of his mouth was distorted as if he were in the midst of exhaling a blistering elvish tirade. Solas was enraged by the sentinel’s interference. A glance at Abelas revealed something Morrigan didn’t expect.

His golden eyes were cold as ice beneath his silver brows. There was not an ounce of warmth reflected there as he met Solas’ gaze. His jaw was tight, the line of his mouth grim. He was so furious that he’d intervened on Kieran’s behalf. Morrigan wondered if Abelas was responsible for the sentinel elves protecting her son.

Had Solas suggested something that’d offended him?

And then she came to a startling realisation. Solas, Abelas, the sentinel elves, and Kieran weren’t moving. They were stiff as statues though their eyes held the light and warmth of life. It was as strange as it was disturbing to see them rooted on the spot like trees. Sunlight glinted off gilded shields, armour, and the grim faces of the sentinel elves.

“You can control time”, gasped Morrigan.

“Not in the way you’re thinking”, corrected Ellana. “I can traverse the space between worlds, times, and dimensions. It’s a latent skill more instinctive than exact. Through the Watcher I can pinpoint a specific time and place in the past, present, or future that I can travel too. It’s safest if the period of time is within a few hours to a few days of the present. The road gets a little rockier when it’s not”.

“What do you mean?”

Felassan spoke up before Ellana could elaborate. “What she means. Is that for mortals there are inherent risks to using the Watcher’s Mirror. If you were to use it to travel more than a few hours or days forwards or backwards in time. You’d age rapidly, or even die once you reached your destination”.

Morrigan blanched. “What?”

“It’s why the Watcher was hidden from your kind. Mortals aren’t meant to venture into its lair without protection”. Felassan explained when Ellana clucked her tongue. “It’s also why so few of the Elvhen knew of its existence. I’m the first of my people Ellana’s brought here in thousands of years”.

“Of course you are”, remarked Morrigan. She remembered the whispers of the spirits of the Vir’abelasan. A warning about a violet-eyed servant of Fen’Harel. “You’re arrogant enough to be Elvhen”, said Morrigan. “Even if you could pass for Dalish. You don’t carry yourself like they do. Too much pride I expect”.

“Solas’ influence”, said Ellana. “Felassan can’t help what he is”.

The elf in question, disliked being the heart of their discussion. “I can hear you”, he groused. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here”.

Morrigan ignored him. She had more pressing concerns. “Did Mythal know about the Watcher and its capabilities?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if she had known”, asserted Felassan. “Only Ellana can control it. The beast would devour anyone that entered its domain without her to safeguard them. The Watcher is ever ravenous, often trying to devour itself to sate its own hunger. That’s why it has no eyes, skin or scales, and is only flesh, sinew, and black bone”.

Morrigan grimaced. “How does it survive?”

“Through sheer spite”, claimed Ellana. “It’s existence is a constant torment. Whatever it devours of itself regenerates in the pool of its own blood”. She pointed to the inky waters far below the dais they stood upon. “That pool is bottomless, so don’t fall into it. You’ll die of poisoning long before you drown”.

“The Watcher’s blood is toxic?”

“Not to me, but to a mortal or one of the Elvhen”. Ellana gave Felassan a pointed look. “It’s deadly. So don’t touch it, drink it, or try to steal a sample of it. If that isn’t enough to scare you. The moment you tried anything, the Watcher would wake from my spell".

“And gobble us up”, finished Felassan. “Since I’d rather avoid being slowly digested over a thousand years. Try to contain your enthusiasm for ancient draconic poisons. And don’t touch a damned thing inside the Watcher’s cavern, let alone its mouth. If I can keep my hands out of Ellana’s toy-chest of horrors, so can you”.

“Wonderful”, grumbled Morrigan. She gave their host a wary look. “Do you have anything else that could eat me lurking in a dark corner somewhere?”

She was annoyed by Ellana’s nonchalant shrug. “Does Solas count?”

“No!”

“Why not? I’ve heard that he’s got quite the talented tongue”.

Even Felassan was flustered. “The witch wasn’t talking about sex!”

“Neither was I”, teased Ellana. “I meant Solas’ tendency towards bookishness. He’s an ass, but I always liked listening to his stories in Skyhold. He could tell an excellent tale when he wasn’t being arrogant, stubborn, or feeling sorry for himself. He was better than Varric with his turn of phrase. Although there was never enough naughtiness to please me”.

The innocence of her smile belied the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“That’s why I adore Varric’s prose. He knows how to spin a tale of love and tragedy. I’m convinced he’s using Hawke as a living muse. Or he’s too observant to the misfortune of his friends. He promised to write a book about me. I hope it’s less political intrigues, more action, and pure unadulterated smut".

And in that moment, Morrigan learned something about Ellana that made her uncomfortable.

“You’re a hedonist”.

“Sweetling. It’s not as if I have a harem of gorgeous lads at my beck and call. If I did I wouldn’t have bothered trying to strip Solas out of his pants while he was part of the Inquisition. For all his faults he has a great arse. Of course I wanted to grab two handfuls of it”.

Morrigan turned a little green. “Ugh!”

“Don’t judge”.

“I’m not”.

“Liar. I know you detest him. Solas is hardly the kind of loveable chap a girl would be proud to bring home to meet her parents. He’s drowning so deep in the mire of his own guilt that he’s about as cheerful as a wet sock. I wouldn’t have looked twice at him if not for that brilliant mind of his”.

Ellana’s lips parted as she ran the tip of her tongue across her teeth. Felassan shuddered when she arched her brows. Her girlish smile of delight made him nauseous. It turned his stomach to think that Ellana fancied his former Hahren. Solas hadn’t (to his knowledge) taken a lover since the days before the fall of Arlathan.

“Are you toying with him?” he asked apprehensively. “For our sakes, I hope you’re not”. It would spell disaster for them if Ellana was playing another of her games. He’d known she’d had mortal lovers in the past. She’d even had children with some of them though it’d been centuries since she’d last been a mother.

Ellana’s cat-like smile didn’t reassure him. “A little”, she acknowledged with more honesty than Felassan had expected. “But I’m not deceiving him at all. I care about Solas, and I’d return his affection if he weren’t adamant about pushing me away. Even if I tied myself to Hakkon by marriage, I’d still take an earthly consort”.

Ellana astonished Felassan and Morrigan with her candidness. “If I’m to maintain my ties to the peoples of Thedas. I’d need someone to represent their interests after I became part of the Avvar pantheon. If that person can’t be Solas than I’d have to choose from among the remaining Elvhen”. She flapped her hand at Felassan in a gesture of dismissal.

“You’re my ward. I can’t have you sharing my bed. It’d be a violation of the trust between a mentor and her student. Since I intend to undermine Mythal, the Evanuris, and their ilk that yet remain in Thedas. I’d choose an immortal consort. Abelas or one of the sentinel elves would do if they were willing”.

Felassan was scandalised. “You’d bed one of Mythal’s acolytes?”

Ellana arched a silver brow, and gave him a dry look. “What better way to jab her in the ribs? She’d feel their every pleasure, and hear their cries of ecstasy as if they were her own. The sentinel bond would make certain of that in the most delicious way possible. Oh, Felassan don’t look so shocked. You know I’m a vengeful creature by nature”.

He swallowed a tad nervous. “That’s a fine plan, but there’s a major fault with it”.

“And that is?”

“Solas”, finished Morrigan with an air of finality. “He’s in love with you, obsessive, and vengeful enough to destroy entire civilisations. If he learns the truth about your betrothal to Hakkon Wintersbreath. He’s going to think you’re using him. He’ll demand recompense, even if it means your pretty head on a silver platter”.

“Oh. I know”.

Felassan was astounded by her audacity. “You knew he might try to kill you and you don’t care?”

“You’re missing the point”, said Ellana. “It’s a crucial one”.

Morrigan gawked at her. She had a terrifying epiphany. “Andraste’s tit*. You’re in love with him. That’s why you revealed yourself to him in Orlais”.

Her face softened with such compassion that Morrigan was moved to tears. She hated Solas, yet she couldn’t help the dread lodging in her chest. Or ignore the weight of uncertainty settling in the pit of her stomach like a stone. Ellana loved Solas with a sincerity that was as honest and true as her own love for Mahariel. Morrigan was worried for one of her dearest friends.

“Don’t be a fool! He’s dangerous!”

“The heart wants what it wants”, avowed Ellana. “There’s no rhyme or reason to it, sweetling. Love in its purest form is the sweetest of all things. I’ve had dalliances aplenty over the course of my life to know that with certainty. I’d show Solas the merits of being loved if he didn’t find me so abhorrent”.

She exhaled a weary breath, sighing in disappointment. “I don’t have much choice but to settle for Hakkon. He’s not what I want, but our union would prevent a war with the Avvar pantheon. Thedas wouldn’t become a frozen ice-ball for an eternity. And I’d get shagged out of my brain for the first time in five thousand years”.

There was a long uncomfortable pause.

“But?” urged Morrigan. “What is it?”

“Nothing at all”, said Ellana with a sense of finality. She gestured to the mirror before them that was more a window into another world than a doorway. Solas, Abelas, the sentinel elves, and Kieran awaited them in the Temple of Mythal. “We should go. There’s no time like the present”.

“Speaking of time”, called Morrigan. “It’s daylight out there. I left Halamshiral at dusk and arrived at your hut when the sky was dark, the moon high, and the stars were shining. Why isn’t it night at the Temple of Mythal? I’d appreciate an explanation”.

“That’s easy. I asked the Watcher to send us back in time two days”.

“What?”

“It’s complicated”.

“Ellana!”

“Don’t fret. You’ll be fine. Besides we have more pressing concerns”.

Morrigan’s head turned when Ellana gestured to the Watcher’s mirror.

She saw Solas and Abelas still locked in a heated argument. Their tempers were flaring hot enough to burst into flame. She read the fury in Abelas’ usually stoic expression. He was ready to react with violence though she wondered if that was for his own sake or for Kieran. A look at his opponent made her blood run cold.

Solas’ eyes were the dreary grey of thunderclouds ready to burst. He was enraged by Abelas’ intervention, though he hadn’t acknowledged Morrigan’s son. Kieran might as well have been a gnat for all the attention Solas paid him. Morrigan was glad for the reprieve though she ached to reunite with her son. She dared not step through that mirror to confront Solas without Ellana at her side.

What if things went wrong?

“Sweetling?”

Morrigan responded without thinking. “Y-yes?”

“Let’s rescue your boy”.

“All right, but how do we get there?”

Ellana smirked. “Why we walk through the Watcher’s mirror. It’s almost an Eluvian after all. Come, it’s time to kick the Dread Wolf in the balls”. She smirked with a fox-like slyness. “I’m going to enjoy this”. She giggled with a spine-tingling eeriness that reminded Morrigan of dark dangerous things.

“Leave Solas to me”, she instructed. “Sweetling, stay behind me. Don your fur, Felassan. I want you guarding our flank. Even Solas will think twice about engaging a hound with jaws strong enough to break bone”.

“At once”, agreed Felassan. “I suppose you have a plan?”

“Of course I do”.

She raised her left hand, brown fingers brushing the fringe from her face. Morrigan spied the pale icicle of Hakkon’s engagement ring in the lobe of her ear. It sparkled like a diamond amidst the silver of her hair. Ellana smiled when Morrigan saw something blue twinkling on her ring finger. She gaped at the simple band with a floret of sapphires in the shape of a rose.

“Let’s go”, declared Ellana. “I’ve an oath to fulfil”.

Felassan shifted shape from an elf into a dog, donning his fur. Morrigan was glad to see the pale mabari again, even when he nosed her fingers. She petted the pale crown of his head, scratching between his ears. Ellana saw the odd moment of camaraderie. She didn’t comment on it though the broad smile on her face exasperated Morrigan.

“I like dogs”.

“No you don’t”.

Ellana gave her a wink and a smile, beckoning to them with a flick of her fingers. “Garas ma”, she called as she strode to the Watcher’s mirror. Its glassy surface revealed the paved square, and the pool of the Vir’abelasan that lay beyond. Ellana bared her teeth in a savage grin, her green eyes glittered beneath her silver brows. She shivered with excitement when Morrigan brought up the rear.

Felassan was right beside her, leaning against her hip in a gesture of comfort.

“Ma serannas”, she whispered, sinking her fingers into the ruff of pale fur around his shoulders. The warmth and solidity of his presence grounded her in the moment. Her skin prickled with unease whilst her stomach churned with nervousness. Morrigan swallowed the bile crawling up her throat. It left the sourness of bitter fear on the back of her tongue.

“Remember”, reminded Ellana. “Leave Solas to me”.

She snapped her fingers, and there was a sudden noise like the tinkling of silver bells. All commotion resumed on the far side of the Watcher’s mirror. Solas’ mouth was agape when he saw something unimaginable. Abelas stiffened like a drawn bowstring, his head turning towards the Vir’abelasan. They saw fragments of black glass fly through the air as if summoned by magic.

Each shard lodged inside the archway of an Eluvian overlooking the Vir’abelasan. Pieces of glass large and small were rebuilt into a single fractured pane. Solas gawked when the cracks in the glass turned white-hot. He heard a sibilant hiss then saw pale clouds of steam rise from the Eluvian. The cracks melted away as the glass cooled, leaving it smooth, whole, and a rippling active silver.

Abelas barked a command in elvish.

The sentinel elves surrounding Kieran pivoted on the balls of their steel-shod feet. Swords and knifes were unsheathed. Spears were aimed like javelins over the sturdy rims of gilded shields. They bristled when three figures emerged from the Eluvian. Elven eyes blue, brown, amber, grey, and gold widened with incredulity.

It was a stern red-haired sentinel that bellowed her name.

“Ellana?”

“Who else would bother visiting a sourpuss like you?” she replied. She gestured to his companions, ready to slice her into teeny tiny pieces. “Be a sweetheart would you, Ilcen. Ask them to lower their weapons for me. I’ve brought a few friends along that I’d prefer weren’t in danger of being mortally wounded”.

“Friends?”

“Indeed”, she confirmed when Morrigan and Felassan the mabari joined her.

Ilcen raised a gauntleted hand, his fingers dropping in a wave of dismissal. The sentinel elves lowered their weapons. Shields were turned aside. Spears were thrust skyward. Swords were sheathed. Axes were returned to gilded harnesses across many a broad set of shoulders.

Ellana saw Solas’ eyes go wide when he spied her companions. He stared at Morrigan as if he couldn’t believe that she’d returned. Ellana took the initiative when he tried to speak to her newest charge. He was stunned when she stepped forward, putting herself between them. Ellana clucked her tongue, the brisk shake of her head silencing him.

“If you wanted her back then you shouldn’t have sent her to me. I tend to keep lost things when I find them”. Ellana arched a silver brow when Solas frowned, the grey of his eyes darkening at her statement. “Oh”, she crooned. “Don’t fret. She’s in good hands. Although by involving a third party you’ve changed the rules of our arrangement”.

Morrigan put on a brave face, swallowing her fear when Solas looked her way again. She shied, skittish under the intensity of his gaze. She felt the anger smouldering beneath his skin, the steady thrum of it making her nervous. Solas gave nothing away, his expression neutral though Morrigan sensed otherwise. The magical leash she shared with the sentinel elves amplified Solas’ displeasure tenfold.

She drew sympathetic looks from Ilcen, Valoya, and even the ever stern Abelas. Although it wasn’t any easier being the sole recipient of Solas’ scrutiny. Morrigan tensed, her heart leaping into her throat when Kieran spotted her too. Her darling boy called out in a voice filled with worry and relief. She knew he would’ve run to her if he’d been able too.

“Mother!”

Morrigan said nothing in response, though her eyes shifted from Solas to him. Kieran was a thin strip of black, brown, and burgundy next to the gilded splendour of the sentinel elves. He was short and skinny in the way of an elven child though he lacked their most distinguishing features. Kieran’s eyes were small, his face soft and cherubic, and his ears were rounded. Morrigan saw more of herself in the boy than Mahariel.

Kieran was fair as a snowflake, and his irises were a cool amber rather than a vivid sky-blue. He might’ve looked like her, but Morrigan knew that he was more like his father in mood and temperament. Kieran was quiet, thoughtful, and reserved around those he didn’t know well. But he was sly and mischievous when around friends and family. Morrigan hoped that his spirit hadn’t been crushed whilst he’d been Solas’ prisoner.

Morrigan pressed a thin finger to her lips when Kieran opened his mouth again. A hasty shake of her head was enough to quiet him. He nodded anxious and afraid, holding his tongue. Morrigan lifted her chin, the bile rising in the back of her throat again. She swallowed it with difficulty, ignoring the acrid taste of her own fear.

She’d done what Solas had asked.

Ellana was here at the Temple of Mythal, although she’d brought along a friend. Morrigan saw Solas go still, the grim line of his mouth falling open in astonishment. He gawked like a fool when a small mountain of soft pale fur pressed against her side. A mabari curled around her legs like a gigantic white cat. A large box-like head sat atop a thick neck, and broad slab-like shoulders.

The hound’s violet eyes shone like amethysts in the sunlight.

Kieran beamed with delight when the beast spotted Solas. Small triangular ears perked with an immediacy that was comical. Even the Dread Wolf was taken aback when the dog’s lips peeled back from its jagged fangs. The soft fur of its muzzle wrinkled as it bared its teeth at him. It growled in warning, the guttural rumble raising the hairs on the back of Morrigan’s neck.

“Solas”, reproved Ellana. “Do stop baiting my mabari. He likes Morrigan, and you’re making her nervous. He’ll take a chunk out of you if you persist on being a poor host. You did invite me out here after all”.

She spread her arms, gesturing to the paved square surrounding the Vir’abelasan.

“I’ve arrived on time. Well within the three days we agreed upon”.

Solas’ rounded on her with a viciousness that surprised even the sentinel elves. Abelas blanched when he spat his accusations with the petulance of a child. The mild-mannered, even-tempered trickster of the elven pantheon was gone. And in his place was a peeved wolf snapping his fangs at the unwelcome vagrant entering his domain.

“You were to come alone!”

Ellana took his accusations in stride. “I would have if you hadn’t sent a welcoming party. Morrigan was exhausted when she found me at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. She hadn’t rested, eaten, or slept in two days. She still hasn’t because she’s been worried sick over the son you kidnapped”.

Solas glared at her. “It was a necessary precaution. How was I to trust your word after what I saw in the ruins of the fortress outside Halamshiral?”

He didn’t elaborate, though Morrigan got the gist of things. Whatever Ellana had done in the meadow where the Viddasala had died had frightened Solas. She felt the threads of apprehension at the edges of the sentinel bond. He was trying to hold things together, to be courageous but underneath the bluster he was scared. The revelation that even the Dread Wolf could feel fear was as startling as it was unthinkable.

And Ellana had scented that fear like a fox hunting in the under-brush. Morrigan saw how she smiled at Solas. She was enjoying their little spat as if it were a game of wit and will. Not once did Ellana back down, or give ground. She was determined to court the most villainous member of the elven pantheon.

What he wanted didn’t matter at all.

The heart wants what it wants.

“Oh”, Morrigan murmured to herself whilst they argued. “You poor bastard”.

Felassan in his fur-coat agreed with a nervous woof.

“I know. Fenedhis. He doesn’t stand a chance”.

Chapter 6: A Boy with a Song

Chapter Text

It’d been three days since Ellana had seen him in the meadow outside Halamshiral. Solas was as feisty now as he’d been then. It was a vast improvement on the despondent creature that’d revealed his darkest secret. That poor wretch had been mired in a cesspit of guilt that’d festered for five thousand years. Solas was depressing when he moped about the past as if it were a boulder he were dragging uphill.

Ellana preferred him feisty.

“I told you that I hold all oaths sacred”, she goaded with a disdainful smile. “I’ve come to the Temple of Mythal as promised. Although the route I took must’ve come as a surprise. You said the Eluvian in Skyhold would be inaccessible to me. I improvised”.

She gestured to the ring of Eluvian around the Vir’abelasan. Seven stone archways stood in a semi-circle. The tallest alone housed a pane of unbroken glass. The other eluvians flanking it, were smaller in size though no less impressive. Inside their frames were fragments of shattered glass that glittered like obsidian.

“I repaired the central Eluvian. You’re welcome”.

Her hubris annoyed Solas. “How have you come to the Temple of Mythal not one day after we parted? Morrigan left at dawn this morning for Halamshiral yet here she is now. Either you have bent time or utilised a magic with which I am unfamiliar”.

“If you recall”, countered Ellana. “I never said I’d answer your questions when next we met. I came to bargain not to tell you my secrets. You’ll have to try harder than that to win back my confidence”.

“You trusted me once”.

“I loved you once. Look how that turned out”.

The revelation caused a stir amidst the sentinel elves. Some exchanged startled looks whilst their companions scorned him. Solas felt the weight of their eyes boring into his back. Ellana had put him in a difficult position. To deny her would give credence to her statement, but to remain silent would be worse.

“You said that we had important things to discuss”, he disclosed, reining in his temper. Ellana had caught him unawares. Even Abelas was staring at him as if he’d divulged a sordid secret. The news that he’d once been in a relationship with Ellana had sent the spirits of the Vir’abelasan into a frenzy.

They buzzed on the edge of his awareness like a nest of angry hornets.

“We do”, said Ellana. “Of that you can be assured. But first there is something I’d like to know. Was it your idea to send Morrigan to find me? She flew to Halamshiral rather than coming to the city by foot or by wagon”.

Her question irked Solas, but they had an audience. He chose the path of least resistance, answering with honesty. “It takes a week to travel to Halamshiral by road. I may have inferred that she should make haste. I also advised her to be cautious. I did not want to risk her being discovered by anyone attached to the Orlesian court”.

“Like Vivienne?”

The line of Solas’ jaw tensed. He didn’t like her tone. “I had plans in place for such an eventuality”.

“Of course you did”, stated Ellana. “Lucky for you. Morrigan infiltrated Halamshiral in the guise of a raven without mishap. If Vivienne had caught her snooping, things would’ve taken a different turn. Your plan to hide an apostate inside a feathered cloak was sound if deceptive. Which is exactly what I’d expect from someone with a talent for subterfuge”.

“I am no more talented than you”.

“You have no idea who I am, darling. But you’ll find out soon enough”.

Ellana’s lips peeled back to reveal jagged incisors and needle-sharp canines. Her fangs glistened wet and white in the sunlight. Her toothy smile alarmed Solas. He grimaced when she licked her lips like a cat cleaning blood from its claws. She appraised him from head to toe as if he’d make a tasty snack.

“Fenedhis”, he cursed. “What are you?”

“Someone harmless unless provoked”.

“Is that a threat?”

“That depends on you. Don’t test me, Solas. I will retaliate if you’re foolish enough to attack me. You might find yourself on your own funeral pyre”.

Solas looked into her eyes, expecting to see anger even derision. He saw himself reflected there instead as if her soul were a mirror. His own face peered back at him in a flash of insight as if he were dreaming yet wide awake. There were the subtlest of changes, though Solas still recognised himself. From the bare pate of his head sprouted hair, long, thick, and red that coiled into tight braids. His steel-grey eyes had lightened to a clear sky-blue.

Solas was bewildered when he saw himself smile, as if the expression were foreign. The eyes that shone with a joyfulness he’d never known upset him. It was bizarre to see himself happy when he was burdened by his own guilt. The blood-red hair braided and decorated with gold clasps seemed too ostentatious. A luxury afforded by wealth, though he’d long since taken to shaving his head.

He’d been loath to grow his hair again since the fall of Arlathan. The sacrifice of vanity to lead the life of a rebel had been a small price to pay. Solas doubted he’d ever be able to indulge in the simple pleasure of brushing his own hair again. It’d been long, black, and bone-straight when he hadn’t had it braided. That was one thing he’d once had in common with the stranger wearing his face.

He came out of the vision, pale and shaking as if he’d awoken from a nightmare. He swallowed his ire, too unnerved to care about Ellana’s threat. If she could make him see a version of himself that was as real as it was unsettling. She was far more than she appeared to be. Solas asked aloud what he wondered, though he doubted Ellana’s honesty.

“Why have you come to the Temple of Mythal?”

“You invited me. You also have something I want, or someone to be more precise. If you give them to me without contest. We won’t come to blows. If you don’t then I’ll have to be more persuasive”.

The challenge in her voice made the sentinel elves uneasy. They were worried as they traded glances back and forth. Abelas’ lieutenant was wary too. Ilcen watched the leader of his Order, waiting for a cue to intervene. Abelas shook his head, raising his hand in a warding gesture.

Ilcen nodded in silence, staying vigilant. He watched the verbal sparring with trepidation.

“Careful, vhenan”, warned Solas.

“You should take your own advice”, suggested Ellana. “I hold grudges against those that steal from me”.

“I am not a thief”.

“Then I suppose Morrigan volunteered to help you. Perhaps she even surrendered her son into your keeping”. She snorted when Solas’ eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think so. Despite your error in judgement, I’m willing to be civil”.

“If you were not?”

“You’d be a pile of ash”.

It wasn’t a threat, but a guarantee. Solas didn’t doubt that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Although she’d only ever fought back in self-defence, Ellana was a creature of habit. She didn’t like loose ends, or unnecessary complications. He had caused her no end of trouble personally and professionally.

Solas didn’t doubt that she had a personal vendetta. He was wary when she addressed him again.

“I hope you’ve treated Kieran well, it’d be most foolish if you haven’t. Now if you’ll excuse me, Solas. I have business with Abelas and his companions. A little bird told me that her chick got himself into a spot of trouble. I’d best check the nest to see how he’s fared in your care”.

Solas was too unsettled to intervene.

Ellana greeted the sentinel elves guarding Morrigan’s son. She was the gracious Inquisitor, ever cordial whilst she spoke to them.

“Anethara”, called Ellana. “I hate to intrude upon your duties, but I need to speak to your captive”.

The sentinels sought permission from Ilcen with a question in elvish. He sought guidance from Abelas. The leader of their Order considered the request. He nodded soon after, waving a gauntleted hand in the air. Two of the sentinel elves moved aside to reveal Kieran.

Ellana assessed him with a critical eye. She saw a weary cherubic face under a mop of short, messy black hair. Kieran’s clothes were rumpled as if he'd been yanked out of bed. His boots were scuffed and half-tied, the laces tangling about his ankles. He was bleary-eyed, but otherwise unharmed.

But Ellana knew that looks could be deceiving.

“You’re a little unkempt, but you seem whole of life and limb. But I know better than to trust my eyes. Tell me, ma da’vhenan. Have your captors been hospitable?”

Kieran didn’t respond. He was expecting to be reprimanded by Ilcen or Abelas. He was surprised when neither sentinel said a word. They were tense, silent, and unsure of themselves. Each eyeing Ellana with apprehension as if she were a venomous snake. Kieran had never seen them so afraid.

“Abelas and the sentinel elves have been kind to me”.

“You’ve been fed, watered, and given appropriate lodgings during your stay?” asked Ellana.

“Yes”, affirmed Kieran.

“I believe you”.

The lad asked a question in a tremulous voice. “Are you going to punish them?”

“You were stolen from your mother as if you were a trinket. Then brought to the Temple of Mythal against your will. Abelas and the sentinel elves have erred, ma da’vhenan. Their actions need correction. I am well within my rights to seek retribution”.

“But they weren’t at fault!” cried Kieran. “They didn’t want to hurt mother or me! They didn’t want to bring us to the Temple of Mythal! Solas ordered them to do it!”

The corner of Ellana’s lip curved upward. She was failing and trying not to smile. The boy was as snippy as his mother when he sulked. Ellana saw shades of Morrigan in the way he scowled, then thrust his lower-lip out in a sullen pout. He was adorable.

Ellana couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you suggesting that I hold Solas responsible instead?”

“Yes!” hissed Kieran.

“Then he will bear the weight of my displeasure”.

Solas took umbrage, the fury written into every line of his fair elven face.

His black brows were furrowed, the craggy line deepening. His eyes were narrow and angry, a flash of blue-white fire igniting for the briefest of moments. Ellana seemed more amused than offended when Solas came to his senses. The torrid gleam of Mythal’s magic faded though it was difficult to curb his fury. He was scowling fit to set his face aflame, the perspiration glistening on his forehead.

Ellana had struck a nerve.

Abelas intervened before Solas’ temper got the best of him.

“We should first address the matter at hand. Kieran’s welfare is not the only issue of importance. My brethren and I were unwilling participants in his kidnapping. When Solas asked that I find Morrigan, I refused on behalf of my brethren. He did not like my answer, then what was asked was commanded”.

“You could not refuse”, said Ellana. “By drinking from the Vir’abelasan, you bound yourself to the will of Mythal. Solas carries her soul, thereby making his word law. You must obey, as Morrigan must if Solas gave her an order too. I do understand, though that doesn’t absolve you of blame”.

Morrigan watched them with bated breath, sensing the tension in the air. The mabari beside her was poised to spring, growling at Abelas. The sentinel kept his distance, knowing it would be foolish to provoke the beast. Ellana was protective of those in her charge. The dog’s bite would be the least of his troubles if she retaliated.

“You’ve done me a grave offence”, warned Ellana. “Morrigan is my ward. Kieran too. To accost them is to accost me. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes”, acknowledged Abelas. “I do”.

“You and your folk stole from me at Solas’ behest. I should take your lives as recompense. But Kieran is not wrong. You were compelled by the will of Mythal to do what Solas demanded of you. I do sympathise”.

“Then you will not seek retribution?”

“I will exercise discretion. You have taken good care of Kieran in Morrigan’s absence. He wasn’t treated like a prisoner, even if his stay at the Temple of Mythal was enforced. I am thus inclined to be merciful, although I want something return”.

Abelas was wary. “We have but our armour, weapons, and lives. What do you want?”

“Nothing that you’re hesitant to give”, clarified Ellana. “An explanation will suffice. Tell me what began this madness. Morrigan’s recollection was vague enough to worry me. She mentioned Solas, but nothing of you or the sentinel elves”.

He was relieved that she wanted words not a life. “You would allow me to explain?”

“Kieran implied the sentinel elves were innocent. I would know why he thinks so”.

Abelas was moved by the faith of Morrigan’s son. He opened his mouth then paused as if he were unsure of himself. The tether of the sentinel bond prickled with an uncomfortable heat. The holder of his leash glared at him with condemnation. Abelas wondered if he’d be turned to stone.

He was surprised when Ellana interceded, drawing Solas’ ire upon herself.

“Venavis!”

“He seeks to betray me!”

“I have asked for clarity. He will provide it with or without your approval. I will hear what he has to say, Solas. If I must silence you first to allow him to do that. I will. I would suggest you compose yourself before I do more than warn you not to interfere”.

“You have no right to pass judgement!” accused Solas.

Ellana never once lost her temper. “Who else would listen to Abelas if not me? You have used him as Mythal has used him. He is a person not a tool. If he believes a wrong has been done than he has the right to see it corrected. I will hear him out”.

“This is not the Inquisition!”

“How about I sweeten the pot? What if I were to answer one question you had with complete honesty. No games, lies, or diversions. You may ask me anything no matter how personal. I will tell you the truth”.

“Are we bargaining now?”

“Better a bargain than a blood-letting. Do you accept my offer?”

Solas agreed albeit with great reluctance. It was an unusual opportunity. “I will if you give me three questions with three honest answers”.

“A counter-offer. How appropriate. I’ll agree to those terms on two conditions”.

“Tell me your conditions. I would know what you expect of me”.

“My first condition is simple”, stated Ellana. “You mustn’t punish Abelas for what he’s about to say”.

Her meddling annoyed Solas. “Why do you care about his welfare?”

“I have my reasons”.

“Which are?”

“Unimportant to you”.

“Fine. Keep your secrets”.

“You’ll be privy to a few of them before the day is over. I’m sure. Now if you would”, urged Ellana. She gestured to Abelas. “I would appreciate a decision, no doubt he would too”.

Solas eyed the sentinel with a sense of foreboding. Something wasn’t right here. He glowered at Abelas. The sentinel was silent, observant, and respectful enough to hold his tongue. Solas gave him a frustrated nod, the approval grudging.

“I will allow it. What is your second condition?”

“Let Morrigan reunite with Kieran. He’s her only child. She fears for him, Solas. I know you can be vengeful, even hard-hearted. But you’re not cruel”.

It was a minor concession, though Solas couldn’t believe Ellana’s audacity. She was overbold, but still a risk-taker. She’d prevailed against Corypheus, closed the Breach, and brought peace to Thedas. It was impossible to know if her success had been planned or was a quirk of fate. Her willingness to risk her neck for Flemeth’s daughter mystified him.

“What is your decision?” asked Ellana.

“Give me a chance to think about it”, grumbled Solas.

He considered Morrigan and her mabari, though his gaze lingered longest on the dog. It was white as snow with eyes like gemstones. He’d suspected that it was Felassan in disguise. Only one elf he’d ever known had such eyes. That elf had been his friend and protégé for decades.

Solas was unnerved when Felassan bared his teeth. The growl rumbled inside the barrel of his chest till Morrigan petted the crown of his head. He quietened when she scratched between his ears. Solas had a new-found respect for Morrigan. She’d found allies in the least likely place imaginable.

He was impressed when she returned his scrutiny. Morrigan held her head high despite her fearfulness of him. Solas saw the pride in her bearing, the sheer stubbornness in the way she rolled her shoulders back. Her eyes glinted in the sunlight like gold sovereigns. The resemblance to Flemeth thrilled and repulsed him.

Morrigan was a younger, brasher version of her mother.

Solas conceded to Ellana with a nod. “I accept your conditions. Abelas will be free to speak of my dealings with Morrigan. She will reunite with her son after things between you and I are settled. Until then mother and child will remain apart”.

He heard Felassan’s menacing growl. The mabari leapt forward, jaws snapping at the air. He’d have been bitten if not for Morrigan. Her arms were around Felassan’s chest and shoulders. She kept him from attacking with all her strength, grimacing when he writhed like an eel.

He was a hairsbreadth away from tearing Solas’ throat out.

“Venavis!” snapped Ellana. She glared at the dog, barking like a mad thing. “Or I’ll send you back through the Eluvian!”

Solas was astonished when the mabari ceased to fight Morrigan. Felassan calmed at Ellana’s command, whining as if in contrition. His seeming capitulation earned a sigh of relief from Morrigan. She patted his neck, glad that he’d come to his senses. Ellana snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Ir abelas. My mabari doesn’t like wolves”.

“You have a terrible sense of humour”, complained Solas.

“Says the Dread Wolf, but vicious canines aside. Morrigan can’t flee the Temple of Mythal without your permission. She’d never risk leaving without Kieran again. She was terrified that you’d hurt him while she was gone. So why not reward her for doing what you commanded?”

“You ask for much on her behalf”.

“She did what you wanted her to do. I’m here, Solas”.

“So you are”, he agreed, unable to fault her logic. He rolled his eyes, scornful of Ellana’s defence of Morrigan. “Ma nuvenin. Morrigan may see to her son. But they will remain inside the temple grounds under guard”.

“Afraid she’ll turn on you?” quipped Ellana.

“I am more concerned about what you would do. I can influence Morrigan, but I cannot control your actions. I will take precautions to ensure that you keep your word. Morrigan and her son will be under guard at all times, until I have ascertained that you are not a threat”.

“To your schemes?”

“Yes”.

“Prudent”.

“Until I know who and what you are”, declared Solas. “I will agree to nothing else”.

“That’s fair”.

Abelas was amazed by her skill in diplomacy. Mythal had never been able to bend Solas to her will in Arlathan. Yet here and now he’d made a willing compromise with Ellana. He was relieved that Morrigan would be reunited with her son. Abelas bowed his head when Solas gave the order.

“Arrange an escort for Kieran. He may return to his mother, but he is to be assigned a guard. They are to remain in the courtyard near the Vir’abelasan. The other sentinels may arrange refreshments for them in the meantime”.

Abelas gave Ellana a nod of thanks. She acknowledged him with a polite dip of her silver head. They had a shared understanding. Abelas spoke to the sentinel elves guarding Kieran. They absorbed the news with calm solemnity, glad the outcome was peaceful.

Abelas gazed at his lieutenant. A nod and Ilcen rallied their forces. Orders were announced in elvish. The guard appointed for Kieran consisted of four sentinel elves. They moved towards him with a seriousness that reassured Abelas.

The boy was surrounded, then marched across the courtyard. The sentinels escorting him, stopped three feet from Morrigan. They were hesitant to approach the dog hovering at her side. Felassan growled, fangs bared. The sentinels kept a respectful distance.

Kieran was less restrained, grinning from ear to ear. “Mother! I knew you’d find aunty Ellana! You were brave even when you didn’t think she’d still be in Halamshiral!”

Morrigan couldn’t believe her son was that familiar with the Herald of Andraste. “You call the infamous Inquisitor Lavellan – Aunty?”

“I have since the day we met in the gardens in Skyhold”.

“That is most impolite”.

“But mother!” cried Kieran. "She insisted!”

“Did she now?”

Morrigan’s methodical appraisal of her made Ellana smile. She nodded when Felassan barked to catch her attention. His eyes were on Morrigan’s slender reed of a boy. He tried to contain his curiosity though the wagging stub of his tail gave away his enthusiasm.

Felassan adored children. Ellana decided to indulge him. It was easier that Kieran was half-elven. That connection would ground Felassan enough to forget his prejudice. Ellana didn’t blame him for his dislike of humans, it wasn’t quite hatred but it was more than intolerance.

He didn’t like Morrigan, but her marriage to another elf had softened his animosity.

“All right, but be careful”, advised Ellana. “Kieran is still a child”.

Felassan whined, his pale ears perking. He tilted his head back, imploring Morrigan with his big violet eyes. In that moment he resembled Mahariel’s gigantic smelly fleabag. Duke often stared at her with his big brown eyes too. Morrigan couldn’t resist when Felassan co*cked his head like a large overgrown puppy.

She capitulated with a groan. “Fine. I’ll introduce you”. She saw Kieran’s guards, a quartet of stalwart sentinel elves armed with bows, blades, and axes. She addressed them, a little nervous. “If my son’s minders will allow it”.

It did much to dispel their lingering hostility.

“It is acceptable”, said the nearest sentinel. He was tall, blue-eyed, and auburn-haired. The long tail of his braid draped around his neck like a scarf. He pulled back the cowl of his cloak to reveal a stern face, patrician nose, and sharp cheekbones. He was handsome in the way of the Elvhen and more gracious than Morrigan expected.

“I am called, Arryn”.

He gestured to his companions. A woman stood on his left, two men were on his right. They wore the same hooded surcoat, though the woman lacked the gilded breastplate. She was armed with a bow, the arc of it riding her right shoulder. The tails of black-fletched arrows were visible over her left, the rim of the quiver inches below.

“This is Valoya”.

Blond, green-eyed Valoya gave her a smile of recognition. Morrigan returned it albeit with some reluctance. The courtesy while appreciated was still disconcerting. Morrigan was less enthused about meeting the third and fourth members of Arryn’s party. Both men eyed her with distaste as if her humanness offended them.

The first hefted a large two-handed battleaxe as if it were a feather. He sniffed, saying nothing though his nose wrinkled in disdain. His companion was a slender creature dressed like Valoya in stiff gilded leather. The belt around his hips bore twin sheaths and the bony hilts of two hunting knives. He looked down his nose at Morrigan, though he kept his opinion to himself.

Arryn introduced them too.

“The warrior is Sessan. The rogue is Derne. We are your guard”. He gave their archer an encouraging nod. “Send the boy back to his mother".

Valoya laid a hand on Kieran’s shoulder. She whispered an instruction in elvish, giving him a gentle push. He needed little encouragement to take those first tentative steps towards Morrigan. When it was clear that he wouldn't be sent back to the Temple of Mythal. Kieran took off at a run, whooping with delight.

“Mother! I've missed you so much!”

Their reunion was a blend of happy cries, excited barks, and the welling of tears.

Their joy pleased Ellana. “Ma serannas”.

“I can compromise when necessary”, declared Solas.

She snorted as if he’d told her a terrible joke. “Provided there’s suitable motivation?”

“You promised to answer my questions”.

“Three questions. Only. I’d use this time to think about them if I were you. I’ve no doubt you’ll hold me to my word”.

“Of course I will. Speak to Abelas while you can”.

“Oh. I intend too”.

Ellana studied the leader of Mythal’s sentinels. He was an imposing figure in the gilded steel-plate armour of his Order. Ellana saw golden eyes beneath the shadow of his cowl. He studied her for several moments, wary despite her lack of hostility. He gave her neither a greeting nor a nod of acknowledgement.

Ellana was unsurprised by his lukewarm reception. Abelas had reason to dread her judgement, even though she’d promised to hear him out. Solas’ coercion of Morrigan had led to Kieran’s kidnapping. It was a personal affront that the lad had been taken. The boy was a bargaining chip in a game centuries in the making.

The stakes were high.

Ellana addressed Abelas with a sense of urgency. “I’m ready to hear what you have to say. Shall we begin? Tell me what caused Flemeth’s daughter to leave her son at the Temple of Mythal”.

Although astonished by the deal she’d made, Abelas had sense enough to speak. The explanation came easier than he’d thought. Where Mythal would’ve censured him, Ellana was willing to listen. It was strange to confess something without the fear of reprimand. Ellana was unlike Mythal at least in this.

Abelas revealed the extent of Solas’ callousness.

“When Morrigan refused to do his bidding, Solas resorted to coercion. It was his will with the force of Mythal’s command behind it that caused her to give up her son. Morrigan was an unwilling participant in the exchange. She ranted and railed but her protestations were for naught. Solas decided Kieran would serve as a hostage until she had fulfilled her task”.

“To bring me to the Temple of Mythal”, finished Ellana.

“That was Solas’ goal”.

Abelas looked across the courtyard to Morrigan. He gave her a contrite nod, his face softening in sympathy. The gesture of compassion, so unexpected from him upset her. She was dewy-eyed, hugging her son. Ellana enquired further.

“You condoned this?”

Abelas sensed it would be a mistake to lie. “I found the act reprehensible. Alas, I could not dissuade Solas from hunting Morrigan or taking her child. My brethren and I were ordered to find and bring her back to the Temple of Mythal. We were also instructed to locate her son by any means necessary”.

“Did you hurt her?”

“There was a confrontation. No blood was shed, though we came to blows. We exchanged spells. She was subdued after Ilcen discovered her son. I tied her hands and feet, there was some bruising though it was attended to by our healer”.

“And Kieran?”

“Told his mother not to fret. He said that it was darkest before the dawn, but the sun always shone come morning. He urged her to be patient until the All Mother cast off her cloak. At first I thought he had meant Mythal for that was her cognomen among our people”.

“You think he spoke of someone else?” asked Ellana.

“I believe he did. He had much to say on the subject of Flemeth. It was a distraction when I pressed him for information about you. He does not like to lie, but nor will he divulge a secret. He knows more than he says he does, though he is loathe to admit it”.

“Perhaps he swore an oath of secrecy”.

Abelas went quiet for a moment. He tread with caution, sensing the danger ahead. “An oath is binding until it is either fulfilled or broken. Even a child can be bound to a promise. It was common practice in Mythal’s day”.

“I bet it was”, said Ellana, showing him her fangs. “You’re still going around in circles”.

“I doubt that. It is not a choice for an acolyte to keep an oath to Mythal. Once we have drunk from the Vir’abelasan. Our oath to her is binding unto the ending of our lives and beyond our deaths into oblivion. We cannot decide our fates nor can we choose to break the oaths we swore”.

“Your choice has nothing to do with Kieran”.

“It has more to do with his mother. She did drink from the Well”, he challenged with a shake of his head. “I think her boy is hiding something from us. Something you asked him to keep secret”.

“Why would I ask him to do that?” challenged Ellana.

“Because you are more than a mere Dalish maiden. Of that I am certain”.

Solas found Abelas’ words disquieting. He glimpsed Morrigan’s son until Arryn and his companions closed ranks. The skinny, black-haired boy disappeared behind a wall of gilded-steel. Abelas’ sentinels took their orders seriously to the point of obsession. Their cool indifference perturbed him.

Their faces were masks of discipline. There wasn’t a raised eyebrow, or the wrinkled bridge of a nose. Not even a craggy line of annoyance between two furrowed brows. Solas didn’t see the down-turned corners of a mouth, or the grim line of two lips pressed together. They were pale blank-faced statues not living elves.

The comparison frightened him.

It was a comfort when the skin prickled on the back of his neck. He tensed with unease, turning, and heard a mournful whine. Solas stared into the jewel-like eyes of Ellana’s mabari. The dog whined again, its pale ears drooping. Solas recognised empathy when he saw it, though Felassan had never understood.

The old dread was a ever-present burr under his skin.

He ignored those penetrating violet eyes, shuddering as he turned away. He focused on Abelas to distract himself, though he only heard half of what was said. He pondered about old fears, cloaks of shadow, and the most irritating ability of a rogue. Thieves and assassins were able to slip into and out of that space between light and darkness. Some called it stealth.

Others thought it a combination of alchemy and magic.

Solas had missed some of Abelas’ conversation with Ellana. He’d been too absorbed in his own inner turmoil to heed their discussion. He listened now with an attentiveness that raised goose-flesh along his arms. He was wary when Abelas baited Ellana. He repeated what he knew about Mythal, what he’d learned about Flemeth, and a strange woodland spirit.

“Mythal took the form of a dragon to travel across Elvhenan. Flemeth did too according to Kieran. He also mentioned a creature that disguised itself to move about Thedas. He said it was a guardian of the Chasind folk. A spirit with a heart of fire that resided in the Korcari Wilds”.

Ellana’s attention shifted from Abelas to Kieran. She held the boy’s gaze until he fidgeted, wringing his hands. He bit his lip when she arched an eyebrow. His shoulders slumped when she tutted with a disappointed click of her tongue. Kieran was self-conscious when he looked at her with his big guileless golden eyes.

“I tried to distract Abelas by talking about grandmother. It worked until my riddles bored him. He’d look at me the same way mother does when she knows I’m hiding something. So I told him about the Chasind folk and the spirit in the Korcari Wilds”.

“Did it ever occur to you to lie?” asked Ellana.

Kieran pouted. “Mother hates it when I do. My papa doesn’t mind. He told me that lying was the right thing to do if I had to protect someone. He calls it a lesser but sometimes necessary evil”.

He flinched when his mother griped.

“Of course your father would say that. It’s that accursed Grey Warden pride talking out of his arse”. She pointed a stern forefinger at her son. “If you’ve ever lied to me about anything important, Kieran Mahariel. You will be in trouble”.

“But, mother!”

Morrigan was quick to correct him.

"Lying is never the right thing to do, Kieran. It might seem a necessary evil, but that doesn't mean it should be a first choice or a last resort. Trust is more important than lying to someone to protect them. Imagine if the person you'd lied to found out the truth, then hated you for manipulating them. They'd never again trust anything you said or did on their behalf".

“I didn’t think about that”.

"Your father is a good man. But sometimes he forgets that trust goes both ways. A lie while meant with the best of intentions can be a double-edged sword. It can cut you as much as it cuts the person you've lied too. In the end it'll leave you both bleeding".

Kieran was contrite. “I'm sorry, mother”.

"The right and wrong of things isn’t always clear”, said Morrigan. “Be mindful of your decisions before you make them. Some things can’t be undone, no matter how hard we try. Your father found that out the hard way. He also lost a dear friend because of it”.

Ellana approved. “A fine lesson. Friendships are important”.

Her praise didn’t appease Morrigan. “I still don’t trust you”.

“Not yet. You’ll come around. Now, Kieran. There is something I must ask. Did you tell Abelas about the black cat that lives in the Korcari Wilds?”

Morrigan grimaced as if she’d swallowed a lemon. It was a sobering experience to watch Ellana interact with her son. She was kind and patient with him, sometimes teasing but never with malice. There was a camaraderie there, a trust and affection as if Ellana had known him all his life. Which was impossible when Morrigan considered where Kieran had been raised.

The crossroads of the Eluvian network had been his nursery.

Morrigan contemplated black cats, lost children, and a Dalish woman fierce and empathetic. She was worried, but Kieran had only one concern.

“Aunty”, he called. “Aren't you mad at me?"

“At you? Never”, Ellana assured him. “At Solas for kidnapping you. Absolutely”.

Kieran smiled from ear to ear with a flash of white teeth. “I didn’t tell Abelas about the cat”.

“Good lad. Although I do wonder about what else you’ve shared. Care to enlighten me?”

He was eager to please.

“I mentioned the darkness before the dawn and the cloak of shadows. Solas didn’t want to listen to a child’s ramblings. He left me alone, though he told the sentinel elves to watch and guard me. That changed this morning after he sent mother away”.

Solas braced himself when Ellana asked the inevitable.

“Did Solas hurt you?”

“No”, said Kieran with a child’s honesty. “But he wanted to speak to me. After what’d happened to mother, Abelas feared for my safety. So he confronted Solas. They argued like two co*ckerels in a hen-house, squawking, and ruffling their feathers. I thought Abelas would be pecked to death until you came through the Eluvian”.

Solas sighed, shaking his head. Abelas blushed, looking away. Both elves although millennia older than Kieran had lacked his maturity. The irony amused Ellana. She smirked when Solas glowered at her like a sullen tot. He didn’t see what was comical about Kieran’s colourful description of his argument with Abelas.

Ellana did. “Then I made a timely arrival”.

Morrigan found the joke flat and humourless. It’d been a terrifying climb inside the Watcher’s maw, upon stairs fashioned from its own teeth. She remembered the strings of saliva, the acrid stink of the viscous oil-like blood. She could still hear the drum-like thumping of a gargantuan heart inside a rib-cage of black bone. It’d beat long after Ellana had frozen the beast with a wave of her hand.

Morrigan shuddered when Kieran laughed in delight. The memory of the Watcher was so fresh in her mind that she almost didn’t hear him declare.

“Please forgive, mother. She doesn’t know you as well as I do”.

It was a shock to hear Ellana make a statement that was true.

“Given our shared history. I doubt she’ll ever trust me”.

“Even if mother never does. I do”, avowed Kieran. “You’ve always kept me safe in the Fade while I was dreaming”.

Morrigan glanced from her son to Ellana, scowling when she had the gall to wink. It was perilous for an untrained mage to wander the Fade alone. She set aside her fear of the Watcher, appealing to Kieran with all her maternal authority. If she couldn’t get an explanation from Ellana, she'd cow him into telling her the truth. Morrigan reminded her son about the inherent risks of dabbling in dream magic.

“The Fade is a dangerous place for a mage. You promised never to go there without me again. You could’ve been possessed by a demon. What is this about Ellana being privy to your dreams, Kieran?”

The boy fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs. “I can’t tell you”.

“Why not?”

“It’s a secret”.

“A secret? I’m your mother!” exclaimed Morrigan. “You will tell me what I want to know!”

“I can’t”.

“Kieran!”

“Papa said that if I made a promise to someone. I must keep it. I’m sorry, mother. I love you, but I can’t break my promise. I don’t want to disappoint, Papa”.

Morrigan was furious. “Kieran Mahariel! How dare you throw your father’s words back in my face! The gall of it! Oh! You’re just like him!”

Kieran flinched, averting his eyes. He stared at the ground, pretending not to have heard his mother’s frustrated cries. He studied the yellow lichen-crusted flagstones, counting the cracks between them. He hummed a tune under his breath, rocking back and forth on his heels. It was a sweet ditty without words. It startled the sentinel elves, who gawped at the half-elven boy swaying like a sapling in the breeze.

He was humming a song, he shouldn’t have known.

Ellana smiled when Morrigan took a defensive stance in front of Kieran. She raised a hand to ward off one of his sentinel guardians when they ventured too close.

“Don’t you dare touch my son! You’ve caused us enough grief! If you lay a finger on him, you’ll lose it!”

“I meant only to ask where Kieran learnt that song”, called auburn-haired Arryn.

“What importance does a Dalish cradle-song have to you?”

“A cradle-song?”

“My husband sang it to Kieran when he was a baby. It often helped to settle him for the night. Now he hums it to himself on occasion whenever he feels anxious”. Morrigan’s lip curled in annoyance. “Or when he’s trying to ignore me like his father does to avoid an argument”.

The corners of Kieran’s mouth curved upward. He smirked in that infuriating way Mahariel did when he was trying to keep the peace in their household. He didn’t respond, but he did keep humming that odd Dalish song. The tune fascinated the sentinel, though his interest made Morrigan uneasy. She was mistrustful when he inquired further.

“Does your son know the words?”

“Why do you care?” she snapped. “I know how you Elvhen feel about the Dalish. They’re nothing but shadows wearing vallaslin. Creatures with the face of an elf, but the lifespan of a shemlen. They’re no better than humans to your kind”.

Her continued hostility irritated Arryn, though he kept his cool. “The Dalish may have remembered something we had thought long forgotten”.

Kieran was still humming his song.

Abelas watched them along with Solas, who cast surreptitious glances at Ellana.

“That song is not a child’s lullaby”, corrected Arryn.

“Then what is it?” demanded Morrigan.

Arryn eyed Ellana, who stood serene under the sun. She returned his scrutiny with a wink and a smile. He made a statement that alarmed Abelas, Solas, and the rest of the sentinel elves. He had drawn a conclusion from the clues Kieran had given them. The boy’s riddles coupled with their knowledge of Ellana proved her undoing.

“It was a hymn once sung in the temples of Elgar’nan, spouse of Mythal, and the All-Father of the elven pantheon. It was not a tribute to him, but to another greater in power. The mother of the primordial flame from whom sprang the sun, the moon, and the innumerable stars. She was the fore-mother of Elgar’nan and Sylaise the Hearth-keeper. The heavens were her temple, the world her altar, and all the creatures within it were her children”.

“I’ve never heard of such a being”, challenged Morrigan.

“You would not have”, stated Arryn with certainty. “Unless you had been born in the years before the foundations of Arlathan were laid. Few of the Elvhen remain that lived in that time. Fewer still remember Elvhenan in its infancy. But I know that hymn, its tune, and the words to it”.

“How?”

“My grandmother was a priestess in the Vir Elgara, the Temple of the Sun dedicated to the worship of Elgar’nan. She raised me inside its halls until I was old enough to pledge myself to Mythal. She sang that song to me when I was a child. It was my cradle-song. It has often been a prayer of comfort in the darkest moments of my life”.

Awed by his explanation, Morrigan sought clarity. “You're saying that the being described in that hymn was female? A god of some sort?"

“She was more than a god. She was the beginning of all things”.

“What was she called?”

“She had many names. My grandmother liked to call her Amaevhen”.

“That name could mean guardian, protector, or guide in elvish”.

“Amae is a variation of Mamae meaning mother”, explained Arryn. “If your husband is Dalish. You should know what the meaning of Vhen is”.

Morrigan didn’t like what he was implying. “I know what it means. My mother taught me how to read elvish runes. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve also drunk from the Vir’abelasan. I know as much about the elven language as you do”.

“I meant no offence. Ir abelas”.

She gaped at him in astonishment, more perplexed than irritated by his response. “You apologised to me”.

“Surprised?”

“I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer”.

“I understand”, replied Arryn. “You have had the privilege of meeting other Elvhen like Fen’Harel”. He inclined his head to Felassan the mabari, the corners of his mouth curving upward. His cheeks dimpled when he smiled. “The Elvhen have always had a reputation for making the worst first impressions”.

Morrigan wondered if he knew the elf underneath the dog’s snowy pelt. “Too prideful?” she groused.

“On occasion”.

Morrigan was reminded of her first meeting with Felassan. Arryn was eerily like him, but didn’t behave like an arrogant twat. She’d gotten the impression that he wasn’t a bigot, but simply curious about her. Morrigan was leery when Arryn appraised her as he might have a cow at the market. Up and down he looked at her, lips pursing as if he were estimating her worth in coin.

She took immediate offence. “Vhen means – Of the People”, she hissed, her teeth gritted as if she were snarling at him. “Elvhenan meant – Place of our People. If what you say is true then Amaevhen means – Mother of the People. Which should be impossible if Mythal is the All Mother of the elven pantheon. No goddess but her has ever had that title”.

Arryn was enjoying himself. It was entertaining to debate with someone so spirited.

“Amaevhen was an elvish deity not shemlen. It was believed that she descended from the heavens, took the guise of an elf, and lived among the Elvhen. My grandmother told me that she had married and begot children by one of us. She also said that Amaevhen aided our people during times of strife and upheaval”.

Morrigan gawked at him as if he were mad. “You got all that from a boy humming an old Dalish tune?”

“Your Dalish husband taught you and your son that song. Do you not realise how significant that is?”

She was sceptical. “Not exactly. If you’re so sure about it. Tell me what you think happened to those that survived the fall of Arlathan”.

Arryn shared the conclusions he’d made thanks to her son.

“If Kieran knows the tune to one of our most ancient hymns. It means Amaevhen must have made herself known to the Dalish during their history. Your husband’s cradle-song was passed down through the generations. Taught to his forbears, then to his grandparents, and so on until Mahariel learned it himself. If Amaevhen went to his ancestors after the collapse of Elvhenan, then she intended to save them”.

Morrigan was still unconvinced. “The Dalish worship the gods of the elven pantheon, not some half-remembered goddess".

“You shemlen are so short-sighted”, complained Arryn. “Amaevhen doesn’t just mean mother, protector, guide, or guardian. It means – Keeper of the People – in its most literal sense. Do the Dalish not call the leaders of their clans – Keepers?”

“How do you know that?”

“Who do you think told us?”

Morrigan frowned as she considered the woman that’d brought her to the Temple of Mythal. She was frightened when Ellana raised a scarred left-hand to her mouth. She pressed two fingers to her lips, blowing her a kiss in a mocking salute. The sapphire florets of the band on her ring finger shone in the sun. Morrigan understood why Felassan had been furious with Ellana.

If what Arryn had said was true.

He’d been sworn to silence.

Morrigan glanced at the dog lounging in the sun. Felassan sat on his haunches with his jaws open, tongue lolling as he panted in the morning heat. He was doing an excellent impression of a four-legged flea-farm. Felassan turned his neck as he raised a hind paw, the muscles bunching and coiling beneath his pelt. He attacked a stubborn itch behind a snowy ear, fur flying as he scratched.

“Fenedhis”, complained Morrigan. She was appalled by his behaviour. “Have you no dignity?”

Felassan turned his muzzle towards his belly.

“Don’t you dare lick your balls!”

He whined.

“No!”

A canine huff of regret and Felassan lowered his hind-leg to the ground. He resumed panting in the sun as relaxed and unassuming as a real mabari.

Ellana laughed in delight. Felassan hadn’t yet betrayed her secrets, nor did he seem to care if Arryn had deduced her identity. She saluted the clever sentinel with a wave of her hand. “You’ve made such bold claims. What would you do if they were true?”

Morrigan’s eyes bulged in fury. She opened her mouth to demand answers when Felassan growled. She paled when she saw someone striding towards them. She stepped in front of Kieran, giving him a firm shove. He stumbled but soon found his footing when Arryn touched his shoulder.

The sentinel steadied him until Solas strode passed.

Abelas moved to intercept him. He tensed, pausing when Ellana called out.

“It’s all right. Solas wouldn’t be foolish enough to lay a hand on me without my permission”. She regarded her estranged beau, a silver brow arching. “He knows he’d lose it if he dared to try my patience. Isn’t that right, ma vhenan?”

The question stopped Solas cold. He froze mid-reach with his gauntleted fingers hovering in the air. He was inches from grasping her scarred left hand, the band on her finger sparkling as if in provocation. He glared at her in outrage as if she’d sprung a trap that’d caught him unawares. The words of endearment she’d flung back at him had stung too.

“You dare to mock me?”

Ellana co*cked her head like a curious hound. “By using the words you said often enough to me in Skyhold? A heart is a precious thing, though a soul has greater value. Yours shines like spun gold in and out of the Fade. I’d have claimed you for myself if not for Mythal”.

“What?”

“I like beautiful things”.

Solas reddened when she appraised him as if he were a stallion put to stud.

Where a butterfly had colourful wings, Solas was clad in gilt leather and steel plate. It clung to him like strips of bark twisting around a tree trunk. He wore a hooded robe in the style of the sentinel elves with a high-collared jerkin beneath. A strip of pale fur adorned his right shoulder, whilst a belt of tooled leather rode his left. Gilded pauldrons, vambraces, and gauntlets protected his arms.

Rings of chain mail beneath an overlay of form-fitting leather hugged his thighs. Ellana saw the abstract faces of elves embossed in the gilt leather on his kneecaps. His greaves were a mix of steel and dragon-skin though it was the eyes that drew her attention. Each was painted in black in a line of three on his shins. The tops of the boots beneath were overlapping strips of leather lain over the arch of each foot.

Ellana was certain the Elvhen had no idea of what passed for comfortable footwear. She was fascinated by the sight of Solas’ toes in what resembled steel-tipped claws. She wondered about the inspiration for ancient elven fashions. She was reminded of dragon scales, tree branches, and the veins of leaves. Solas’ armour whilst practical left little to the imagination.

It was snug in all the right places. She leered at his crotch longer than was polite. She exhaled a sigh of profound reluctance when Solas called her name. She looked up into his flushed face. Her leering had flustered him.

“Yes?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Venavis!”

“If you insist”. She smirked at the gauntleted hand poised inches from her wrist. “You look quite delectable in that armour. I wouldn’t mind peeling it off and devouring you on the spot. Although I’d only do that with your permission”.

Solas snatched his hand back as if she were a naked flame. Ellana knew he’d felt the heat in her gaze as much as he’d heard it in the teasing lilt of her voice. She’d caught him off guard again. A fact that was as pleasing as it was comical. The infamous Dread Wolf was blushing like a boy barely passed his first century.

“Afraid I’ll burn you?”

Solas refused to answer, still red-faced with embarrassment.

Ellana pressed her advantage before he could regain his composure.

“Lest I remind you, we’ve made a bargain. Abelas hasn’t finished his tale. You said that you wouldn’t interfere”. Her next words cut him to the quick. “Do you break your promises as easily as you make them?”

Solas stared at her, contrite. “I try not to, but that is not always possible”.

“Will you interfere again?”

“We must talk”.

“Yes we must”, acknowledged Ellana with a methodicalness that made him uneasy. “Not to worry. It’ll be over sooner than you think”.

Ellana looked through him as if he were made of glass. She didn’t seem to see or hear him as she gazed into the distance. Her eyes were on the horizon. Solas wondered what she saw in that line between heaven and earth. The past, the present, or a dark and desolate future?

“I must make a decision after all”.

Solas didn’t know what she’d meant, but he again felt that sense of foreboding. He would’ve asked a question, tried to get her talking if she hadn’t ignored him. Ellana’s focus returned to Abelas, who tensed as if in fear. Morrigan and the sentinel elves were wary too.

Only Kieran and Felassan were unafraid.

“You have a tale to finish”, she coaxed. “Now would be a good time for me to hear its ending”.

Abelas floundered like a fish out of water. He didn’t know if he should recoil in fright or prostrate himself as he once had before Mythal. If Ellana was Amaevhen, she had existed before Arlathan, Elvhenan, and the Evanuris. A myth given flesh, the eldest of his peoples’ principle deities. It was terrifying to think that he’d once thought she was one of the Forgotten Ones.

A goddess that’d somehow escaped banishment to the void.

“It’s all right. I’m not here to hurt you”, said Ellana. “I’m here to listen to the tale about a mother and her child. Solas has erred. I would know how, even if I know why. It’s important”.

Abelas found his voice though he was still afraid. “Why?”

“Morrigan feared for Kieran while he was in the Temple of Mythal”.

“She was right too”.

“How so?”

“Mythal is dead but the threads of the oaths sworn to her remain. Morrigan drank from the Vir’abelasan of her own volition, tying herself by word and deed to the will of Mythal. She did not swear the vows of fealty, but she made the pact. Her life, mine, and the lives of my brethren belong to Mythal”.

Solas’ mouth thinned. He didn’t like what he was hearing. “You dare-” he began though Abelas cut him off.

“You bear the remnants of Mythal’s soul, but you are not Mythal”. Abelas turned to Ellana, bowing his head in obeisance. “Kieran’s presence here is due to the violation of our trust. Solas used the sentinel oath and bond to subjugate the acolytes of Mythal. We were fodder in his schemes to ensure that you kept your word”.

Solas stilled when Ellana frowned then regarded him with concern. He trembled when he saw the sadness in her eyes. He’d expected her to be angry not disappointed. The sigh of resignation that followed stung. He wondered if he’d destroyed what little faith she’d had left in him.

“You believe Solas violated the bond of trust Mythal shared with the sentinel elves”.

“That is not the worst part”, asserted Abelas. “By his mistreatment of Morrigan, Solas showed his true regard for the acolytes of Mythal. Our lives are as meaningless to him as they were to Flemeth. Morrigan might be shemlen but she is still bound as we are. As the bearer of Mythal’s soul, Solas’ word is law inside the walls of her last bastion in Thedas”.

Solas heard the murmurs of agreement amidst the sentinel elves. He felt the weight of their combined dislike through the magic that leashed them to Mythal. It gnawed at him like sharp teeth on a bone. He’d abused the ancient rite of passage demanded of all that’d served the All-Mother. It was an oath to bind them to a lifetime of service and a tether to ensure their loyalty in perpetuity.

Solas bristled when he heard the whispers of rebuke from the spirits of the Vir’abelasan.

The dead were as resentful of him as the living.

But it was Ellana’s opinion that mattered here. He hadn’t anticipated Abelas appealing to her as if she were Mythal. Solas saw Morrigan lift a pale hand to her mouth. She gawped at Abelas as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Her eyes flitted to Ellana who rendered judgement (of a kind).

“Neither you nor the sentinel elves are at fault. All those that have drunk from the Vir’abelasan are bound to the will of Mythal. Your place is to serve, even to question, but never to disobey. The right to choose was stripped from you, the act of freewill bound and strangled by a leash of magic”.

Ellana frowned, shaking her head. “That Solas gave the order to capture Morrigan doesn’t absolve you of responsibility. But neither does it make you guilty of carrying out orders that conflicted with your beliefs. The truth is, child. An acolyte of Mythal can’t refuse to fulfil a direct command even if they find it disagreeable”.

Abelas gaped at her in astonishment. He’d expected a reprimand not calm acceptance about something he couldn’t change. This wasn’t the sometimes vengeful deity he’d once served. Ellana was kinder and more insightful than he’d expected. Which made perfect sense if she was whom he thought her to be.

“How do you know that?” he asked with keen interest.

“I know many things, though the how is less important than the why of it. Neither of which are relevant to your question”.

“Should I not be the judge of that?”

“No. I’m entitled to my secrets”.

“Fine”, grumbled Abelas. “But if you know an acolyte cannot defy an order from Mythal. Then you know the sentinel oath and bond forces our obedience under duress. If Solas knew that and used it against us than it is a blight on our honour. We are servants but we are not slaves”.

Solas regretted the rashness of a decision made in haste. He’d been angry when Abelas had counselled him against seeking Morrigan. The sentinel had been right, though he’d been loathe to listen. Now he sensed something shift and change between them. Solas was bewildered when Ellana spoke of things she shouldn’t have known.

Only the ancient elves knew what it’d meant to wear the vallaslin of an Evanuris.

“There was little distinction between servitude and slavery in Elvhenan”, revealed Ellana. "A leash was still a leash no matter how artful the vallaslin branded onto an elven face. Mythal preferred the sweeping branches of a tree to Elgar’nan’s barbed vines. It was a method of control designed to ensure obedience from the most fanatical to the least loyal. You’re still shackled, Abelas even if your tether isn’t fashioned from iron or steel”.

The leader of the sentinel elves recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “How can you say such a thing?”

“You swore an oath. You are bound by it. The motivation behind Solas’ command changes nothing. Morrigan was captured and Kieran taken hostage to lure me to the Temple of Mythal. What you want from me isn’t judgement. It’s reassurance that in Mythal’s absence, I will assume responsibility for your people”.

With his motivations laid bare, Abelas had the gall to argue.

“You agreed to help Morrigan. Her involvement in Solas’ schemes changes everything. Although her cooperation was as involuntary as ours’ she is still an acolyte of Mythal. Thus any promises you made to her, any offer of help you extended is owed to us as well”.

“You know not what you ask”, warned Ellana. “You swore an oath to Mythal. You cannot pledge yourself to another when you are already bound”.

“If you are Amaevhen!” barked Abelas in frustration. “Then you are the mother of flame! The first-born of the Elvhen! The beginning of our people! You could break that oath!”

“To do what?”

“To take us back into your keeping. We are your children. Resume your place as our mother again. Guide us to salvation. Is that not what you have done for the Chasind?”

Ellana’s expression was pained. She glanced from him to Solas, who gawped at her in wide-eyed incredulity. To answer Abelas’ question was to confirm Arryn’s claims. She shook her head as if to deny him. Abelas interpreted her reluctance as refusal then rejection.

“You cannot turn your back on us!”

Solas knew the moment Ellana lost her patience with him. He stared when dark scales sprouted upon her fingers. The tips of her nails turned into long black sickle-shaped claws. His breath caught in his throat when he spied her face. Her skin was smooth and brown but each of her jade-green eyes had a slender cat-like pupil.

Her voice boomed like a clap of thunder. “I am not Mythal!” Her lips peeled back from her jagged teeth. She snarled at Abelas, her fangs bared. The guttural rumble of her displeasure was like steel grinding on stone.

“I don’t make slaves of the free! I don’t forge collars of steel, iron, or magic to bind my people! You dare imply that I am akin to the one who led and deceived you? You are bound by the oaths you swore to Mythal of your own volition! You chose to drink from the Vir’abelasan and enslave yourselves!”

Kieran was alarmed when Ellana’s shadow solidified beneath the sun. He reached for the nearest source of comfort, wrapping his arms around Felassan’s neck. He pressed his cheek against the thick ruff of snow-white fur. Felassan whined when he smelt the sulphurous stink of brimstone. A wave of heat followed that left a shimmering distortion in the air, inches above the flagstones.

The patches of yellow lichen shrivelled turning brown, then black in death. The trees and shrubs growing out of the crumbling walls around the Vir’abelasan withered. Leaves turned from green to dry desiccated brown. The boughs were blown clear when the wind whipped into a frenzy. Dead leaves skittered across the ground like spiders.

Morrigan laid a hand on her son’s head, brushing her fingers through his hair. He resembled her, but he was still his father’s son. He neither wept nor sniffled in distress as a human child might have. He was quiet as the grave, trembling in fright but silent lest he draw attention to himself. She swallowed her fear, putting on a brave face as she hugged him tight.

“Ellana”, she called in a tremulous voice. “You’re frightening my son”.

The wind died down, the sweltering heat subsiding though the sulphurous stink remained. It was hard to maintain her composure when Ellana turned around. She saw the iridescent sheen of myriad pearl-like scales on her face from brow to chin. Then the slitted cat-like pupils of her eyes widened in recognition. Ellana’s lips parted, a forked tongue rolled out from behind her fangs.

The apology was a raspy serpentine hiss that took Morrigan by surprise.

“Ir abelas. I must leave before I do something regrettable. I will return when I’m feeling less inclined to roast Abelas alive. Have faith, sweetling. You will leave this place before the day is done”.

Ellana bent her knees, bringing her arms down tight into her belly. She bowed her head for a moment until she leapt high as if to thrust herself skyward. Her scaled skin turned a dull smoky-grey, though her eyes burned like molten pools of veilfire. Morrigan recognised the signs of shape-shifting magic though she’d never seen a mage turn to ash.

Ellana disintegrated in the blink of an eye, shedding her elven form.

“Nae!” cried Solas on the brink of panic. “Ma vhenan!”

Morrigan saw the tears welling until he was knocked back by a gust of cold air. He stumbled when a gargantuan shadow leapt into the sky. Abelas swore when a pair of silver wings stretched towards the sun. The sentinel elves were awestruck by the serpentine body. Powerful fore and hindquarters tapered down into thick hand-like paws with sickle-shaped claws.

A long silver tail lashed a scaled belly slashed by bands of black and brown.

A dragoness glowered down at them. Her eyes burned like molten flame beneath a crown of horns. The first set swept back and over the top of her head, reminiscent of the grey-skinned Qunari. The second set rolled outward like the horns of a bull. The third set curled downward ram-like as if stabbing towards the earth.

She was terrifying when she snorted at them as if in disdain, her scaled nostrils flaring. Then she turned as if in contempt with the swiftness of a falcon on-wing. Her tail like a rudder steered her clear of the courtyard surrounding the Vir’abelasan. A mighty flap of her wings sent her sailing over the pool, the leaf-less trees, and the bare rocks into the distance. Felassan howled when she flew away.

He tore free of Kieran, barking in irate panic. He darted round and round in a circle chasing the docked stub of his own tail. He didn’t stop his frantic barking until Solas spat a command in elvish. The mabari stilled tense as a drawn bowstring. He still bared his fangs and growled when Solas offered him some insight.

“She flew east towards the Altar of Mythal”.

Felassan took off in a streak of white, paws pelting the ground. He skirted round Morrigan and Kieran then cut a line through the sentinel elves. He scrambled his way down the stone steps that would lead him into the Temple of Mythal. Abelas watched him go, unsurprised that he knew the way. His fellow sentinels looked down the stairway too, following the mabari’s flight.

“I had wondered what became of him”, said Arryn. “He was a stripling when he first walked inside the temple halls”.

“I know”, affirmed Abelas. “It appears as if Ellana has taken him under her wing. He always had an affinity for healing magic but never shape-shifting”. He paused, frowning. “I cannot believe she did not tell us that she was Amaevhen. After all these years we had assumed she was a Forgotten One”.

“You forget”, replied Arryn. “The old stories say that it was in Amaevhen’s nature to be secretive. She was often said to don a mantle of clouds in daylight and a cloak of shadows at dusk. Such was her love for the moon and stars that she was loathe to outshine them. Thus she would disguise herself in whatever form she pleased, day or night”.

“To move among our people?”

“If she chose too. My grandmother often joked that Amaevhen detested fame. She preferred to blend in than to stick out. That was why she donned elven form to move among us. If Ellana is Amaevhen then I bet she hated being the Inquisitor to the shemlen”.

"Too many eyes, ears, and expectations?"

"Exactly. How could she come and go as she pleased. If everyone was watching her?”

Chapter 7: A Wraith in a Wolf pelt

Chapter Text

The debate lasted an hour before Solas made the final decision. “I will go”, he declared to the consternation of the sentinel elves.

Abelas, Ilcen, and Arryn exchanged worried glances. They’d heard Ellana’s outburst, then seen her transform into the most feared creature in Thedas. A High Dragon was larger, fiercer, and more dangerous than a smaller male drake. If Ellana used that form as Flemeth had with utter ruthlessness. They were in a world of trouble.

Solas preferred to face her alone. “I have the strength to oppose her. You do not. It will be less of a risk, if I go to the Altar of Mythal”.

The sentinel elves didn't try to dissuade him.

Abelas remembered the fury he’d near unleashed upon himself and his people. Ellana’s capriciousness, tempered by compassion had spared him from being set aflame. Solas suspected Ellana’s reaction had been a flare of temper rather than true aggression. His beloved was petty, even spiteful, but she was often more empathetic than cruel.

A fact that only Arryn was confident enough to believe.

“She is Amaevhen”, he stated with utter surety. “There were mosaics of her inside the halls of the Vir Elgara. Like Mythal she often took the form of a dragon. But she had silver scales instead of red, a crown of horns, and eyes like torches of veilfire. Although we have offended her with our presumptuousness. Given time to reflect she might forgive us”.

“I doubt that”, countered Solas. “We all saw what she did”.

He gestured to the courtyard around them. Ellana had singed their world with magic. The leafless boughs of the trees were blackened and smoking. The rocky walls encircling the Vir'abelasan were scorched. The flagstones beneath their feet, once covered in lichen were charred and flaking.

“This was not the spellwork of an ordinary mage”, clarified Solas. “The intent was to avoid causing us harm by shifting the focus elsewhere. The bare rocks, the trees, and the flagstones bore the brunt of Ellana’s temper. An ordinary mage would never have had the forethought or the skill to redirect the force of their own spell. If Ellana has an affinity for fire magic, she might be more than she seems”.

Arryn was insulted that Solas would question his conviction.

Abelas interceded before he could start an argument. He gave the younger sentinel a stern glower, shaking his head. Arryn’s lip curled with the indignant pride of his youth. He eyed Solas with derision, but held his tongue. An obeisant nod appeased Abelas till Arryn shared a look with Morrigan’s son.

Kieran smiled from ear to ear, his cheeks dimpling with a flash of white teeth.

Arryn bowed his head in response, reassured by the acknowledgement.

Morrigan was displeased by the exchange. She eyed him with mistrust, laying her hands on Kieran's shoulders. She kept her son close, though Abelas wasn’t sure if it was for the boy’s sake or her own. Kieran was already on amicable terms with most of the sentinel elves.

Especially Arryn.

Abelas wondered if she’d ever loosen the apron strings to allow her son to grow into a man. He looked at Solas, and wondered if Mythal had been wise to do the same. The Dread Wolf was often unpredictable in his moods – sometimes amiable, sometimes fractious. The events of the passed two days had left him tetchier than a bear with a toothache. Abelas knew from experience that Ellana was like a cat, uncaring of whom she batted about with her paws.

He'd often found her past meddling irksome too.

He was wary whilst he conferred with Solas.

“It was a near thing”, said Abelas whilst Arryn fumed in silence. “If not for Morrigan, Ellana might have obliterated the Vir'abelasan, and us along with it. When she hesitated it was as if she had come out of a trance. I have seen that reaction in warriors awakening from the haze of blood-lust after a battle. It was only then that Ellana realised what she’d been about to do”.

Solas snorted, the slight shake of his head a cue that he was listening.

“She was amenable until you infuriated her. Ellana likes to make her own decisions in her own time. By trying to force her hand, you backed her into a corner. While she respects initiative, she hates being manipulated. She might forgive your vehemence, but she will not forget your discourtesy”.

Abelas frowned. “She sounds like a mother trying to discipline an errant child”.

Solas smiled. “That is more or less how she was as the Inquisitor. What were the hordes of terrified shemlen, if not a flock of frightened children? Ellana managed them as such, even those she considered close friends. She often played shepherdess, politician, and peacemaker between various factions”.

“She guided, guarded, and counselled them like a mother. Traits often attributed to Amaevhen”.

“You think so?”

“I hope so, although she was more lenient than I had expected”.

Abelas thought on what’d happened. He’d asked Ellana to help the remaining acolytes of Mythal out of desperation. If she had aided Morrigan, than he’d assumed she would assist them. Abelas wondered if he'd been overbold when Ellana had proven reluctant. She might have changed her mind if he hadn't lost his temper.

Had he ruined their chances by drawing a line in the sand?

“I do not know what enraged her more”, he admitted with chagrin. “My insistence that she help us, or our indelible link to Mythal”.

“It was likely both”, concluded Solas. “Do you have any idea why?”

Abelas pondered the question. He thought on Ellana’s reaction to his entreaties. One thing troubled him. He remembered the moment she’d lost her composure. The expression of raw grief on her face still haunted him.

It was as if her world had shattered into a thousand pieces.

“I do not. But there was something in the way she looked at you. I saw pain, regret, and a fervent yearning in her eyes. Ellana may have lost someone that was important to her. She may even be grieving”.

Solas was quiet for several moments, recalling the face he’d seen reflected in her eyes. It’d been his own as recognisable as if he’d gazed into a pool of water. Yet there’d been unsettling differences. Sky-blue irises, blood-red hair, and a smile full of light, love, and joy. Solas ached to know his reflection’s identity.

Had the man with his face been Ellana’s beloved?

“Possibly”, stated Solas, though he didn’t elaborate. “If Mythal were responsible for her loss than Ellana may harbour a grudge. I have seen her angry before, but never like that. She was incensed when you accused her of abandoning the sentinel elves. You implied that she was akin to Mythal, a comparison she did not appreciate”.

"Then I am lucky to be alive".

Abelas exhaled a wary breath, shuddering at the memory of Ellana glaring at him. She’d taken umbrage with an alarming swiftness. Yet she hadn’t reacted with the vindictiveness of the often hot-tempered Elgar'nan. She'd been furious, but she’d left the temple rather than punish him. It'd been a sobering and informative experience.

Ellana was a shape-shifter like Morrigan, and resentful of his mistress.

Abelas made a bold statement. “Could Ellana have been feuding with Mythal?” He regretted uttering the thought aloud when Solas stared at him. His black brows were arched in surprise as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. Abelas was surprised when he asked him a rather dubious question.

“What made you think so?”

“The severity of her reprimand. The way she described the Evanuris’ use of vallaslin in Elvhenan. She found the practice distasteful, even abhorrent as if it were a personal offence. It was then that I wondered if she had a grievance with Mythal. That she wanted to roast me alive, but relented might have been a temporary reprieve”.

“Do you think that she intends to kill you?”

“How can I claim to know the mind of a god? Amaevhen is everything that Mythal aspired to be, but could never hope to become. She is not a parasitic soul residing inside the borrowed flesh of an elven host. She was born a deity. If that is true than she is a greater danger to us than any of the Evanuris”.

Solas didn’t like what he was implying. “Mythal is not a parasite”.

“That is a matter of perspective”, cautioned Abelas.

“You sound like Ellana”.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“I am unsure. Do you enjoy vexing others?”

“On occasion. Although I will admit that enraging Ellana was unwise. It seems that she is unpredictable when riled. Which makes her difficult to anticipate, rather unfortunate if we had to engage her in battle. She would have the element of surprise”.

Solas was unsurprised by Abelas’ cautiousness. He had served Mythal for centuries, witnessing her successes and failures in Elvhenan. While Arryn believed that Ellana was Amaevhen, Solas was unconvinced of her divinity. There had been no records of her in the annals of the Temple of Mythal. No stories, statues, or murals had existed of Amaevhen outside Elgar'nan’s domain.

A place he’d never been invited to visit due to an intense mutual dislike.

“Do you think Ellana will count me among her foes?”

“You are Fen'Harel, the Lord of Tricksters”, announced Abelas, although to Solas it was a title not praise. “You alone of the Evanuris turned against Elgar’nan after Mythal was murdered. Only you could have had the audacity to court and spurn Amaevhen. I am amazed that she did not go after you with a gelding iron. A woman scorned might ruin your reputation, but a goddess would cut off your balls”.

“She did not”, Solas assured him. “I am whole of life and limb”.

“For now. She may yet exact her revenge”.

“That she might”, he agreed. “Do you know more about Amaevhen?”

“Some things, though not near as much as a priest of Elgar'nan”.

Solas grimaced in distaste as he struggled to broach the subject. He’d had little interest in the fables pre-dating Elvhenan during his time in Arlathan. He'd been more concerned about serving Mythal, ever beneath Elgar'nan’s watchful gaze. He’d had enemies and admirers aplenty, but few friends. It’d been easier dancing the line between peril and safety than trusting anyone in Mythal's court.

“Would you tell me?”

Abelas regarded him with suspicion. “A question, but not an order. How unexpected from someone as prideful as you are. Why ask this of me when you can command that I tell you? I have seen your callousness, I doubt that you have a guilty conscience”.

“What if I were to apologise?”

“It would be insincere”.

Solas didn’t like the ring of truth in his words. Abelas had served Mythal too. The sentinel had seen him caper about the court hearing whispers, and spreading lies. Solas had been more than Mythal’s hound. He’d been the chief of her spies.

“Tell me what you know”.

The corner of Abelas’ mouth curved upward. He smirked, more amused than afraid. Amaevhen was a mystery to those who hadn’t served Elgar’nan. What he knew was thanks to the Temple of Mythal’s ties to the priestesses of the Vir Elgara. He bowed his head, then recited what he knew of Ellana’s supposed true nature.

“The legends say that Amaevhen loved with the fervidness of a flame, all passion and fire. But when she mourned, that ardour burned low leaving hot ash and devastation behind. Amaevhen understood loss, but never death. She is eternal unto the ending of the world, and beyond it into oblivion. In loving one of us, and in bearing his children, she forever tied herself to the people of Elvhenan”.

Abelas had relayed the words he’d once heard from Anise, Arryn’s grandmother. She'd been a passionate woman, dedicated to her role as High Priestess of the Vir Elgara. Abelas remembered the golden temple that'd stood on the hill overlooking Arlathan. He'd once climbed its granite stairs then walked between its marble pillars. He'd seen the avenue of statues of Elgar’nan that'd led to its gigantic gilded oak doors.

He'd passed under a vaulted archway then into the Hall of Shrines. It was there that Abelas had seen the mosaics of Amaevhen in her most venerated form. A dragon fashioned from silver, ebony, and viridian tiles inside a gilded frame. A serpent on a field of green, with her wings unfurled, and her tail curled around a figure with pointed ears. For centuries Abelas had wondered who that faceless, genderless elven being might be.

He studied Solas, pausing to consider what the mosaic could mean. He’d not seen it in centuries, but he recalled the way the tiles had shone in the firelight. It’d been a beautiful rendition of ancient elven artwork. A lasting tribute to an ancestress of the elves that’d been all but forgotten outside the Vir Elgara. The Temple of the Sun had been Elgar'nan’s primary place of worship in Elvhenan.

A shiver of foreboding crawled down Abelas’ spine like a spider. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on-end. His skin goose-pimpled with apprehension. He couldn’t explain how or why, but he sensed that this was a moment of portentousness. He gave Solas one last piece of insight.

“Amaevhen would lose all that she loved. First her husband, then her children, and finally her descendants. One after another, century by century, they were enslaved by the Evanuris. That is why Amaevhen may have been at war with Mythal. She loved her family, but she could not free them from the Evanuris’ control”.

“Did she ever try?” asked Solas.

“I know not. Much of our history was crafted by the priesthood under the command of the Evanuris. How much of our past can we claim is true? I know only what I was taught. Although there is some truth in the stories about Amaevhen’s family”.

“How do you know that?”

“I knew the High Priestess of Elgar'nan’s principle temple in Arlathan”.

“She told you about Amaevhen”.

“Yes”.

“Why?”

“She was Amaevhen’s descendant. She transcribed her family tree for Elgar’nan into the temple annals. She could recall every name from each generation. Anise knew as much about Amaevhen as she did her own genealogy. Why would she lie about something she was proud of?”

It was the first time Solas had heard of Elgar'nan’s High Priestess by name. “I still do not see the connection Amaevhen’s children have to Mythal”.

Abelas gaped at him in astonishment. “You do not know?”

“What is it?” demanded Solas.

“It was common knowledge in the Temple of Mythal. An open secret shared by every servant, scribe, and priest. The ceremonies of transference were a sacred affair. You were always in attendance, so I had assumed you were privy to Mythal's preferred choice of host. They were always from the same family”.

The reminder made Solas’ stomach churn. A special ceremony had once been conducted in the sanctity of the Altar of Mythal. Upon a slab of white marble, gowned in her finery the frail vessel of Mythal had often lain beside another. Always young, female, and elven with a biting wit and a shrewd intelligence. Solas had watched the High Priest of Mythal conduct the transfer of Mythal's soul from the old vessel to the new.

“They were elven women between the ages of eighty and a hundred years old”, recounted Solas. “They were often the daughters of the acolytes of Mythal, born and raised in the temple”.

“That is true for the most part”, confirmed Abelas. “But Mythal did not choose her hosts from among her own servants. They were fostered”.

“Fostered?”

“Mythal favoured hosts from a family descended from one principle ancestor. The women of that bloodline were often priestesses of Elgar’nan. Arryn is the grandchild of Anise, the last High Priestess of the Vir Elgara. Her daughter Isera was a fosterling raised in the Temple of Mythal. She was twelve months old when Anise gave her to us”.

“Isera”, repeated Solas, as if the name might stir his memory. He didn’t know the face of the woman that’d once attended Mythal. But she was likely a handmaiden that’d worn the purest white robes. She would've worn silver bracelets on her wrists and golden sandals on her feet. Revered, loved, and envied she would’ve been a living sacrifice.

Abelas saw the craggy line between his brows, the lack of recognition. Solas couldn't recollect the face of the girl that’d spied on him. She’d never been disrespectful, but Abelas had seen the way she’d observed him. Isera had lurked in the darkest corners wherever the Dread Wolf had prowled. She’d reported everything she'd seen him do and heard him say to Mythal.

“Fenedhis”, he swore, losing patience with Solas. “She had Arryn’s hair and eyes. She always had a sour expression on her face whenever she saw you. It was as if she had sucked on a lemon after swallowing a mouthful of honey. Do you remember her now, Fen’Harel?”

Solas’ cheeks flushed red. “I do”, he replied with gritted teeth. He was too proud to admit that he’d needed Abelas’ insight. He scowled, the jut of his lip indignant. “Mythal often sent her to spy on me”.

Abelas rolled his eyes. “I am relieved that you recall that much”.

Solas didn’t like his tone. “Who was her ancestress?”

“Amaevhen”.

“What? How?”

Abelas snorted. “How are babies usually made?”

“You are not the least bit amusing!”

The sentinel thought it wisest not to continue baiting him. Solas had a reputation for destruction when he felt threatened. He’d locked the Evanuris in the void between worlds after they’d betrayed and slain Mythal. Abelas was disinclined to give him a reason to demolish their last bastion in Thedas. The acolytes of Mythal in Uthenera slept inside the catacombs beneath the temple.

Abelas was loathe to disturb them, so he was tactful.

“Amaevhen took a husband among the Elvhen and by him begot three sons, and four daughters. Their lineage was recorded in the annals of the Vir Elgara. That is why Amaevhen was thought to be the progenitrix of Elgar'nan. His hosts were often descended from her family’s patriarchal line. Her sons possessed an affinity for fire-magic, though only her daughters could shape-shift”.

The news startled Solas. “Shape-shift?”

“How else do you think Mythal was able to take draconic form?”

Then all the jagged pieces of Ellana’s shattered past fell into place. The revelation appalled and distressed Solas. The shroud of Mythal’s grandeur fell away to reveal a hypocrisy thousands of years in the making. He was furious when Abelas laid a hand on his shoulder. Solas shrugged him off, the grey of his eyes flashing an ominous fiery-blue.

“Do not touch me!”

“Fen’Harel”.

“Stay your distance!” barked Solas, waving him away. “The name of her husband! Was it recorded in the annals of the Vir Elgara?” He was snarling, teeth bared when Abelas raised his hands to pacify him. “Speak!”

The power of Mythal blazed for all to see. Arryn ordered his band to form a protective ring around Morrigan and her son. Valoya, Sessan, and Derne took point, ushering their charges behind them. They watched with trepidation when Arryn engaged Solas with a stern rebuttal. He drew the Dread Wolf’s attention upon himself to spare them.

“Venavis! You are the bearer of Mythal’s soul not a rabid beast! Rein in your temper! Even my foremother has better control of her emotions than you! And she has the greater propensity for destruction!”

Solas’ attention shifted from Abelas to him like a flash of lightning. The same order was given with the swiftness of a falcon on-wing, the tether of the sentinel bond pulling taut. The will of Mythal amplified the power of his words, giving them an unnatural weight. Silver fingers conjured by magic wrapped around Arryn's throat, pressing down hard. He was choked by the force of Solas' command.

“Speak! What was the name of Amaevhen’s husband?”

“Fenesvir”, rasped Arryn, flailing as the darkness crept in at the corners of his eyes. The world was fast fading, growing greyer with every strained inhale. It was getting harder to draw breath, to fill his nose and mouth with air. “Fenesvir”, he repeated, his voice growing fainter with each beat of his heart. He didn’t hear Abelas roar, or the pounding of steel-shod feet on stone.

“Fen’Harel! Venavis!”

Fenesvir.

The name branded itself into Solas’ memory. It was a combination of two elvish words that translated meant – the wolf’s path. The fiery glow of Mythal’s influence faded from his irises. Solas stumbled, the corners of his eyes pricking with an uncomfortable pressure. His lapse in concentration broke the spell on Arryn.

The sentinel fell forwards, gasping for air. He hit something solid, eyes bleary as he gazed into the concerned face of someone familiar. He wheezed, coughing, a tad confused when he heard his name spoken over and over again. He saw shadows play across his field of vision, painting the world in shades of black and grey. Someone helped him turn around, guiding his steps as his weight shifted from his toes to the heels of his feet.

He was eased down onto the ground by a pair of gentle hands.

“Breathe, Arryn”.

He opened his mouth wide, nostrils flaring as he took several ragged breaths. His chest heaved inside the gilded shell of his breastplate. His throat was tight, the weight of his tongue like a stone. All that mattered was the sound and feel of the air filling his lungs, one breath after another. The world sharpened into focus, colours lightening as the grey bled into shades of blue, red, and gold.

“Arryn?”

He peered into the worried face of Abelas, who hovered over him – apprehensive. He nodded, coughing though the fit soon passed. Abelas patted him between the armoured blades of his shoulders. Arryn laid his arms across his bent knees, glad to have his arse on the ground lest he topple over. He raised a shaky hand, gauntleted fingers probing the bruises he felt forming under his chin.

Another sentinel rushed forwards, abandoning her post. A third followed her, his gilded feet striking the flagstones with a rhythmic thud. Abelas stepped aside with grace, granting them the time they needed with Arryn. He waited whilst Valoya unfastened her bow, then handed him the arc of steel and wood. Her husband Ilcen chose to keep the sword at his hip, and the shield across his back.

Valoya fussed over Arryn, tipping his chin up with insistent fingers. She whispered apologies when he hissed in pain, continuing her examination. Arryn flinched when she prodded the marks on his throat. She grimaced when she saw the imprints of two hands, each a reddish-purple with four long fingers and a thumb. Although the contact had been brief, the touch of Solas' magic had blistered Arryn's skin.

“Spellburn”, growled Valoya, her voice tight and angry. “The marks are tainted by the magic of Mythal. They will fester without healing, but none of us have the skill to overcome the spellcraft of an Evanuris. Our healers cannot mend him whilst their oaths shackle them into obedience. We too are bound, unable to disobey Mythal in word or deed”.

Valoya refused to speak his name after what’d transpired. She glared at Solas with contempt, indignant when he stood there like a fool staring at his hands. The bridge of her nose wrinkled as the corners of her mouth turned down. Valoya respected Mythal too much to malign him, though she still shook her head in disgust. She found the mere act of conversing with Solas so distasteful that she ignored him.

“Only one here can undo the hurt he inflicted”.

“You mean, Fen'Harel”, concluded Abelas. “Fenedhis”.

Valoya nodded, contrite. “That would be the most logical conclusion”.

The news enraged Ilcen. Abelas saw the moment his lieutenant’s patience ran out. His fingers closed around the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt. Abelas reacted with the swiftness of a trained soldier, thrusting Valoya’s bow into Arryn’s lap. He ignored the lad’s surprised grunt, forestalling Ilcen’s attack.

Abelas grasped his lieutenant’s wrist, forcing his hand back down – sheathing the blade. Ilcen resisted, his forearm and shoulder tensing. Abelas stopped him when he tried to draw the weapon again. The sword rattled in its sheath like a marble inside a glass. Abelas fought Ilcen for control, whilst his own fury warred with his conscience.

Solas had twice now taken advantage of an acolyte of Mythal. First with Morrigan and her son, then with an assault on Arryn that could’ve cost his life. Abelas gazed into his lieutenant’s eyes, seeing the fury tinged with dread. He wanted to avenge Arryn, but he was afraid of defying Mythal. To turn against their mistress had meant death in the days of Arlathan.

To do so now might demand the same price.

“Stay your blade!” hissed Abelas.

“Fen’Harel could have killed Arryn!” snarled Ilcen.

“I know, ma falon! But now is not the time to seek revenge!”

“You would defend him?”

“Never!” spat Abelas. “I know you are livid, but Arryn is of Amaevhen’s bloodline! It is not your place to seek retribution in her stead! If she loves her family as fiercely as the legends say she does! What do you think she would do if you exacted the toll she sought to collect from Fen'Harel herself?”

Ilcen blanched at the thought of insulting Amaevhen. His grip slackened. The sword sheathed at his hip stilled. Ilcen lifted his gauntleted fingers from its hilt, giving his wrist a shake. He yanked his hand back once Abelas released him.

“Fen'Harel will not lay a hand on Arryn!”

“No”, agreed Abelas. “He will not. I promise you. But if Fen'Harel will not heal him, than I must appeal to Ellana when she returns”.

“That is suicide!” exclaimed Ilcen. “She wanted to set you aflame when last you asked her to help us! She was incensed!”

“Was, ma falon. Her time away from us may yet have cooled her temper. We have little choice. The attack on Arryn was magical and physical in nature. He needs a healer with greater skill than any we have left awake among the acolytes of Mythal”.

Ilcen was unconvinced the danger was worth the risk. “There is Carys!”

Abelas dismissed his suggestion. “She was wounded fighting the Red Templars. If we wake her from Uthenera. She will die. We have not the resources to tend her, but if Ellana can be persuaded to help Arryn. She might prove willing to heal our wounded”.

“What of the spirits of the Vir'abelasan?”

“That route is hopeless. Their whispers have grown fainter in the last century, their voices less distinct. Their memories are as distorted as their perception of time. They are dead, Ilcen. What concern do they have for the pains of the living?”

Ilcen was adamant. “We could still ask them for help! They are our brethren! They would not abandon us! They may have knowledge that could help Arryn!”

“If that were true”, countered Abelas. “We would not be bound in servitude to Mythal. We will ask for help, but it will be to Amaevhen that we turn. By attacking Arryn, Solas has proven that we cannot trust him. Our fates now lie with the Lady of the Veil”.

Valoya nodded, agreeing with Abelas’ assessment. She turned her head, gazing at the sentinel that had led her band in guarding Morrigan. Arryn had a role of leadership among their people, but he was also the youngest of the sentinel elves. He'd been born in the fading years of Mythal's reign. A time of turbulent change for the Elvhen.

He'd been too young to remember his mother Isera, or the circ*mstances of her death.

Tragedy had bred opportunity for the lastborn child of the line of Amaevhen. Valoya recalled the day that he'd climbed the temple steps. He'd been a boy on the cusp of manhood, a little passed his fiftieth year. Tall, skinny, and determined to undergo the rights of petition to seek an audience with Mythal. He'd succeeded, been admitted inside the temple, and had sought the path to become an acolyte.

By some miracle, Arryn had escaped the destiny of his forebears.

Valoya removed her bow from his hands, setting it on the ground beside him. She tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind his ear. She smiled at him with a fondness that dispelled the span of centuries between them. For three hundred years she'd taught him what it'd meant to serve Mythal until the fall of Arlathan. After the loss of her own children, Valoya had been grateful to find another in Arryn.

He'd been bold, dedicated, and as quick to smile as he’d been to laugh.

A gift for a grieving mother. It was with a heavy heart that she warned him.

“You may be the reason Ellana came to us. If she is Amaevhen than she has claim on you by right of blood. She can help you where we cannot, but that may come at a price. She might want to take you away from Mythal, the temple, and us. You must be prepared for that, ma da'vhenan”.

Arryn gaped at her disbelief. “No”, he croaked, throat tight after Solas had tried to strangle him. “I would stay”.

Valoya’s smile wobbled with a surge of concern and affection. She resisted the urge to cry, though the corners of her eyes prickled. “You would be better off with her”, she admitted, voice hitching at the thought of losing her foster-son. “It would be for the best”.

“No!”

“Da’len”.

Arryn grabbed her gauntleted hands, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “My place is here with you and papae!” He glanced from her to Ilcen, eyes watery and full of panic. He was a young man again, proud but uncertain of himself – eager to please but frightened of failure. “You cannot let her take me away!”

Ilcen shared a look with his wife, sighing when she inclined her head to Arryn. She was worried and afraid though she dared not say so aloud. She didn’t want to burden Arryn with her own fears. He had enough of his own after the revelations about Ellana. He didn’t want to lose his adoptive parents, even as he anticipated his foremother’s return.

“She is a god, Arryn. Who are we to deny her if you are what she wants? She came here today to claim something. Be that you, Kieran, or someone else. Amaevhen is not Mythal, but she might listen if we petition her as we once did our mistress”.

Valoya frowned. “What are you planning, vhenan?”

“It is simple”, replied Ilcen. “We will give Ellana what she wants”.

Arryn shrank back, doubling over nose to kneecap like a chastised child. He was milk-pale and full of fear when Ilcen nodded to Abelas. The leader of their order leaned down to grip Arryn’s shoulder. The younger sentinel braced himself, expecting to be trussed like a pig then skewered. Abelas saw the scornful glint of betrayal in his eyes.

“Not you, da’len”.

Abelas gestured to a tall figure beyond them, standing in the sunlight like a gilded statue. “Ellana has a score to settle. It is wisest that we stay out of her way. She might be angry with me for demanding that she fill Mythal’s place. But she is sure to forgive me, if I hand her the man that spurned her on a silver platter”.

Arryn wasn’t sure if he should be offended or relieved.

The scourge of the elven pantheon wasn’t paying attention to them at all. He was consumed by the sight of his own hands, that trembled with a jangle of metal plates. His eyes were wide and disbelieving as he splayed his steel-clad fingers. There wasn’t a speck of blood, or a spot of rust on the mail gloves beneath his gauntlets. Yet he was fixated on the grey metal rings covering his palms and fingers.

Solas’ composure broke when he realised what he’d done. He was ashen-faced when he gazed across the courtyard to Arryn. He saw the marks on the sentinel’s throat, each was long, red, and the width of a finger. He’d conjured a tangible web of magic to throttle another of the Elvhen. A deed that’d once suited an Evanuris as temperamental as Elgar'nan.

Solas had thought himself an exception to such cruelty. It was terrifying to realise that he wasn’t different from Elgar’nan at all. His voice was tremulous when he addressed Arryn, when he dared to apologise. He’d almost choked the life out of a fellow citizen of lost Arlathan.

“Ir abelas. I did not mean to hurt you. I was upset, frustrated. The magic of Mythal manifested in a way that I did not intend. You were the unfortunate recipient of a spell gone awry”.

There was a tense hush as the implication of his words sank in. The excuse appalled Arryn, it was if his life were a trinket of negligible value. Solas' apology had sounded insincere to Ilcen. His lack of guilt and empathy disgusted Valoya. It was Abelas who voiced their dissatisfaction, his point striking home.

“Enough!” he snarled, showing true outrage for the first time. Abelas’ face was thunderous, the gold of his eyes flashing like twin flames. “We have done our duty by the oaths that bind us to Mythal! We have followed your orders against our better judgement! No more!”

Solas realised too late that Abelas had turned on him. The loyal retainer with quiet words of advice was gone. In his place stood the leader of Mythal’s personal guard. The last of the Elvhen that had kept her safe until her death at the hands of Elgar'nan. Solas saw Abelas seethe like a stretch of wild water gushing through a narrow rocky channel.

Great boulders had been worn down to small pebbles by years of erosion. Abelas' patience had given out at last too. The respect he'd had for the Dread Wolf slipped through his fingers like water through sand. Only resentment remained for every acolyte lost, for every hardship endured. It had taken the assault on Arryn, for Abelas to acknowledge the danger.

“Ma falon”, pleaded Solas. “It was an accident”.

Abelas’ face hardened, the line of his jaw tensing. “An accident that near cost Arryn his life? You assaulted him with the magic of Mythal! The power of our mistress! I have overlooked your indiscretions before, blinding myself out of reverence to Mythal! But she is dead and you are here with her soul residing beneath your skin!"

Solas sucked in a hasty breath, trying to think of a way to appease him. “Do not do this! I beg you! We cannot let this divide us! I have made a mistake, but I can mend it! You must let me try!”

“Never again! Leave!” commanded Abelas. He thrust a hand towards the east, where in the distance lay the Altar of Mythal. “You are no longer welcome here! Go and plead your case to Amaevhen! She might forgive you for near slaying the lastborn son of her bloodline!”

Solas was stricken by guilt, then horror by what he'd done. His face was ash-white when Abelas glowered at him. There was such loathing, such open revulsion that he reminded Solas of someone else. He remembered another of the Evanuris scowling at him over a goblet of wine at a banquet table. The enmity had been palpable enough to sour his appetite, along with his desire for company.

Elgar'nan had disapproved of the seating arrangements that'd put him on Mythal's right. An exalted place usually filled by either of the All-Father's twin sons. That Fen'Harel had sat there instead of Falon'Din or Dirthamen had started a long and bitter feud. Solas saw Elgar'nan's scorn mirrored upon Abelas' face, as if the centuries had eroded away.

He was back at Elgar'nan’s table, seated beside Mythal.

The guest of honour in her pit of vipers.

Solas conceded defeat, giving Arryn the first strike. The young sentinel gazed at him from behind Abelas, Valoya, and Ilcen with a look of satisfaction. He thought it was arrogance, even malice until Arryn nodded then pursed his lips. Solas was startled when he mouthed a heartbreaking message.

I forgive you. Now go to her while you can.

Solas’ swallowed the lump in his throat, the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He’d been the villain in elven history, ever cursed and reviled. He was guilty of many things, but he had never been apathetic to the suffering of others. He'd seen the cracks in Mythal's court long before Elvhenan had begun to unravel. He'd tried to hold all the jagged pieces together with more than lies.

Until Elgar'nan had betrayed Mythal, razing her house of cards in a maelstrom of heat and hell-fire.

Solas closed his eyes against the flood of memory, calling on the magic he coveted. Mythal had bequeathed her power to him like an heirloom. He’d soaked in the soul she'd surrendered in place of the foci he'd lost to Corypheus. He hoped to rebuild her house of cards with blocks of marble, glass, and steel instead of empty promises. He wasn’t sure if Ellana meant to help or hinder him, though he was certain she’d engrave a name onto his headstone.

Solas shifted shape, choosing not the extravagance of Mythal's preferred form. In a haze of smoke he didn't have scales, a sinuous tail, membranous wings or sickle-shaped claws. He was a wolf black as pitch, larger than a carthorse but smaller than a dragon. He blinked at Arryn with a multitude of crimson-eyes in a shaggy lupine face with a long snout. Gargantuan paws touched the flagstones along with black claws the length of a finger.

The Dread Wolf blinked his myriad eyes, reminding Arryn of a spider. He whined, high and thin - a wail of anguish for something lost and unrecoverable. It was of little consequence to Abelas, though it gave Arryn a fleeting sense of hope. He was glad when Solas flicked his shaggy rudder-like tail, turning eastward graceful as a ship at sea. The wolf would soon follow his path back home to where he belonged.

Abelas watched the wolf dash across the courtyard, glad to see him go. He frowned when Solas came to the stairway that led back down into the temple complex. He didn’t take it a step at a time as Felassan had in the guise of a mabari. The descent awkward, snowy paws skidding on the smooth granite. Solas sprang like a hare into the air, taking the stairs in a single bound.

He was gone from sight, though Abelas heard him land below with the scrape of claws on stone.

Solas ran through the countryside in the form he favoured in the Fade. His black fur glistened like oil in the sun, as the earth sped away from beneath him. Birds took wing squawking, rabbits bolted into the underbrush. He saw neither the reanimated dead, nor a spirit taking the form of a demon let loose from the Fade. He was a shadow under the trees, barrelling down hillsides like a druffalo.

He trampled wild-flowers, the sheer size of his paws crushing fragrant stems. He sent up clouds of butterflies, that danced in the air on paper-thin wings in a kaleidoscope of colour. He saw burnt oranges, bold blacks, shimmering blues, glistening greens, and vibrant reds. It was beautiful, but he didn't stop to quench his thirst at the river. He splashed along the shoreline, glimpsing the silver fish flitting in the deep.

He doubted Ellana had appreciated the beauty of the Arbor Wilds. She’d been focused on defeating Corypheus, not spending time sightseeing. Solas reminisced about the past as he ran. He thought of kisses beneath the winter sun, of warm wet mouths, and the icy bite of frost on the air. It was a pleasure and a pain to remember Ellana, soft and pliant in his arms.

The vixen.

She was maddening with her flirtatious winks, smiles, and seductive turns of phrase. The long lingering glances had left him with no illusions about what she'd wanted. He regretted spurning her affections, though he'd done so to spare her anguish. He'd thought she was destined to live her life in a burst of riotous colour then fading to grey in her dotage. An old woman in a span of decades that he could've counted on one hand, a finger at a time.

Solas snorted, his black snout wrinkling with annoyance. He snapped his fangs at the air, leaping a thin tributary that flowed away from the river. The waters reflected the sky, its pale clouds bright against the periwinkle-blue. Solas ran like the wind through scrub, forest, and grassland till he found an old elven road. The cobbles were half-buried in the dirt beneath an avenue of stone archways.

Some were whole whilst others lay broken in piles of lichen-covered bricks. Solas took the road, running between the archways till he came to its end. A wall encircled another further in, an archway cut into the stonework. A second archway lay beyond, opening into a vast meadow full of trees, shrubs, and wild-flowers. Solas hesitated when he saw a gigantic silver serpent lounging on a field of green.

She overshadowed the Altar of Mythal, her body a sinuous curve from the top of her snout to the tip of her tail. She blinked at him with the slow confidence of a dragon, her veilfire eyes glowing in the morning sun. There was neither fear nor aggression in her posture, though her tail lashed like that of a cat. Huge webbed wings, each topped with a thick black claw were furled against her broad back. She flared her nostrils when he didn’t enter the meadow, inhaling a deep draft of air.

Solas wondered if she could smell his fear.

He heard a rumble of sound, then saw the column of her throat trembling. She’d grunt and growl in fits and starts, like a cat hacking up a hairball. It took watching the spasmodic twitching of her wings and tail for Solas to understand. Dragons could do more than hiss, roar, and freeze or incinerate with frost and fire. They could laugh though Ellana's amusem*nt resounded like thunder during a rainstorm.

Solas took a few tentative steps towards the Altar of Mythal. He passed through the first archway, then the second. He entered the meadow, wary when Ellana continued to grunt and growl at him. Her wings and tail twitched, the pearlescent scales gleaming. She was beautiful and terrifying to behold, though she didn't once snap or snarl at him.

A disgruntled snow-white mabari had reserved that honour for himself.

Solas didn’t dare creep any closer when the dog emerged from Ellana’s shadow. He padded into the light, hackles raised like an irritable tom-cat. A boxy head sat upon broad shoulders, a thick neck flowed down into a barrel-like chest. He was stout but compact, built for strength over speed. Violet eyes, brighter than the darkest amethyst glowered at Solas.

The dog’s pale ears were pinned flat against the crown of his head. His snout wrinkled, the black lips of his mouth pealing back to reveal jagged fangs. He barked with malicious promise, snarling at the large black and red-eyed wolf. Solas was thrice his bulk and weight. His head, paws, and shoulders were as wide as a wagon was long.

He dwarfed the smaller canine, though the mabari made up for the lack of size with sheer viciousness. He snapped at the air, growling lest Solas dare to trespass where he wasn’t wanted. The wolf chose caution over valour, shifting shape from lupine to elven form. Black fur turned to smoke, red eyes dimmed then extinguished. Long limbs shortened, giant paws shrank inwards. Furry toes and sharp claws became fingers with blunted nails.

Solas emerged from that billowing fog, clinking in gilded armour. He stayed his distance as not to provoke the mabari. There would be no chance of earning forgiveness here. Solas doubted that Felassan would overlook what’d happened in the Fade. Four years wasn’t near enough time to forget a betrayal that’d near cost his life.

He should have died by Solas’ hand, but he’d found an ally in the unlikeliest place.

A camp deep in the Arbor Wilds at night, unguarded and unwarded by magic. The heady scent of a herb that’d induced sleep, lying heavy on the air. That was where Ellana had found him, hunched over and slumbering next to a fire that’d burned low. She’d stirred the ashes with her fingers, the embers hissing but never burning her bare skin. She’d withdrawn that hand, smoking and blackened with soot - to draw a mark upon his forehead.

A ward of protection that’d saved his life.

Solas’ gaze slid from the snarling mabari to its master. The dragon turned her reptilian head, a great emerald eye observing him. Solas braced himself when that slitted black-pupil widened. She saw him clear as day, a guttural hiss issuing from deep inside her chest. She’d ceased to laugh at him, her mood shifting from amusem*nt to concern for Felassan.

The timbre of her voice changed. That warning rumble softened to a throaty purr. The sound of her pride, approval, and affection distracted the mabari. He ceased to snap and to snarl, his attention drawn away from Solas. He whined, bewildered when the dragon opened her fanged maw.

She growled then roared like a lion. The mabari barked as if to ask a question. The dragon purred in response, pleased when the dog seemed to understand. Solas stared when the mabari turned away from her with a plaintive whine. He was upset about something, though Solas wasn’t sure why.

The reason became clear when the dog shifted shape from canine to elven form. White fur turned grey then disintegrated, falling away like ash in a haze of heat and flame. Grey smoke obscured the change, though Solas still heard the crack of bone. He listened in horror to the snap of sinew, and the twist and stretch of muscles realigning. It was a relief when he didn't hear screaming, though Solas was uneasy when the smoke dissipated.

A figure strode forth, bare toes skimming the grass. He was tall, slender as a reed, and clad in shades of black and grey. He might have been mistaken for an elven servant from Orlais if not for the dahl’amythal upon his face. Leafless branches curved across his brow and temples in flowing lines. The Tree of Mythal was dark against the fairness of his skin.

He appeared younger than Solas remembered. The lines of worry had softened between his brows. He'd been eating and sleeping well too. The gaunt cheeks, the heavy bags under his eyes, and the lines of fatigue about his mouth were gone. This was not the apprentice that Solas knew, with his black hair long and loose about his shoulders.

The man standing with his head held high wasn’t afraid at all.

It was a startling change.

“Felassan”, called Solas. “You are unrecognisable”.

The reply was less cordial. “Fen'Harel”. Felassan appraised him with the slow methodicalness of a man sizing up an adversary. “You’re arrogant as ever. I’m sorry to say that gold isn’t exactly your colour”.

“Ah. The armour”.

“Whose corpse did you pry it from? It can’t have been Abelas. He’s still alive after all this time. You must've peeled the plates off a dead sentinel slain by Corypheus. I hear many of them were cut down by the Red Templars”.

Solas’ eyes narrowed. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever”.

“Naturally. You didn’t honestly believe that I’d be glad to see you. After everything that’s happened in the last four years. I’d prefer to put a blade through your back. Alas, my Hahren has other plans for you”.

“Your Hahren”, reiterated Solas. He glanced beyond Felassan to the dragon lying in the grass. “Your allegiances have changed”.

“Surprised?” goaded Felassan.

“No. I regret what I did, but it had to be done”.

That sharp biting wit, was soon followed by a harsh rebuttal. Although ashamed by the depth of Felassan's bitterness, Solas refused to apologise. They'd been at war with the Evanuris, they still were though the battlefield had changed. Time had leapt forward five thousand years into modern Thedas. Friends old and new were but sacrificial lambs he'd led to the slaughter.

“You haven’t changed at all”, complained Felassan. “There’s a little pain, but it’s not enough to make you change your mind. You’d still cut a friend’s throat, even if they’d risked life and limb to help you. One mishap and centuries of love and loyalty are rewarded with a quick death. You are as heartless as Dalish legend paints you”.

Solas took immediate offence. It hurt to be thus judged by one of his former peers. “You refused to take the passphrase for the Eluvian network from Briala!”

“She needed it more than you did. Not that you ever cared for the elves of Orlais. They’re cannon fodder like the Dalish. Recruits to train and throw at the Evanuris like fresh meat to a pack of wolves. You’re no different from Elgar'nan, though for centuries I was too blind to see it”.

“That is not true!”

“A lie”.

“Felassan!”

“Save your excuses. I’ve neither the patience nor the desire to hear them”.

“Ma falon”, begged Solas in earnest. “You must understand. It was never personal”.

Felassan snorted as if he’d found the statement amusing. He appraised Solas, the corners of his mouth turning down. The bridge of his nose wrinkled in distaste. Black hair rustled as he turned to regard the dragon beyond them. He called to her, seeking clarification to a query unasked.

“It was always personal”, he corrected. “Always. Hahren. Are you certain that you want to ask this of him? He’s unworthy of even the least of your confidence”.

A scaled paw with four bony fingers, thick as a tree-trunk rapped an impatient rhythm. Once, twice, then thrice. The action was followed by a swift thump of her tail in the grass. Felassan bowed his head in obeisance. He turned back to Solas, the lines of his face hardening in dislike. He looked down his nose at his former teacher, knowing that it was wisest not to trust him.

“You ceased to be my mentor, the night you tried to kill me. I don’t forgive betrayal any more than you do. Once bitten, twice shy I suppose. At least Ellana sees more than a dreamer’s power in me. I can’t say the same for you”.

The accusation pricked like a burr under his skin. Felassan was right, though Solas was loathe to acknowledge it. He’d used the younger dreamer to achieve his own ends, valuing him as a resource not as a person. It stung to be reminded of something he’d had in common with Elgar'nan. Felassan had once been his friend and confidant, yet Solas had used then cast him aside like a child’s plaything.

Solas kept his tongue behind his teeth. His pride was already smarting after Abelas had cast him out on his ear. He doubted that he’d ever be welcomed back into the Temple of Mythal. Now Felassan had unleashed a barrage of accusation, followed by a vengeful jab at his dignity. He would have responded in kind, if not for the silver dragon less than twenty feet away.

“Silence. That’s unusual. You always have something to say”, taunted Felassan. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to kill me. Or is that still on your agenda?”

Solas didn’t reply at first, feeling the weight of Ellana’s scrutiny. She watched him with that enormous unblinking eye. Nothing would happen here that she didn’t intend, a fact that perturbed as much as it reassured him. She was willing to keep her end of their bargain. She hadn’t yet roasted him alive, or tried to stop him from entering the Altar of Mythal.

He suspected that would change if he attacked Felassan as he had Arryn.

“It would be unwise of me to try”, replied Solas. “Ellana has me at a disadvantage. I am not foolish enough to engage a dragon alone”.

Felassan arched an eyebrow. “You have the magic of Mythal”.

“Even then”.

“You’re smarter than you look. That’s hard to believe considering your history. You’ve always stumbled from one cesspit of trouble into the next, causing chaos wherever you’ve gone. That you’re still alive after all this time is either a miracle or a cosmic joke. I’m surprised that I’m still alive after following you into a few of those cesspits”.

Solas was insulted. “I have never sought out trouble”.

Felassan gave him a long hard look. “Do you even realise it when you lie?”

“I-Oh”.

“I guess not. Your mouth moves and the bullsh*t spills out. You always could talk your way out of an argument. But what was a useful social skill has become a bad habit. You’re incorrigible”.

Solas wasn’t about to be chastised by an elf a few thousand years his junior. “I did not come here to be scolded by a child!”

“You’re two thousand years older than me not five”, corrected Felassan. “Being older hasn’t made you wiser. Look at Arlathan, it’s a pile of rubble along with the rest of Elvhenan. Let’s not forget the thousands of elven citizens that died when you raised the Veil. Most were buried alive, crushed by falling masonry when their towers fell out of the sky. The rest were trapped between worlds when the Eluvians ceased to function”.

Solas glared at him. “You have taken lessons from Ellana. She lectured me as well”.

“I was angry with you long before she saved me”. Felassan nodded as if confirming something he already knew. “It was the opportune time to say so aloud. I took advantage of it. But now that’s settled, we should get down to business”.

“What business?”

“If you won’t kill me than perhaps you’ll be amenable to granting Ellana a request”.

Solas’ grey eyes widened with incredulity. “You have chastised me for what happened five thousand years ago. It is history. I cannot change the past. Why then should I stand here and listen to you?”

“Oh, you’ll listen to me all right”, promised Felassan. “Because I know why Ellana went to the Temple of Mythal. It wasn’t just to retrieve Kieran, or to help Morrigan find her son. She wanted to make sure that Abelas would send you to the Altar of Mythal. You’re here because Mythal took something from her that she shouldn’t have”.

“What are you talking about?” barked Solas.

“It was a case of theft, betrayal, and murder. All things Mythal despised as the goddess of justice. She was quick to break the laws she upheld, when it would gain her something invaluable. A soul for instance, along with the body that housed it. Since you carry Mythal’s soul you can do what she would not”.

“Do what?”

“Call forth the Guardian of the Altar of Mythal. I presume that Abelas informed you about the less savoury aspects of Mythal’s existence. Many elven girls were fostered in the Temple of Mythal until they came of age. But there was one child she stole, then hid away in the Arbor Wilds. Since you now know the truth, you can rectify Mythal's mistake”.

“What child?” demanded Solas.

“A daughter”, explained Felassan. “The youngest of the seven children Ellana bore to her husband – Soleryn Fenesvir. Your predecessor. Mythal had a penchant for stealing souls, then implanting them like seeds into new bodies. Or did you never wonder why you couldn't remember the faces and names of your own parents?"

The silver dragon purred, her scaled-tail twitching.

Felassan didn’t have an ounce of remorse when Solas gaped at him in disbelief. The realisation that his life was a lie struck him with the force of a rampaging druffalo. The anger left his face quick as water draining through sand. He was too bewildered to know what to do or say. Solas was numb when he regarded the dragon lounging in the grass.

He sucked in a pained breath, throat tight as his heart beat like a drum against his ribs. She blinked with a leathery lid across the ball of her eye, then with the pale nictating membrane beneath it. She sat there with the placidness of a cat on a cushion, basking in the heat of the sun. Light reflected off her scales, the shimmer of silver and gold as beguiling as it was dangerous.

She was beautiful even in the guise of a dragon.

“You knew”, hissed Solas. “All this time. You knew what Mythal had done, but never told me”.

“You had the chance to ask”, said Felassan. “Ellana tried to save you from Mythal, before you made the worst mistake imaginable”. He gestured to Solas with a flick of his fingers, grimacing as if he thought the action most foul. “You swallowed her soul, letting her crawl under your skin like a snake. She’s found her burrow, her harbour of safety in Thedas – the one place Ellana would never force her out of”.

Solas’ face crumpled, his composure breaking. The tears prickled at the corners of his eyes when Felassan further enlightened him. It was terrible to realise that after everything he’d said and done. There was one person left in the world that thought kindly of him. A being that even after the raising of the Veil, had still loved him with a profundity that was eternal.

“Ellana lies to protect those she claims as her own”, declared Felassan. “We are few in number, because she cannot save us all. She tries, but she never forces the reluctant to follow where she would lead them. You for instance, the one person in Thedas she loves above all others – refused to abandon Mythal. There is nothing more she can do for you”.

The tears trickled down Solas’ cheeks. “She lies”, he croaked. “Why should I believe anything you’ve told me?”

“You can choose not too, but you’ll know it's a lie. One dreamer cannot deceive another in the waking world or in the Fade. It’s a natural quirk of our magical nature. You know that as readily as I do. After all – you taught me everything I know”.

Felassan’s brows furrowed. He nodded to the distant corner of the Altar of Mythal, to the stone wall encircling the meadow. The bricks were in shadow beneath the canopy of the trees. He left Solas weeping in the grass. He neither offered his former Hahren a consoling word nor a gesture of comfort.

“Call the dragon that guards the Altar of Mythal”, he instructed. “You owe Ellana that much”.

Stricken with grief, Solas’ eyes flashed silver-blue. The magic of Mythal burned there though it’s purpose wasn’t what he’d intended. He was horrified when a pair of pale hands were conjured out of thin air. Each long and delicate, with the same bony fingers that had grasped Arryn’s throat. Solas knew what would happen when those disembodied hands went for Felassan.

“Venavis!” he cried. “Mythal!”

He doubled over, face contorting in agony when the spirit within him pulled free. She coalesced as a ghostly figure, white as a snow yet transparent like a pane of frosted glass. She was tall, reed-thin, and emaciated with a glint of pearlescent bones through the veil of her skin. Silver-blue eyes blazed inside the sockets of a crystalline skull. Strings of ragged hair hung in thick ropes about a gaunt face with sunken cheeks.

Lips like cracked leather peeled back from two rows of dirty, uneven teeth.

Solas groaned in pain when the spirit of Mythal dragged one skeletal foot forwards. She swiped at the air, claw-like fingers raking a foot from Felassan’s face. He inclined his head, violet eyes narrowing when a gauntleted hand closed around her shin. Mythal wailed high and thin, pallid skull turning on the column of her neck. She glowered at Solas, her bones creaking like rusty hinges.

“Venavis!” snarled her host. “Leave him be!”

Mythal didn’t see the dragon shed her scales in a flash of silver fire. But she heard the crunch of Felassan’s bare feet in the grass. She turned her wraith-like head, the glassy vertebrae of her neck cracking. She froze when she came face-to-face with an old enemy. She struggled, howling when a scaled brown hand closed around her throat like a vice.

A clawed thumb dug into her withered jugular.

“There you are”, taunted Ellana. “It's been so long since we last saw each other. We're overdue for a reunion. Don’t fret. You won’t be around long enough to enjoy it”.

Mythal shrieked, tearing at her wrist with bony fingers.

“I’ll be as gentle and considerate as you were to Soleryn when you betrayed him. Do you remember how he died? I do. I’ll tear you out of Solas, piece by piece if I must. Then I’ll burn your soul to ash until there’s nothing left of you”.

Chapter 8: A Girl inside a Dragon

Chapter Text

Ellana’s eyes were alight in a flash of emerald fire. She glared into her adversary’s soul, lips peeling back from her fangs. Mythal wailed sensing impending oblivion. The bridge of Ellana's nose wrinkled in distaste. Her claws sank into Mythal's withered jugular, silencing her cries.

"Harellan!”

She twisted her fingers, claws lacerating Mythal's spirit. Silver light bled from the ragged cuts like vapour. Mythal's mouth fell open in a silent scream. She tore at Ellana's wrist in frenzied desperation. The bony tips of her fingers sliding on slick scales.

"Six children you took from me. Six lives you owe. I have taken five of your folk in recompense, but I am far from satisfied. I will have a sixth life even if I must wrench it from you. Death is no obstacle to one such as I".

The pale eyes in the bony sockets of Mythal's skull bulged in horror. She felt the tendrils of Ellana's magic wrap around her spirit like the coils of a snake. Her ragged locks ignited, filling the air with the stench of burnt hair. Hot tongues of veilfire crawled up the bony arch of her spine.

Mythal writhed in agony, her translucent skin blistering. Smoke billowed from her in wisps of fog as if she were drier than a bundle of kindling. Ellana glared into her dead eyes as she burned. The veilfire slithered between the blades of her shoulders. It was inches from the nape of her neck, moments from engulfing the crown of her head.

“Nae!”

The plea stopped Mythal’s silver-white mane from blazing like a torch. The veilfire stilled at the nape of her neck. The line of flame settling there like the mantle of a cloak. It smouldered, spitting sparks. Mythal slumped, her bony fingers grasping Ellana’s wrist.

She hung there, a marionette on a string.

Ellana turned her ire upon the man gripping Mythal’s shin. He dragged a leg beneath him, panting with the strain. Pain-glazed eyes returned Ellana’s scrutiny. The blue-white fire of Mythal's magic faded in and out. It was near impossible to control the fluctuating eddies of her power.

“Ma Mythal di’nan!” gasped Solas, his chest heaving. “Lasa revas!”

“She is indebted to me”, replied Ellana with stern finality. “I will have restitution”.

“Nae!”

Her reprimand was scathing. “Tel’garas solas’an!”

He recoiled, sucking in a fearful breath. There in the heat of her gaze he saw the core of a being older than time immemorial. She was an emerald maelstrom, a ball of veilfire that shone brighter than the sun. It hurt to behold her, but it was worse to hear her sing. Light danced at the heart of an inferno, pulsing with a melody as poignant as it was destructive.

Solas heard the raspy sigh of a dying star and the roiling tumult of a star being born. His eyes widened in horrific understanding. He knew with sudden clarity, who she was beneath the façade of an elven face. The woman he’d loved was a myth made flesh. A goddess with a heart of flame as radiant as the void was dark and empty.

“Amaevhen”.

“Look away!” commanded Ellana. “I would not have you witness her shame! Spare yourself the pain, Solas! Let her die as befits a traitor of her stature! She cannot be forgiven for her crimes!”

He shook his head, the tears trickling down his cheeks. “You forgave me”.

“You are different”.

“Nae, vhenan. I am not. If you cannot extend that forgiveness to Mythal. You will have to kill us both to slake your thirst for vengeance. I will not abandon her in the face of your wrath”.

“Even if it meant your life?”

“Yes. If that is the price you demand. I will pay it”.

Solas braced himself for an agonising death. Moments passed in an awkward silence. He was amazed to find that neither he nor Mythal were incinerated. His was astonished when Ellana hesitated. He saw the ring of veilfire around Mythal’s neck.

He smelt the stink of her singed skin and hair.

Ellana’s eyes burned like torches of veilfire. She glared at the pallid spirit clutched in her claws like a mouse, shivering as it waited to be devoured. Mythal raised her head, her face a rictus of pain. The cracked lips of her mouth moved in a silent plea. Ellana was unappeased by her agonised whispers.

“You dare to bargain with me?”

Mythal opened her mouth, light spilling from behind her pearlescent teeth. It coalesced like water, gushing out of her throat into the air. It pooled there restless as a bird, shifting left and right as it floated above her head. Ellana’s focus shifted from Mythal to Solas, who stared at her in alarm.

“She offers a portion of her spirit in exchange for her existence”.

“And her power with it. Hardly a worthy sacrifice”.

“It is all she has left in this world!”

“She is indebted to me”.

“Please, vhenan!”, pleaded Solas. “If ever you have loved me! Let her go! She has suffered enough!”

She snapped her fangs at him, her nose wrinkling in disdain. “You are willing to plead and die for her though she would never return the favour. She is using you, ma lath”.

“I know. It does not matter”.

“Let me end her”.

“Nae!”

Ellana saw the dread in his grey eyes. He was desperate to protect Mythal even if it meant sacrificing himself. He clung to her like a limpet, the pale length of his fingers digging into her shin. She was akin to a rope in a tug-of-war between them. Ellana found his courage admirable if infuriating.

“This is what you want?”

“Vin!” avowed Solas. “Let her go!”

“So be it”.

She parted her lips, nostrils flaring. The light that hung in the air like a cloud was inhaled into her mouth and nose. Ellana’s eyes turned from ghoulish emerald to a fiery blue-white. She bent her elbow, thrusting out her wrist. She flung Mythal away like a rag-doll.

Her spirit sailed through the air, lighter than a strand of gossamer thread. The torque of veilfire around her neck extinguished. Thin plumes of smoke wafted into the air as she sighed in relief. She rejoined Solas, slithering under his skin like a snake. He rocked backward gasping, then toppled over into the grass.

“You let her return to him”, said Felassan in amazement. “Why?”

Ellana raised a hand to quiet him, the blue-white fire fading from her irises. “She offered a life in exchange for her own. I accepted thanks in part to Solas’ stubbornness. To tear Mythal out of him would’ve killed them both. A risk I couldn’t take, though his fate is now sealed”.

“You really can’t save him”.

“From himself? No, though I tried. His choice is made. The music has played for long enough. It is time to conclude this dance before we can start another”.

Her apprentice thought she’d been cheated. “Mythal owes you more than one life”.

“She owes me many. I have reclaimed five for each child I lost to her meddling. The sixth will need convincing to part with his elders. The rest will accompany him in the end, though the dead will decide their course. Many things will change, da’len”.

It was then that Felassan understood what she intended. “Fenedhis lasa. Must you take them on? We could leave them at the Temple of Mythal. They can’t return with us to Orlais”.

“You can’t keep me to yourself”.

“I can try”.

“You know better”, tutted Ellana. “I have never abandoned my children, great or small. All that dwell under the sun and stars are mine. Including the sentinel elves of Mythal. Abelas has asked for my help, so I will give it”.

His mouth turned down unhappily. “I know. But you said that you would teach me. Haven’t I been an attentive student? I’m afraid that you’ll turn me away in favour of Arryn. If he is your descendant than he has the greater right to you than I do”.

“Because we share blood?”

“Yes”.

Ellana took pity on him. “Oh, da’len. You’ll find your place sooner than you might think. Don’t worry about the future. Everything is as it should be”.

“It is?”

“Garas ma”.

Although Felassan thought his place usurped. He followed her with a sense of purpose. “Vin, Hahren”. He pondered the significance of fate, pausing to consider his former mentor. Solas lay prone in the grass, chest heaving.

He struggled to sit up, managing to on the fifth try. He doubled over soon after, struggling to catch his breath. He felt every inch of Mythal’s weariness as if it were his own. At the sound of Felassan’s voice he lifted his head. He was bleary-eyed until his vision cleared enough for them not to be dark amorphous shapes.

“Vhenan?”

“Sit and regain your strength”, instructed Ellana. “I’ll be near for a while longer. I haven’t forgotten our bargain. Until then you’ll have to pardon my distraction. Someone else needs me now”.

She beckoned Felassan, careful not to leave him with her estranged beau. Although four years had passed since their last encounter. She refused to put his life at risk. Solas even weakened and weary was unpredictable. Mythal’s loss of power while permanent, wouldn’t keep him down for long.

“Stay close to me. No matter what happens. Don’t run”.

Felassan swallowed, feeling nervous. He followed her further into the field beyond the Altar of Mythal. They left Solas behind to recover. His panting a constant backdrop to the grass crunching under their feet. They neared the centre of the meadow, walking amidst a sea of wild-flowers.

Blue, red, purple, and yellow blossoms grew for yards in all directions. Butterflies disturbed by their approach took wing. Hundreds filled the air in flashes of black, orange, and veridian. Ellana smiled while an entranced Felassan watched their dizzying flight. Up and down on the breeze, the swarm undulated like a wave on the sea.

They flew up and over the farthest wall of the Altar of Mythal. Felassan smelt the scent of magic lingering in the air. He turned around, flinching when he spied Ellana's face. The emerald-green of her irises burned with blue-white fire. The barest glimpse of Mythal's magic looked out of place, as if it were a desecration of something sacred.

He pursed his lips, daring to ask a question. He hesitated when Ellana raised her hand again. The gesture enough to shush him. He was afraid when he heard the flapping of wings. A roar filled the sky as a shadow passed over the wall.

“Stand!” commanded Ellana. “If you run she’ll burn you to ash!”

Felassan’s skin prickled with unease. It was terrifying to witness the arrival of her lastborn child. He saw not an elf, but a dragoness large as a mountain. Great sweeps of her wings bent the boughs of the trees. Then with a powerful down-draught she alighted in the grass.

Felassan stumbled, buffeted by the force of her landing. He gasped when the dragoness’ horned head turned towards him. She was a mature High Dragon, golden-scaled from snout to tail. Her draconic eyes like shards of amber. Felassan forgot to breathe when she peered at him as if he were prey.

A pale nictating membrane rolled across the ball of her eye. That giant black pupil contracting the instant he flinched. She saw Felassan cower then stiffen like a mouse. Her fanged maw opened with a leonine growl. The sound alarmed him, though the stink of sulphur was worse.

He peered into the cavern of her mouth. There in the scarlet depths of her throat danced tongues of lurid yellow flame. Felassan took a shaky breath, paling when he felt the scorching heat on his skin. He thought of funeral pyres, of wood set alight. He took a step back, courage waning in the face of imminent death.

A second dragon roared, shaking the air in her fury.

He whirled on the balls of his feet, expecting to see a second High Dragon. He was astounded when he found Ellana instead. Her eyes smouldered blue-white, though there were slivers of emerald flame. What power she’d taken from Mythal was now hers to command.

Felassan dropped to his knees when her lips peeled back from her teeth. Pearl-white fangs shone in the sunlight, the rumble of a peeved dragoness filled his ears. He watched her step through the grass graceful as a halla, growling all the while. The sound of her indignation like an avalanche tumbling down a hillside. Ellana spat a command in elvish with a serpentine hiss.

“Venavis!”

Felassan gawped in bewilderment when the dragoness cringed. A bark of surprise sent her shuffling backward. Her huge clawed feet tore up chunks of earth. She slipped in her haste, haunches sliding in the grass. Her long whip-like tail arched high into the air.

Her wings fluttered open, sending a chill gust that knocked Felassan over. He tumbled into the grass. When next he caught a glimpse of Ellana, she was approaching Mythal’s dragon. She closed the distance between them, step by cautious step.

He heard a low rattling purr, like a blade on the wheel of a grindstone. Then to his astonishment, the dragon lowered her horned head. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed, more curious than afraid. Ellana stopped several feet from her, extending a clawed hand. The dragon inched forwards, snuffling like a mabari.

Felassan wondered if his hahren would be attacked. He watched with bated breath when Mythal’s dragon pushed its snout towards Ellana. It sniffed and snorted, testing her scent. Moments passed, fraught with tension. Then as if they’d reached an understanding, the dragon pressed its scaled nose into her hand.

The poignant moment broke the poor beast. Its scales turned grey as if in death, the leonine rumble in its chest silenced. Its form disintegrated in a haze of smoke stinking of brimstone. It disappeared behind a cloud of swirling black mist. Felassan heard the crack of bone, the snap of sinew.

Then the smoke dissipated, revealing someone gowned in a simple white slip. An elven woman with hair like fire stood barefoot in the meadow. She didn’t notice Felassan or Solas beyond, slouching in the grass. She gazed at Ellana, the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She inhaled a shaky breath, her lower-lip wobbling.

“Amae?”

The blue-white fire of Mythal’s magic faded until Ellana irises were green again. She said nothing, inclining her head. She smiled with a mother’s heartfelt affection. Her arms opened the moment her daughter sobbed. She was ready when her lastborn flung herself into her arms.

“Amae!”

“Ma da’vhenan”, soothed Ellana, her eyes closing. “Ir abelas”, she murmured as her daughter wept into her shoulder. “I took too long to find you, but I never stopped searching. I’ve come to take you home”.

Her daughter hiccuped, pale fingers digging into Ellana’s shirt. A fair face, slick and glistening with moisture slid under her chin. Her daughter burrowed into her arms, seeking solace. Ellana laid a bronzed cheek upon the crown of her head.

“Hush”, she soothed, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “It’s all right. I’m here at last. You don’t need to be afraid. Mythal can’t hurt you any more”.

Her daughter asked a troubling question. She was dewy-eyed, her face flushed and wet. Ellana looked into her eyes, shaking her head. Her daughter’s breath hitched, then with a mournful cry she collapsed in her arms – keening.

Ellana rocked her, murmuring apologies. “Ir abelas. I couldn’t save your siblings. They’re gone. I hope you can forgive me”.

“Mythal's dragon was an elf”, called Solas in astonishment. He regarded Ellana with concern. “This is why you wanted to avenge yourself upon Mythal. Abelas said that she favoured the daughter’s of your bloodline as hosts. That she would hide your child here of all places in Thedas proves that he spoke the truth”.

Her youngest clung to her, weeping and wailing. She quietened when Solas spoke, gasping at the sound of his voice. She turned in her mother’s arms full of dreadful anticipation. When she spied him sitting in the grass, her heart clenched with poignant hope. She uttered a word that carried the weight of a responsibility he’d never known.

“Abae?”

There was a bald elven man with her father’s face. She wriggled out of Ellana’s arms with a glad cry, darting across the meadow. She didn’t hear her mother’s warning. She flung herself at Solas, wrapping thin arms around his neck. She hugged him tight, expecting to be greeted with enthusiasm.

“Abae!”

Solas stiffened in response, unsure of what to do. He assumed the girl was Ellana’s lastborn by Soleryn Fenesvir. A tall and slender redhead that by some terrible tragedy had mistaken him for her father. His heart clenched when she noticed his lack of joy at their reunion. He knew the moment she realised something was wrong.

She drew back, sliding her arms down till her hands rested upon his shoulders. He was taller than her by half-a head as he was with Ellana. The disparity in height meant nothing when he saw the confusion upon her face. The way she looked at him near broke his heart. Her crimson brows were arched, her mouth turned down in an unhappy pout.

There was love in her eyes, tinged with fear but not distaste. She regarded him with a sense of trust that ran bone-deep. She repeated that simple elvish word as a statement and a question. He was moved when she cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. This poor girl thought he was someone he wasn’t.

“Abae?”

“Ir abelas”, apologised Solas. “Ir tel’abae”.

There was only one way to convince her, though it was cruel.

She recoiled when his eyes blazed with blue-white fire. She leapt away from him as if burned, recognising the tell-tale sign of Mythal’s magic. She toppled over in the grass, landing on her side. She scrambled to her feet, slipping on the hem of her shift. Two hands caught her before she tumbled over again.

She clutched their forearms in a panic, ashen-faced with fright. She turned towards them, expected to see her mother. She found herself gazing into a pair of violet eyes instead. She tensed, breath catching in her throat. She was mesmerised by the man she saw.

He was tall, handsome and had the most beautiful eyes.

“Ma melava halani”, she blurted, feeling self-conscious in her grass-stained sleeping shift.

“Ma isala halani”, he replied with a frankness that made her blush.

“Ma serannas”.

“Tel’numin”, he told her, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. He wiped away the last of her tears with gentle swipes of his thumb. “Ar lasa ghilana ma. Mala suledin nadas. Amaevhen dirthana Fen’Harel”.

She gaped at him not recognising the name. “Fen’Harel?”

Felassan’s brows furrowed. “Fenedhis. You don’t know”.

He was discomforted by the way she looked at him. Her eyes wide and brows arched in expectation. He knew the answer to her question, though it was plain that she didn’t. Ellana had been forthcoming about the fate of her family. She’d hid nothing from him except this. He’d never known that her lastborn was unaware of her father’s death.

He told her as delicately as he could. “Ma abae di’nan”.

She corrected him with a fierceness that reminded him of Ellana. “Tel’dinan!” she cried while jabbing a finger at Solas. “Ma abae!” She tensed when someone pushed that finger down, grasping her hand in apology. She knew who it was the instant she peered into her mother’s face.

“Amae”, she called with trepidation. “Abae?”

Ellana shook her head, trying to explain. “Nae, ma da’vhenan. Ma abae harel Mythal. Soleryn di’nan”. She gestured to Solas with a wave of her hand. “Mythal lasa ma abae’elgar falon’fen”.

“Fen’Harel?”

“Vin”.

Her daughter stared at Solas. She saw her father’s face in the width of his forehead, the length of his nose. He was as she remembered him to be down to the cleft in his chin. Even without the head of fiery-red hair he was her father, though there was one difference. His eyes were steel-grey rather than that beloved periwinkle blue.

The way he looked at her was upsetting too. He seemed lost even afraid as if he saw a stranger instead of his own child. It was then that she understood with sudden terrible clarity. He hadn’t greeted her with love or recognition because he didn’t know her at all. He wasn’t her father though he was Soleryn’s double in face and form.

The tears welled then overflowed, trickling anew down her cheeks. Her composure broke yet again beneath the yoke of her grief. The revelation that her father was dead a tragedy. She closed her eyes, head bowing under the weight of her sorrow. She fell into Ellana's arms sobbing, another cornerstone of her life crumbling.

“Vhenan!” called Solas, at a loss of what to do. He’d recovered enough of his strength to stand, though he was still weakened. Mythal’s struggles and loss of power while painful hadn’t incapacitated him. He would be back at full strength soon enough. He hobbled forward a few steps, feeling a sense of urgency.

The cries of that strange red-headed woman perturbed him. He froze when Ellana threw up a clawed brown hand. She glared when he continued his approach. A swift shake of her head vexed him. Although he was confused, he found her defensiveness insulting.

“Ellana!”

“Stay your distance!”

“She is the child of Soleryn Fenesvir!” argued Solas. “Your husband! My previous incarnation! That makes her mine in spirit if not in body! I may not know her, but it it so terrible to think that I want to?”

“It is to me”.

“Please, vhenan”.

“Mythal murdered her father then enslaved her brothers and sisters. While she resides under your skin, you will never know my daughter. I will bar your way. Do you understand? I love my family with all the fire that is in me”.

Solas nodded, sensing a losing battle. “I know”.

“Then forget that you have seen her today”.

“How can I? She called to me, vhenan. She embraced me because she thought I was her father”.

Ellana’s lip curled with indignation. “You’re not”.

“I am the closest she has to one”.

“You chose Mythal!”

Solas looked her dead in the eye. “A choice that can be undone. You know that. As Amaevhen you are more than capable of giving me what I want. If you were to safeguard Mythal’s soul than we could come to an arrangement”.

She glared at him. “You presumptuous, arse. I won’t make a bargain with you”.

“You were more than willing to intervene on Abelas’ behalf”.

“He had something I wanted. You don’t”.

Solas snorted, not believing her in the least. “That is a lie. Arryn told me Soleryn’s cognomen. Fenesvir – the Wolf’s path. I am Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. What Soleryn lost, I have the right to reclaim”.

Ellana shook her head. “No”.

“What belonged to your husband belongs to me!”

“You had your chance. You cast it and me into the pyre. It is done”.

“Nae! I will not accept that! Your children are mine! Your family is mine, which makes you my wife! If you have the right to seek restitution from Mythal than so do I!”

“Your fate is tied to hers”.

“You can change it!”

“You’ve made your choice”.

Solas was adamant. “Then I will make another! I will give up Mythal! I will set aside my crusade against the Evanuris! I will return to you under one condition!”

Ellana arched a silver brow. “And what is that?”

“Give me a child with Mythal’s soul intact. I will accept nothing less from you”.

Solas knew his gamble had paid off when Ellana scowled. Her answer was a guttural hiss of annoyance. She extricated herself from her daughter with difficulty. Her youngest refused to let go, crying when Ellana disintegrated. Black sand trickled through her fingers like water.

“Amae!”

Felassan caught her when she tried to catch the grains. She writhed when he pulled her back, then screamed and kicked like a wild thing. He dragged her towards the stone steps of the Altar of Mythal. He knew what was coming, the hairs rising on the nape of his neck. He ignored her cries, taking charge as the heels of her bare feet skidded in the grass.

“Amae!”

Felassan was tired of her childishness. He whirled catching her fist when she tried to strike him. She gasped, baulking in surprise. She peered at him through tear-wet lashes, fear etched into the lines of her fair elven face. She was frightened.

“Mala inan!” he commanded.

She glanced behind them, relieved when she saw a shadow rise from the grass. Where her mother had turned into a pillar of black sand. Something amorphous coalesced in a haze of heat and fire. A figure emerged garbed like a Dalish Keeper. Her cuirass was of studded leather, the matching skirts fell about her ankles like leaves.

Her arms and shoulders were as bare as her legs and feet. She wore neither boots nor armour. Bronzed skin bore intricate whorls of gold vallaslin under pearlescent scales. The lines glowed like fire in the sun. Her hair once short and ragged had lengthened. It cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in silver waves.

Thick draconic horns spiralled up and over the crown of head. There amidst the silver of her hair, the mark of her reptilian nature set her apart. Ellana was beautiful and terrible to behold, yet this form was a comfort to her daughter. She ceased to fight Felassan, secure in the knowledge that she was safe. Her mother had returned at last.

“Amae”, she murmured with fondness.

“Garas ma”, encouraged Felassan.

She nodded, following without complaint when he tugged upon her hand. She wiped her face, feeling wearier than she had in millennia. Her feet were dragging by the time they reached the steps. It was there that Felassan allowed her to sit and observe. She made herself comfortable, legs crossing as she shivered in the breeze.

Felassan was perturbed by her thin sleeping shift. It was a shapeless piece of fabric sown along the waist and shoulders. A sack with a hem that did nothing to conceal the pale length of her legs. Or the shapely curves of her ankles. He would’ve taken off his own shirt to preserve her modesty if Ellana hadn’t waved a hand in the air.

A cloak materialised in a flash of emerald flame. It was warm to the touch, soft and heavy when it fell into his arms. He was impressed. His Hahren had never been one to show off, but this was a useful trick. He offered the cloak to his companion, wondering if she’d teach him the spell.

Her daughter took it without hesitation, trusting her mother’s spellcasting. She smiled when Felassan draped it about her shoulders like a blanket. It was much too large, but it covered her from clavicle to toe. The preservation of her modesty was a blessing. Felassan had noticed the woman under that unruly mop of scarlet curls.

She was pretty as a flower, as she snuggled into that cloak.

“What is your name?” he asked in the common-tongue.

She frowned not understanding his Fereldan drawl. She nodded when he tapped his chest then said his name. It was enough. She reiterated what she’d heard, pointing at him with a slender forefinger. Her golden eyes though puffy and red-rimmed, glinted with a draconic intelligence.

“Felassan”.

He nodded, gesturing to her in return. “And you?”

“Miravise”.

“My flame”, he translated from elvish. “How eloquent”.

They shared wary wobbly smiles, feeling a little less like strangers.

Ellana’s change in appearance enraged Solas. She was still bronze-skinned, silver-haired and green-eyed but there were significant changes. Horns reminiscent of the Qunari curled up and over the crown of her head. Each as thick as his wrist, tapering to high sharp points. Her cat-slitted eyes outlined in gold joined the swirls of vallaslin upon her face.

Golden lines upon her nose formed the centre of a leaf, while the veins were plain upon her cheeks. The lines on her chin merged with those on the slope of her throat. The vallaslin flowed passed her clavicle down into the valley of her cleavage. The collar of her cuirass concealed those details, though he spied more upon her arms.

Delicate lines followed the bones of her shoulders down into her forearms. Then across the back of her hands to the joints of her fingers. Each line of vallaslin ended in a golden band around the base of her claws. The pattern was repeated upon her thighs, shins, ankles, and along the top of each foot to her clawed toes. It was more intricate than any example of blood writing created by elven hands.

A clear reminder that Solas didn’t know what she truly was. The sly Dalish rogue he’d loved had been replaced by a stranger. If Ellana had concealed this much from him, he wondered what else she’d lied about. He knew she’d had a family with his predecessor. The evidence of that union lounged upon the steps of the Altar of Mythal in a black cloak.

“Do you accept my offer?” he demanded, feeling used, abused and betrayed.

“No I don’t”, replied Ellana. “I am not a broodmare to be put to pasture, fat and pregnant with a foal. If you want an heir than you can make one with someone else. I have recovered my lastborn child. My oath to Soleryn is fulfilled”.

Solas’ lip curled with indignation. “You are my wife!”

“My husband is dead. You might have his face, but you are not Soleryn Fenesvir”.

He’d had enough of her games. He strode across the grass, closing the distance between them in short angry strides. He stopped before her, reaching out to grasp a taloned hand. He held fast when she resisted, stepping into her personal space. He crowded close, ignoring her warning hiss as he pressed the palm of her hand to his chest.

“Tell me that I am not yours”.

“Solas”.

“Tell me!”

Ellana exhaled a weary breath, her shoulders slumping. “It would be a lie”.

“Yes”, he acknowledged. “It would be”. He peered into her face, seeing the lingering sadness of centuries spent pining for the man she’d lost. “I am here, vhenan. Will you not accept me?”

He didn’t like the slow shake of her head. “I can’t”.

“Why?”

She tried to turn her face away, but he cupped her cheek. His thumb slid under her chin. He turned her head back, forcing her to look at him. Solas was determined not to lose this argument. If he had three questions than he would use them to his advantage.

“No. I forbid you from running away. Remember our bargain. Three questions you promised me. Three answers you owe. It is time I collected on your debt”.

“Then ask”.

His first question was strategic. “Who and what are you beneath the guise of a Dalish elf?”

To combine two questions into one. The gall. Solas like Soleryn had balls of brass. Ellana liked his forthrightness, even if he lacked finesse. She had put him in a difficult position. The board was set.

It was time to play.

“To the Elvhen, I was the Mother of Flame. The wellspring of light and life in all its forms. To the Dalish I was Amaevhen, the saviour that whisked their ancestors out of the ruins of Arlathan. What I taught their forebears about the wilds formed the foundation of their culture. The rest they learned on their own from generation to generation".

Solas was astonished. “You were the first Keeper”.

“Yes”.

“That does not explain what you are”.

“I was a spirit in the earliest years of my existence. I became something else after I descended into Thedas from the void. The Elvhen called me a goddess, but the durgen’len weren’t as reverent. I burned too bright and fierce for them, so I abandoned the caverns beneath the earth in favour of the sky. I am the reason that those born in the stone fear to leave it”.

Ellana saw the moment his eyes widened in alarm. Solas gawped at her like a fool, thinking the implication ludicrous. She couldn’t be what she was suggesting. A titan was a spirit of stone not a creature capable of creating an elven face. Or so he’d thought yet Ellana had changed her appearance at will, shedding her elven form.

“You are a titan”.

“Yes and no. I am akin to those that reside in the earth, but I am not wholly like them. My father wasn’t a spirit of Thedas, but a being from beyond the void. I don’t know exactly what he was, though I do know that he had an affinity for fire. I inherited his talent, along with his temper and propensity for destruction”.

Solas’ mouth trembled. “Kieran instructed his mother to wait until you had cast off your cloak”.

“A necessity. To travel in my natural form would set the sky ablaze. So I have adopted more appropriate guises to move among the peoples of Thedas. Abelas spoke the truth. I have always found it easiest to blend in than to stick out”.

“Using the face and form of a Dalish elf”.

“A necessity”.

“To lure me from Mythal?”

Ellana proved reluctant to answer, though she was bound by a promise. She eyed him as a Halla might have a wolf, cautious in her observation. Wolves had teeth sharp enough to chew through anything that wasn’t steel or stone. They could make short work of hide, flesh and bone. They were opportunistic hunters.

Like Solas.

“Vhenan. You promised to answer”.

“So I did. Is that your second question?”

“It is”.

Ellana exhaled a weary breath, her brows furrowing. “It was more akin to theft than a lure. I thought to cheat Flemeth by stealing her King from the board. You outmanoeuvred me, choosing duty over love. There was nothing I could do but seethe like a woman scorned”.

“I had my reasons”.

“Of course you did. So did I though my scheme failed. I’d intended to sabotage Mythal’s plans, but you outplayed me. I was struck from the board, checkmated before I could mount a defence. Trumped by my own beloved”.

Solas gave her a pointed look. “You played your trump card in the field outside Halamshiral”.

“It was a moment of weakness”.

“Then why did you reveal yourself to me?”

Bound by the threads of her own promise, Ellana capitulated with a sigh. She bowed her head, feeling the weight of her own deeds like a milestone around her neck. It would hurt him to learn the truth, though they weren’t bound to one another. Her duty to Soleryn had ended with the recovery of their lastborn daughter. She was free at last.

“I wanted you to know me as I am, before I had to leave you”.

He was bewildered. “That is not an answer”.

“There is more”.

“Tell me”.

Ellana looked him in the eye, determined not to lose face. “I am betrothed to a spirit that is my opposite in nature. He is old and powerful, though many millennia my junior. It was arranged long ago without my knowledge or consent. I have resisted being bound by a promise made in my name until now”.

Solas dropped her clawed hand like a stone. He sucked in a startled breath, taking a shaky step backward. “Betrothed”. He wanted to ask the inevitable until realisation dawned. It came to him with a sudden terrible clarity.

“Only one spirit would fit that description. You are betrothed to Hakkon Wintersbreath, the Avvar god of winter and warfare”.

“Astute as always”, she praised, smiling. “Did I not say that you would be privy to a few of my secrets? So our bargain is fulfilled. Three questions you have asked. Three questions I have answered with absolute honesty”.

It was an eerie reminder of what’d happened in Crestwood. Ellana’s face softened, the smile waning as if in sorrow. The change in her mood made Solas uneasy. He frowned when she stepped away from him, the distance while small seemed like a yawning chasm. She lifted a scaled hand, bringing two fingers to her lips.

She blew him a kiss.

“It is time for me to return to the Temple of Mythal. Abelas has banished you for attacking Arryn, though it was Mythal that betrayed him. She has paid the price for hurting him, a lesson she will never forget. The scars upon her soul will be the mark of her shame. All who see them will know her as an oath-breaker”.

“You burned her”, declared Solas. “She is still in great pain”.

Ellana's answer was succinct. “Mythal suledin nadas”. She bowed her head with all the polite acknowledgement of an Orlesian courtier. “Dareth shiral. Do not pursue me”.

He trembled, black brows arching in surprise. He recognised the motions. He’d done the same thing four years ago when they’d parted. It’d been a bitter experience. Now it was no less agonising though Solas sensed that this parting might be permanent.

“You intend to leave Thedas”.

“That, my love. Has yet to be decided”.

“Ellana!”

She held out her clawed hands to him. She said nothing, the offer made though Solas hesitated. He had seen the unleashing of her magic in the courtyard surrounding the Vir’abelasan. Then her transformation into a silver-scaled High Dragon. At the Altar of Mythal she'd captured and singed a spirit with her bare hands.

She wasn't an ordinary mage, but something far more dangerous.

He'd been right to be wary.

Ellana smiled, her cheeks dimpling. She nodded in understanding, winking at him with an amused glint in her eye. She laughed when he took immediate offence. His pride getting the best of him. The open challenge was enough to send him striding through the grass.

He laid his gauntleted hands in hers despite his uncertainty. He didn’t trust her after all he’d seen, learned, and discovered. Too many questions were unanswered. Yet one constant remained. He leaned inwards, pressing his brows to hers.

She loved him as he loved her.

It was more than a revelation.

It was completion.

He breathed her in, his eyes closing. She smelt of fire, sand, and brimstone with tinges of steel and blade oil. A cant of his head and their mouths aligned. It was a bitter-sweet farewell. He kissed her with all the passion of a man devoted to his purpose.

She returned that love with a tenderness that brought tears to his eyes.

When it ended, Ellana turned her mouth against his cheek. She whispered in the shell of his ear. His eyes widened, the ball of dread loosening in the pit of his stomach. She released his hands, smirking with a rogue’s satisfaction. She stepped away from him, the grass crunching beneath her clawed feet.

“Till tomorrow night, Solas”.

“I will be here”, he replied in utter bewilderment.

After midday two dragons and a mabari returned to the Temple of Mythal. The sentinel elves scrambled, believing themselves under assault. Felassan shed his fur, revealing himself in a haze of fire, smoke and ash. He raised his hands to pacify them while the dragons circled overhead. He was recognised as the child Mythal had taken with her to Arlathan.

“Felassan!” called Ilcen. “Atisha!”

He waved a hand in the air, urging his comrades to lower their weapons. The sentinels still rattled by their encounter with Ellana, were reluctant to comply. Abelas barked a reprimand. They scowled, seething until the spirits of the Vir’abelasan roused. Each that’d felt mutinous doubled over, holding their heads.

Their faces a rictus of pain.

“Fenedhis!” swore Abelas as he watched his comrades writhe in distress. "The spirits of our forebears rise!" He urged Valoya, Ilcen, and those unaffected away from the Vir'abelasan. “Do not interfere! Stay your distance from the others!”

Felassan echoed his warning. “Listen to him! Get away from the pool or be prepared to join your dead in it! Such is their outrage! Only Ellana can calm them now!”

Morrigan hesitated, Kieran did too. They watched sentinel after sentinel drop their weapons with a clatter. Shields hit the ground beside swords, staves, spears and axes. Those rebuked by the dead fell to their knees, groaning in agony. Most were pale and sweating, while others retched onto the cobbles.

“Witch!”

Morrigan tensed like a coiled spring, her golden eyes full of fear.

“Go after Abelas!” urged Felassan. “Take your son! The spirits if their dead are vengeful! You don’t want to be caught in the middle of this argument!”

She asked one question. “Is it Ellana?”

“It is. You’re safe. I promise”.

She nodded, shaken but understanding. She put an arm around her son’s shoulders. “Come, Kieran. This doesn’t concern us. This matter is between your wayward aunt and the sentinel elves”.

“Yes, mother”.

She led him away, wary when the Well of Sorrows boiled with agitation. The pool frothed, its depths churning. The spirits within writhed in fury, their voices rising into the wind. They screamed recriminations in accented ancient elvish, frightening the sentinel elves. They backed away ashen-faced as figures emerged from the water.

Each was tall, pale as snow, and translucent like frosted glass.

Crystalline skulls glinted beneath the thin veneer of their skin. Hair long and short waved in the wind like the gossamer threads of a spider’s web. Some spirits had been cleaved in two, bashed by maces, or pierced by spears, swords, and arrows. Feathered shafts sprouted from their chests like the tails of strange birds. Most had their heads, though a few had half while others were missing arms and legs.

It was a parade of the macabre, each death more gruesome than the next.

Although some spirits had left the Vir'abelasan, most remained behind. They stared at the world beyond. Their ragged hair, pale skulls, and glowing eyes visible from the shore. The ranks of the sentinel elves thinned. Many recoiled at sight of their brethren taking form among them as wraiths. Those that’d doubted Abelas’ leadership were berated by the dead.

Their voices like the hissing of snakes.

Abelas flinched, backing away. “This has never happened before”.

Felassan was sympathetic, knowing his Hahren liked to cause a stir. “The fault lies with Ellana. She took something from Mythal. It has provoked your dead, although they're angrier at your fellows than at you. Let my Hahren handle this”.

“So be it”.

He ushered those sentinels loyal to him away from the Vir'abelasan. The rest of their ranks remained, surrounded by the dead. One after another, the disloyal were cowed into obedience. Their ears ringing with the reprimands of their predecessors. All thought of mutiny was seared away.

The courtyard around the Vir'abelasan was clear.

There in a narrow strip of scorched cobbles, descended the two dragons. First came the silver matriarch, larger and longer than the second. Then came her daughter, fierce and golden-scaled. They fanned their wings, each generating several blasts of cold air. The sentinel elves, living and dead were buffeted by the chill down-draughts.

Some tumbled over, whilst others bowed their heads in reverence. It’d been centuries since a High Dragon had come to the Temple of Mythal. Now there were two, though it was Ellana that shed her scales first. Her daughter came next in a flash of yellow flame. They touched down together to the crack of bone, the rasping shift of scales and the twang of sinew.

Two women emerged from a haze of black smoke. One bronzed and fierce, the other fair as a flower and full of uncertainty. It was Ellana that strode forth, garbed in green like a Dalish Keeper.

Her daughter shied, pulling the hood of her cloak down over her face. She remembered the temple, the Vir'abelasan and the elves that’d taken her prisoner. She had to be coaxed to follow her mother, though Ellana was patient. A gentle smile encouraged her, though she was wary until she realised she wasn’t being led into the temple. She was startled when her mother raised her hand.

A flick of her fingers and the spirits of the Vir'abelasan made way. They shooed those disloyal to Abelas aside, snapping orders that sent them scrambling. Abelas and his companions gaped when the spirits arranged themselves. One after another they formed a guard along a narrow strip of scorched ground. The living sentinels were behind them, staring in wide-eyed incredulity.

“Ma serannas”, said Ellana, bowing her head to them in acknowledgement. “I appreciate your forethought. My daughter has unpleasant memories of this place. It's kind of you to consider her feelings and mine. I will not forget it”.

The spirits of the dead returned the gesture. Those with heads nodding in obeisance, while those without bent at the waist instead. One stepped forth, its breastplate cloven in two. The broken shaft of a spear protruding from its back like a thorn. It raised a gauntleted hand, pointing away into the distance.

There beyond the Vir'abelasan was the semi-circle of shattered Eluvian. The largest central mirror the only one still intact. Its glass dark and inactive. The spirit beckoned with its other hand, skeletal fingers flicking with impatience. If she intended to send her daughter away, than it was best done quickly.

“Felassan”, called Ellana. “Would you take Miravise home for me?”

Her apprentice emerged from the crowd. “Of course, Hahren”.

“Ma serannas”.

He hurried over to the newest member of their household. He spoke to her in hushed elvish, nodding when she asked questions. He soothed her worries as best he could, though she still called for Ellana. She shook her head when Felassan pointed to the Eluvian beyond the Vir'abelasan. She was agitated enough to complain.

“Nae! Ma tel’ghilas!”

Felassan tried again, though she refused to budge. “Hahren”, he called, frowning in frustration. “I have assured her that it is safe, but she doesn’t believe me. She thinks a trap awaits us beyond the Eluvian. Considering what Mythal did to her, I understand her reluctance to trust me”.

Ellana took her child in stride. She lifted her hands to push the cowl from Miravise’s face. She cupped her daughter’s cheeks, murmuring apologies. She leaned inwards till their brows touched. A gentle word and Miravise wept, her breath hitching.

She nodded when Ellana drew an arm around her shoulders. She took one tentative step after another, staying close to her mother. She pulled the cowl of her cloak forwards to hide her face from the spirits of the Vir'abelasan. She kept her eyes on the Eluvian, afraid to look back. She heaved a sigh of relief when they reached their destination.

The eluvian loomed over them, a stone archway containing a single pane of black glass. Miravise saw her own reflection, though in her mother’s place she spied a tree. It had silver bark and leafy boughs festooned with white blossoms. She smiled at the emerald leaves rustling in the wind. The Vhenadahl a familiar facet of her parent’s divinity.

She turned to her mother, teary-eyed but reassured.

"Ma ghilas".

Ellana returned her smile. The eluvian came alive, its surface turning from black to silver-white. The light dissipated to reveal a stone dais before a long corridor. At the end was an open fireplace filled with black sand. Miravise saw something beyond the hearth’s iron grating. She was beaming when Ellana called to Felassan.

“Go, da’len. Take her home. Keep her safe for me. I will return in a few days. I have business here that must be attended to before then”.

She stepped back, giving her apprentice room to take her place. He blushed when Miravise smiled at him. He offered her his hand, glad when she accepted it. Together they stepped through the Eluvian into the Watcher’s cavern. Ellana left them there, closing the way with a wave of her hand.

The glass turned black, the image of her daughter hand-in-hand with Felassan vanishing.

It was done. Her youngest was safe again, though another problem remained. She turned around to face her audience. The spirits of the Vir'abelasan and the last living acolytes of Mythal.

It was a strange though not unforeseen outcome.

“What a conundrum we have here”, she declared. “The dead against the living. I can see why Flemeth gave this place a wide berth. The spirits are falling apart like rotting corpses. The living cower like naughty children. What a depressing sight you all make”.

She moved away from the Eluvian, armoured skirts rustling. She strolled barefoot down the avenue of spirits, looking at each of them in turn. Many bowed their heads, whilst others tried to sink to their knees in reverence. Ellana flapped a hand at them, shaking her horned head. The spirits made noises of protest, disinclined not to give her the respect she’d earned.

“Get up. There’ll be none of that nonsense. I’m not Mythal, though I appreciate your deference. I’ve need of comrades not servants. Half of you can’t even manage a proper curtsy with your limbs missing”.

A snap of her clawed fingers sent a wave of magic through the spirits of the Vir'abelasan. Those bristling with arrows turned into fog. Those with missing limbs fell to the ground in a clatter of translucent bones. The rest dissolved into puddles. They returned to the Well of Sorrows without complaint, its murky waters calming.

“Well”, said Ellana. “It’s a start”.

She sensed the distress of the living sentinels leak across the bond like sparks to flame. She exhaled a weary breath, loathing Mythal even more. She was saddled with the All Mother’s responsibilities. Where Ellana had demanded one life, she’d gotten a few hundred in return. It was an even trade if she could at last ensure Morrigan’s freedom.

“That wily old witch”, she mused aloud. “It’s not all bad I suppose. That gilded armour is tight in all the right places. I’ll have plenty of rather lovely arses to look at. I could even start a harem if there are lads willing aplenty”.

Her grin was lascivious, the hedonist in her preening. She’d spend her days courting and her nights in pleasurable trysts. It would be a nice change after the disappointment of losing Solas. He was now beyond her reach, though that wasn’t yet set in stone.

“So. Let’s begin”.

Her eyes flashed blue-white, the magic of Mythal merging with her own.

She heard the round of startled gasps from the sentinel elves. Some cursed whilst others laughed, though she heard muffled sobbing too. The voices of the Well of Sorrows no longer whispered, but spoke with a clarity they’d not heard in centuries. The sentinel bond had passed from Mythal to another deity that’d watched over them since the dawn of time. It was a fitting change.

“How odd”, remarked Ellana. “They’re rejoicing”.

“Of course they are”.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. One of the sentinels hadn’t hesitated to join her. He was tall, silver-haired and golden eyed. A handsome lad when he wasn’t scowling fit to set his face aflame. He regarded her with awe and gratitude.

“Abelas”.

“Amaevhen”, he replied, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “We are bonded to you now instead of Mythal. I care not how it came about. My people and I will honour the chance you have given us. You will not regret it”.

His confidence intrigued Ellana. “You sound so sure of that”.

“I am”.

He appraised her as he might have a prized mare. She was tall, barehanded and barefoot. Her bronzed skin covered in scales, beneath which were the golden lines of her vallaslin. It was beautiful in its intricacy, a thing no elf had designed or painted. It was as much a part of her as the draconic horns that curved up and over the crown of her head.

He was moved when she made a statement.

“You have many injured. Arryn among them. I sense their hurt across the sentinel bond. They need immediate tending. You will take me to them”.

Abelas smiled, the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “At once. Arryn is nearest, but we have more in the catacombs beneath the temple”.

She nodded. “I will tend Arryn first, then we will descend into the catacombs. I will tend the wounded that lie in Uthenera. When that is done. I will take stock of what people and resources we have left”.

“And then?”

“We will leave this place”, concluded Ellana. “I have bastions in Thedas and beyond it. I will send the newly healed there, along with the spirits of the Vir'abelasan. The rest may go with them or remain with me as they so choose. We will discuss it at length in due course”.

Elvish Glossary

Nae - No.

Ma Mythal di’nan. Lasa revas - You will kill Mythal. Grant her freedom.

Tel’garas solas’an - Come not to a prideful place.

Mala suledin nadas - Now you must endure.

Vhenan - Heart.

Venavis - Stop or cease.

Amae - Variant of Mamae meaning Mother or guardian.

Abae - Variant of Babae meaning Father.

Ma da'vhenan - My little heart.

Ir abelas. Ir tel’abae - I am sorry. I am not your father.

Ma melava halani - You helped me.

Ma isala halani - You needed help.

Ma serannas - Thank you.

Ma abae di’nan - Your father is dead.

Tel’dinan - (He is) not dead.

Ma abae harel Mythal. Soleryn di’nan - Your father was deceived by Mythal. Soleryn died.

Mythal lasa ma abae’elgar falon’fen - Mythal gave your father's soul to a friend that was a wolf.

Vin - Yes: borrowed from Project Elvhen.

Mala inan - Use your eyes.

Garas ma - Come to me.

Atisha - Peace.

Nae! Ma tel’ghilas – No. I won't go.

Chapter 9: A Snake in the Larder

Chapter Text

Arryn stared at her in wide-eyed fascination. Ellana flicked the tip of his nose with a taloned finger. He gasped, flinching. She winked when he hunched his shoulders, turning shy. She was charmed when he blushed, flustered and unsure of himself.

He was adorable.

“Ir abelas”, he apologised, voice raspy. The skin of his throat a healthy pink instead of angry red. The burns were gone, the handprints left by Mythal’s spirit but a memory. He was a little tender, though he could speak without discomfort. He was awed by the progenitrix of his family.

She was nothing like what he’d expected.

Mythal had always been kind, but distant as the moon in the sky. She’d been far above them, a deity worshipped and revered like a Queen. The All Mother of the elven pantheon, second only to Elgar’nan. Yet here was Amaevhen, the Mother of Flame tending him as if he were her own child. There was love, kindness and concern in her every word and gesture.

Even the teasing smile upon her face put him at ease.

“There’s no need to apologise. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to be curious. I thought you’d be too frightened to speak to me. I know you’re afraid that I’ll whisk you away from here. But that’s impossible after the few hundred strays I’ve found”.

Arryn smiled in return, his cheeks dimpling. “Your acquisition of the sentinel bond”.

Ellana waggled her eyebrows. “That’s one way to put it. Now I’m responsible for the acolytes of my greatest foe. It’s not how I thought today would turn out, though it wasn’t unexpected. The sentinel elves deserve to be treated far better for their years of service, love and loyalty”.

He spied Abelas, Ilcen and Valoya exchanging bewildered glances. They weren’t sure if that was sympathy or criticism. Many sentinels were embittered by Flemeth’s refusal to assume Mythal’s responsibilities. Her rejection of them taken as a personal slight. The resentment burned as readily now as it had eight centuries ago.

Arryn addressed the issue as delicately as he could. “We did?” He tensed when Ellana paused, thinking he had erred. He blinked, surprised when she stroked a scaled knuckle across his cheek. There painted onto his skin were the emerald branches of the Dahl’amythal.

“You don’t know”. She glanced around the chamber, eyeing each of them in turn. She was certain of their ignorance when Abelas frowned. Ilcen and Valoya followed suit, shaking their heads in confusion. “None of you do”.

Arryn caught on before they did, running a thumb over his temple. He felt the ridges of the tattoo etched into his skin. He and all those sworn to Mythal had worn her mark. It seemed something of an insult now, considering their change in allegiance. He wondered if Ellana would insist on its removal.

“You mean our vallaslin”.

“I do”, she affirmed. “It doesn’t belong to Mythal. It’s mine”.

Abelas sucked in a surprised breath. “Yours?”

“It’s an artistic interpretation of the Vhenadhal, the Tree of the People”, explained Ellana. “An alternative form I took to rest in the depths of winter. I’d sleep often until spring in a sheltered valley somewhere in Thedas. The location changing each year, though I’d thought nothing of it until Soleryn Fenesvir. He made quite the impression when we first met”.

The revelation shocked her audience.

“What happened?”

“I awoke one spring to find him sleeping in my crown. He was stretched out like a cat where my branches forked. His head pillowed on a satchel he’d wedged there. He snored louder than a cawing crow, so I dumped him on the ground. He awoke with a start, swearing till he spied a naked woman instead of a tree”.

Abelas reddened. “Oh”.

“He forgave me in the end, though word of his encounter spread. The tree that I had been would become a symbol of veneration for the elves of Thedas. A symbol Mythal used to distinguish her folk from those belonging to other Evanuris. It was her way of incorporating a part of who I was into her own divinity. A validation of sorts, though she was unable to ascend beyond her own limitations”.

“Why?”

“Because those such as I are born not made. While a mage can merge with a spirit to gain power. It often creates an imbalance within them. That is why maleficar have such a monstrous appearance. A spirit exists without shape or form. Living beings have a finite shape defined by the environment in which they exist”.

Arryn frowned. “You mean like a bird in the sky or a fish in the sea”.

“Astute. Anise would be proud. She always claimed that you were quick and clever. I’m glad to see that she was right. She’ll be even more pleased to see you again once we leave this place”.

He froze, breath catching in his throat. “She lives?”

“What do the voices of the Well say?” asked Ellana.

He shared an incredulous look with Abelas, Ilcen and Valoya. They lingered nearby but had chosen to keep a respectful distance. Their eyes closed as they communed with the spirits of the Vir’abelasan. Moments passed in a silence, soon broken by Valoya’s startled gasp. Her breath hitched, the tears splashing her cheeks.

“Amaevhen!” she cried, darting forwards to join them. “Our children! Please! If Anise lives! If she escaped the Vir Elgara’s collapse during the razing of Arlathan!”

Ilcen followed in a mad scramble, his breath shuddering as he grasped her shoulders. He peered at Ellana, eyes bleary and face wet. His wife reached up to catch his gauntleted hands, squeezing hard enough to bruise. She hiccupped, mouth trembling when Ellana’s head turned. She tensed the instant their new mistress regarded them with pity.

“You’ve held out hope for this long?”

“If you know their fates”, implored Valoya. “Tell us. I beg you”.

“They were all we had”, stated Ilcen, his voice breaking. “The voices of the Well say that Anise lives, that you saved her life. Our children were sent to the Vir Elgara in exchange for Arryn coming here. He could offer himself to Mythal if our children were given the same opportunity to serve Elgar’nan”.

“A customary practice if they were unbound. Although it was only ever acceptable if the candidates were under a century old”.

Valoya sniffled. “They were when they left us”.

Ellana felt the fragile spark of their hope across the sentinel bond. It was smaller than a pebble but burned steadily though it lacked strength. That hope was tinged with a grief so profound that her heart ached. She understood what it was to love, to bear a child and bury them. It was a strange thing to bond over with the abandoned followers of a vanquished foe.

She smiled, her face softening in sympathy. “They live, child”.

The stalwart façade of the sentinels crumbled. Valoya and Ilcen closed their eyes, the tears coming thick and fast. They were relieved parents in that moment, the shadow of their grief falling away. The shock of it left them shaking down to their toes. Their faces were moist when Abelas stepped forward. He knelt beside Arryn on the paving stones.

He gasped, his eyes red and watery. “You saved them?”

Ellana reached for him, cupping his cheek in the scaled palm of her hand. A gold-tipped thumb stroked his skin in comfort. Thick black claws never once scratched, even when Abelas leaned into her touch. She arched a silver brow when he looked back at her, trusting that she’d neither hurt nor abandon him. It was a poignant bittersweet moment.

“You’ll need a new name. Where I lead you, there’ll be cause for joy not sorrow”.

“Show me?” he asked, voice tremulous as if he was afraid to hope.

“Gladly”.

Ellana followed Abelas down a winding staircase into the catacombs beneath the temple. Arryn, Valoya and Ilcen were above, organising the sentinels already awake. Morrigan was there, along with her son having refused to follow them underground. The taste of her fear lingered lemon-sour on the back of Ellana’s tongue. Her new elven acolytes, used to serving Mythal were coping far better.

It was a strange experience to descend into that ancient labyrinth.

It was a maze of long corridors, plain undecorated walls and rooms filled with old things. She saw weapons in dusty racks, elven armour on stands and petrified wooden crates. There were urns, jars and large earthenware pots covered in cobwebs. Statues of Mythal in stone or metal were stashed in corners crammed with fallen bricks. In places the roof, walls and floors were penetrated by gigantic, gnarled roots.

The trees of the Arbor Wilds had found a foothold.

Abelas led her through the safest route, careful to avoid the crumbling floors. Ellana had advised against a larger party to the vehement protests of her new acolytes. They'd capitulated when Abelas had volunteered to be her guide. Ellana had seen the envious, mistrustful glares directed at him as if he were a pariah. She supposed that his people had a right to be angry with due consideration to their plight.

Abandoned by Flemeth, they'd lived in poverty and isolation for thousands of years.

It would take more than a change of the guard to reassure them. The Elvhen were a proud people, their lives and memories centuries long. They knew how to hold a grudge. It would take a millennium to crack them out of that shell, even longer to change their outlook. Ellana loathed how they fell back into old habits.

The bowing would have to stop, along with the honorifics they were trying to attach to her name.

“Abelas”, she called whilst manoeuvring around a large tree root. “You’ll have to tell them to stop calling me – Mother of Flame. Then there’s that whole bowing nonsense. While I appreciate their deference, I’m not here to make them indentured servants again. I want allies not a bunch of lack-wits ready to bend over and kiss my arse”.

“You could order them to stop”, he offered, smiling when she dismissed the idea. “The sentinel bond grants you that power”.

“I am not one of the Evanuris. I don’t coerce or compel others to follow me. My people always have a choice, even if they never want to acknowledge it. Free will should never be relinquished on a whim. The right to choose your own fate is the gift I never had”.

Abelas stopped moving with an immediacy she found comical. “What?”

Ellana arched an eyebrow when he turned around. Tall and thin as a poplar with a shock of silver hair, he was the liveliest thing in those dim grey halls. He was passionate and demanding, attractive traits in a potential mate. She liked her men feisty, though Abelas had a terrible sense of decorum. She wondered if he’d ever broken a single rule during the years he’d led Mythal’s surviving acolytes.

“Let’s keep going. We can’t be far from the vault”.

Abelas reached out without thinking when she came near. She gazed at the gauntleted fingers grasping her wrist, smirking when he realised what he’d done. He recoiled, taking fright though she didn’t let him retreat. She reached out with a clawed hand, catching him by the vambrace before he’d taken two steps backward. She held fast when he jerked his arm, hoping that she’d let him go.

“Oh, no you don’t”.

“Amaevhen!” he cried, panicking. “Forgive me!”

She rolled her eyes when he trembled like a leaf in a chill breeze. Face ashen-pale as he bowed his head, the thick silver braid of his hair sliding over a gilded pauldron. He was trying to fall to his knees, to bow and beg for her forgiveness. Ellana reeled him in like a fish on a line, forcing him to stay on his feet. She pulled him closer as if he were a toddler, intent on preventing him from fleeing.

“Maker’s arse. I’m not going to reprimand you for daring to touch me”.

He ceased to struggle, more baffled than afraid. “But it was inappropriate of me to be so forward”.

“Says who?”

He calmed, though he was still wary. “You are not angry?”

“Of course not”, replied Ellana. “We were friends before you knew me like this. Can we not be friends again? It’ll grow tiresome if you flinch whenever I glance your way. It’ll be worse if you can’t stand to be near me without being afraid”.

Abelas blushed feeling as if he were being scolded by his mother. “Ir abelas”.

“It’s all right. I understand your wariness, but you needn’t worry. Mythal owed me a debt, she has paid it with interest. While my adoption of her duties is regrettable, it wasn’t an unforeseen consequence of my coming here. Morrigan is free, her son is safe, and your people have a new patroness”.

He was self-conscious when she patted his knuckles. “Can I have my hand back now?”

She let him go with a smile, gesturing for him to take the lead again. “If you would be so kind”.

“Of course. Let us continue”.

Their passage to the vault ended at a series of shattered eluvian. Abelas reddened when Ellana arched an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. He shrugged, unsure of how to proceed. None of the Elvhen knew the spells necessary to repair a broken mirror. Yet he had seen her do that to one of the seven archways overlooking the Vir’abelasan.

“We were once able to reach this floor from above using the eluvian inside the temple. Alas to secure the vault, I ordered these shattered when the Evanuris laid siege. In the centuries after we were able to access this point through safer routes. But the passage of time took its toll, collapsing many of the tunnels we had once used”.

“You didn’t think to show me the shattered eluvian inside the temple? I could’ve saved us the trek down here”.

Abelas shrugged, feeling self-conscious again. “I wanted to talk to you”.

“Of course you did”, said Ellana. “No doubt you’re wondering what my intentions are towards you and your people. What better way to decide that than to get me alone in an enclosed space? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to earn my regard. But it’s more likely that you’re worried I’ll renege on my promise to help you”.

“Amaevhen. I meant no disrespect”.

She snorted, waving off his concern. “It’s all right. If I were you than I’d be suspicious too. But this path won’t do unless we can ferry those in Uthenera aboveground. It’d be rather awful if I’d arrived to help only to fail at the first test”.

Abelas tried not to be critical, but he was still worried. “Am I allowed to have an opinion about that?”

“You should”.

He frowned, unused to working with a supposed deity that was so forthright. “Is that expected for someone in my position?”

Ellana countered. “I could leave your people to rot here for another five thousand years”.

“Nae!”

“Then express your concerns. Tell me if I’m doing a decent or sh*t job of things. Tell me of the issues you believe should be brought to my attention. It can’t be that dissimilar to the role you held in Mythal’s court. I don’t see why that should change now”.

He gaped at her in astonishment. “You want me to continue leading the sentinel elves?”

“I’d be a fool not too. They know and trust you. It’ll take time for me to attain their respect and acceptance. If that is indeed what they want. If it is not than I will release them from their vows”.

Abelas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You would let them leave the temple without censure?”

“I am neither Mythal nor one of the Evanuris”, said Ellana. “If I want something from you than I will ask. Your answer might disappoint or delight me, but I will respect it. It was a disaster when my elder brother tried to impose his will upon me. I loathe being told what to do as if I were a child”.

“What happened?”

“I rebelled”.

“How?”

The dismissive wave of Ellana’s clawed hand didn’t reassure him. “There was no sunlight, moonlight or starlight for weeks. No sunset, sunrise or shift in the seasons. No passage of time. It was as if Thedas had been plunged into a state of dormancy. Everything and everyone slept for a year until Sigfrost capitulated”.

“Sigfrost?”

“The Great Bear. He who sleeps at the foot of Korth, the Mountain Father’s throne. He doesn’t appear in elven folklore nor is he one of the Evanuris. His allegiance lies with the Avvar pantheon, ruled by Korth and his wife the Lady of the Skies. He is their god of wisdom or lack thereof considering how foolish he can be”.

Abelas was horrified. “You plunged Thedas into darkness over a quarrel with your brother?”

“I was so angry with Sigfrost that I was ready to leave this world. I’d planned to venture into the void, seeking my fortune elsewhere. He saw the error of his judgement when I jettisoned myself into the sky in a ball of flame. Everything withered and died the instant I sought to sever the ties that bound me here. Korth and the Lady intervened as did their firstborn son”.

“Fenedhis. Was it war?”

“The Lady foresaw the destruction that would occur if I left Thedas forever. She beseeched me to reconsider before I made such a decision in haste. I didn’t care for Korth’s opinion or that of his son Hakkon Wintersbreath. I did agree to parley with them upon the slopes of Mount Belenas. There we came to a tenuous agreement that shepherded an era of uneasy peace”.

“Until now?”

“Many things have changed, while much has stayed the same”, said Ellana. “I’ve a choice yet to make, though the wheel of fate has already set things in motion. I will have need of your guidance in the days to come. Much of what we decide will shape the future of your people”.

That news unsettled Abelas. “Will we survive it?”

“That will depend upon you. I can lead the way, but only you can choose to follow. I am unlike Mythal, the Evanuris and Sigfrost. I don’t force my will upon others. You will always have a choice to follow the path that seems best to you”.

“It is more than Mythal gave us”.

“I know”, she replied, smiling soft and sad. “Loyalty is earned. What must be given can never be taken by force. A lesson she learned too late. I promise never to put you and yours into such a position again”.

“Truly?”

“You’ll be the judge of that. Now let us attend to those that yet lie in Uthenera”.

Ellana eyed the shattered eluvian that led to the crypts used by the acolytes of Mythal. Three archways occupied the space, the largest stood at the centre of the chamber. The smaller flanking it on either side. Shards of black glass glittered upon the floor, still sharp enough to cut. Ellana walked there barefoot, never once concerned about cutting her feet to ribbons.

“Could you reopen the way here as you did outside?” asked Abelas.

“Of course”.

She faced the largest central eluvian, raising her hand. The lines of her vallaslin glowed like molten gold, radiating a pleasant heat that warmed the air. Abelas shivered, feeling the shift and change in the fabric of the Fade. Then he stared in amazement as shards of black glass rose from the floor. There suspended as if in a web of magic, each glinted like pieces of obsidian.

“Amaevhen?”

“A moment. I’m trying to find all the bits you broke”.

He blushed, feeling his face grow hot. “Oh”.

“A joke”, teased Ellana.

A flick of her fingers and the fragments flew forward. Each shard lodged inside that archway reforming the fractured pane. Abelas stared when the cracks in the glass burned white-hot. He heard a sibilant hiss then saw clouds of steam rise from the eluvian. Jagged lines melted away as the glass cooled, revealing a smooth surface.

“Fenedhis”, swore Abelas when he saw his own reflection in the black glass. “May I?”

“Of course”. She stepped back, allowing him to take the lead. “I am still a stranger here even if I have taken Mythal’s mantle. It would be wise if you are the first to step through the eluvian. I don’t want to frighten anyone in Uthenera. Although they will already know that I am here”.

Abelas frowned, sensing the axis of his world shift. “You are not like Mythal at all”.

“How so?”

“You are here”. He gestured to the bare walls, the vaulted roof and the cracked tiles in the floor underfoot. “Mythal never walked these halls if she had a choice. She hated going underground after the war with the titans. We all knew that she was frightened of what lay beneath the stone”.

“Rocks aren’t supposed to have eyes, ears, bodies or fingers”, explained Ellana. “Neither are crystals. I found them frightening when I was first introduced to them too”.

“You have met a titan?”

“Several. Does that surprise you?”

“Nae. You are Amaevhen”, replied Abelas, confident that her alias explained everything. “We should go. The wounded that lie in Uthenera need tending”.

“So, they do. Lead on”.

A phrase in elvish and the eluvian activated, black glass turning silver-white. They emerged from the eluvian into an ancient hall untouched by the rigours of time. There were no mounds of bricks or tree roots twisting through ragged holes in the stonework. Lines of elvish runes were etched into the floor, walls and vaulted archways overhead. The wards glowing that ghoulish Fade-green protected what remained of the vast catacombs.

It was a large labyrinthine dungeon that reminded Ellana of a sepulchre.

Stone coffins upon daises were decorated with the sprawling branches of the Vhenadhal. Many were closed, some half-open the lids ajar revealing bleached white bones inside. It was here that Abelas turning to address Ellana, froze when she moved away from him. Her bare feet soft and soundless upon the marble tiles. He watched her walk among the coffins, her clawed fingers brushing lid after lid.

“Amaevhen?” he called when she stopped in the middle of the room.

There she paused, tilting her horned head like a curious mabari. “Many have died. I can feel the tattered edges of the bond they shared with Mythal. It flutters like a rag in the wind. It remains yet they are gone, their souls swallowed by the darkness of the Vir’abelasan”.

Abelas bit his lip, feeling ashamed of himself. “Forgive me”.

“It is not you that should ask for forgiveness”, corrected Ellana. “I should have come far sooner than I did, for the acolytes of Mythal were also my children after the fall of Elvhenan. Yet I couldn’t ignore the cries of those that’d survived the raising of the Veil. Many were but slaves, servants or minor nobles caught up in the chaos Solas unleashed”.

“You saved them”.

“Without the Evanuris, they were lost. I have ever been the guide for those the meander along the wayward path”.

Abelas asked what’d troubled him since her outburst at the Vir’abelasan. “If you saved them. Why did you not do the same for us? Were we unworthy of your compassion? Were you angry with us because of our connection to Mythal?”

Ellana exhaled a weary breath, her shoulders slumping. “You had all drunk from the waters of the Vir’abelasan. Binding yourselves into her service. There was nothing I could do to help you. Had you been free, I would have intervened, but you were not”.

The sentinel didn’t like her answer. “I do not understand”.

“The spell Mythal used to bind her acolytes is a perversion of an ancient ritual. Long before Elvhenan existed, it was used to consecrate marriage ceremonies. Memories and emotions were shared between those espoused as a gesture of trust and love. It also tested their loyalty to one another over time. After the rise of the Evanuris, such magic bound elves like you into willing servitude”.

Abelas shaken by the revelation, turned milk-pale. “We were slaves”.

“Ir abelas”.

He gazed at her, eyes wide and watery. His hands trembling as if he were afraid to ask. “Can the bond be broken?”

“Not without great pain. Such was the bond I shared with Soleryn. I knew the instant he was captured by Mythal, the torture he endured and the moment he died. It was agony. That Mythal had captured our children prevented me from storming Arlathan”.

“You would have razed the city?”

Ellana shook her head again. “Nae. I would have adopted an elven guise, stealing within as a thief to rescue them. I don’t kill unless provoked. That had been my plan until my elder brother interfered”.

“Sigfrost”.

“Yes”.

Abelas frowned, feeling a sense of foreboding. “Did he prevent you from rescuing your family?”

“I swore never to set Thedas ablaze in times of war or peace. Bound by my own promise I could not interfere in the natural course of Soleryn’s life. Even if I already had by marrying him and bearing his children. I did not expect Mythal to steal his soul and rehouse it inside a new vessel. Such was my horror the day our bond returned”.

The leader of her sentinels came to a starling conclusion. “Solas”.

“It is one-sided. He doesn’t sense me as I do him. I would have to renew the bond I shared with Soleryn, thereby transferring it to him for that to be true. But he is not as my husband was – there is a darkness in him. Coupled with fear, grief and rage – there is little of Soleryn left in him that I recognise. The least being the way he looked, the most the way he smiles though it is a rarity”.

Abelas saw the softness of her expression, the edges of her joy tinged with sadness. “Do you still love him?”

“Always”, replied Ellana. “But Solas is not Soleryn. Our time is past. Miravise survived her ordeal, but her future lies with Felassan. He will help her in ways that I cannot”.

The sentinel exhaled a weary breath, feeling a touch overwhelmed. “Why tell me your secrets?”

“You were Mythal’s confidant”.

He stared at her, eyes wide with incredulity. “You would have me as yours?”

“I could take you to bed as well”.

“I-Oh”.

“Nae? Ma nuvenin”.

Her acceptance of his apparent rejection shocked him. “That was not a refusal!”

“It wasn’t?”

He reddened when she grinned at him, all white fangs and satisfaction. “You are teasing me”.

“I am”, soothed Ellana, resuming her walk among the daises. “You are serious and taciturn by nature. A habit ingrained after serving Mythal for millennia. It will take lifetimes to break you out of it. Alas we will have that and more in the years to come”.

Abelas flustered by her flirtatiousness, felt the heat in his cheeks. “Fenedhis”.

It might have been hours or days that they spent underground. Abelas was unsure, though he saw miracles performed inside that dingy dungeon. The walls awash with light in a myriad of colours, the tiles upon the floor bleached white. All in a dazzling whirlwind of spells from healing to rejuvenation and renewal. It was as if he were inside the halls of Arlathan at the height of Mythal’s power.

The streets lit by floating crystals that chimed like bells when touched.

The roads cobbled with tiles that glowed when stepped upon in a kaleidoscope of colours. Ellana’s brand of magic was older, far cleaner and more precise than that of Mythal. It’s edges sharper, its focus direct while its touch was gentler. Tempered by time and a heart that’d grown kinder after loving a man like Soleryn Fenesvir. He wept when the first sentinel awoke from Uthenera, whole and hale of mind and body.

“Carys”.

Clad in her gilded armour, bloodied and torn after a confrontation with the Red Templars. Carys sat up inside her coffin, the heavy marble lid upon the ground beside it. She blinked at him in startled wonder, then peered down at the ragged hole in her gilded breastplate. Below the rent steel and torn gambeson and shirt was soft bare skin. Not even a scar lay beneath her clavicle where a Templar’s sword had cut her throat.

“Mythal enaste”.

His face wet and shining, Abelas was quick to correct her. “Nae, ma falon. Amaevhen enaste”. He gestured to the slender horned creature that watched them in silence. A pair of reptilian eyes, green as a leaf glinted as Carys turned her head. That pale nictating membrane flicked across Ellana’s irises, marking her as alien.

The awakened sentinel flinched. “Fenedhis!”

She gawked at her new mistress, seeing the gold vallaslin under her scales. The slitted pupils of her eyes, the clawed tips of her fingers. The twin dragon-like horns, so like Mythal that curled up and over the crown of her head. The silver locks that flowed like water over her bare shoulders. The strange leather cuirass and skirt dyed in shades of green, red and yellow.

“Amaevhen?”

Carys grimaced in sudden pain, face falling into her gauntleted hands. Metal fingers dug into her temples like claws. Thousands of voices cried out, a crowd inside her head. It was so loud that she couldn’t hear herself think. The spirits of her past comrades were all shouting at once.

“Abelas!”

Yet another stepped forth in his place, raising clawed hands to cup her face. Carys tensed when Ellana inclined her head, whispering a word in elvish. She ceased to resist when the gentlest of pressure was applied to her hands. She stared, brows arching in surprise when the Voices of the Vir’abelasan quietened. Their ecstatic salutations softening to joyous whispers.

“Amaevhen?”

“Vin. Be at ease. You are quite safe here”.

Carys frowned more bewildered than afraid. “How? Why?”

“Listen to the Voices of the Well. Let them guide you. Much has changed since you slept. Much more will change in the next few hours. I will need your help to awaken those still in Uthenera”.

“But many were hurt as I was. Injured”.

“All have been healed as you were”, said Ellana. “They need ousting out of bed”.

There was a moment of silence, then a turn of her horned head. Carys spied Abelas blushing to the roots of his silver hair. He stood there pretending that there weren’t several hundred coffins behind him. His eyes on Ellana, Carys and the dusty stone coffin his comrade lay inside. He bit his lip, feeling sheepish as if he were a boy but a century old again.

That Ellana found him attractive was flattering and terrifying. “I-er-We-should wake the others. Yes. Wake them. I will go over there”.

He pointed at some obscure place in the distance. Then he was gone in a flash of gold, darting across the chamber and out of sight. Carys frowned, a tad annoyed. He’d abandoned her in a heartbeat, leaving her alone with their new mistress. She knew why the instant Ellana smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“You make him nervous”.

“I know”.

It took several hours to rouse the sentinels in Uthenera. Most awoke startled and afraid like Carys, while others gaped at their new mistress. The face under the font of silver hair recognisable, but the rest made them wary. This was not the maiden that'd befriended them, a child they'd once thought born of Arlathan.

A fellow survivor like them.

She was far more than they’d expected. A saviour in disguise, the foremother of their people. Akin to Mythal yet far more real than the false god they’d worshipped. Many were wary of the slitted eyes beneath her brows, the horns upon the crown of her head. The claws upon the golden tips of her fingers.

The vallaslin that formed intricate patterns upon her skin.

Bright beneath the scales that gleamed like shards of pearl. She glittered in the torchlight, her bronzed skin tinged veilfire-green. Her eyes glowed, the blue-white fire burning there reminiscent of Mythal. They heard the spirits of the Vir’abelasan speak with a clarity not heard in centuries. Their voices loud, their words audible rather than dead whispers in the dark.

Their message was simple – Our allegiance has changed.

The sentinel bond once a leash so tight it’d choked them slackened. It shone like a thread of gold in each elf’s awareness, a comfort rather than a source of regret. The will behind it was gentle rather than forceful, kind rather than commanding. When Ellana’s head turned, when that blue-white fire faded from her irises. The sentinel elves awakened from Uthenera wept for the first time in centuries.

Their heartbroken sobs rending the quiet like a clap of thunder.

Ellana raised a clawed hand to quieten Abelas. The sentinel’s lips pursing as if to ask a question. He paused, frowning when she offered insight. Her voice soft, the depth of her sympathy plain. There was a mother’s concern in the way she regarded them as if they were her own children.

“Let them mourn. Change is never easy”.

It was Carys that dared voice her opinion. “What would you have us do?”

“We will return to the temple”.

“And then?”

“We will take counsel with the spirits of the Vir’abelasan”.

It was Morrigan that met her on the opposite side of the eluvian on her return to the Temple of Mythal. The witch wrapped in a warm cloak of elven make. The fabric a soft grey that shimmered when she walked, changing colour in the afternoon sun. Her son was similarly attired, though his own cloak dragged behind him. Much too large on so small a frame.

He was happy to see her again unlike his mother.

Morrigan eyed the woman she’d known as Ellana Lavellan, wary and suspicious. This wasn’t the Dalish rogue she remembered. She wore a Keeper’s robes, though her shoulders and arms were bare. Silvered scales instead of chainmail covered her dusky skin. Yet it was the gold vallaslin that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Each whorl and spiral resembling the twining branches of the Dahl’amythal.

“You’ve taken Mythal’s mantle. Am I to be a slave now too?”

“Mother!” hissed Kieran, appalled by the accusation. “She’s not one of the Evanuris! She wouldn’t do that to you, nor does she break her promises. If aunty said that she would let you leave the Temple of Mythal than you can. Right?”

“If that is what your mother desires”, affirmed Ellana. “She may leave the Temple with my blessing”.

“And my son?” asked Morrigan with trepidation.

“Did you plan on leaving him with me?”

“No!”

“Then he will go with you. You’re a woman grown with wit and strength enough to protect her family. I’m proud of you and all that you’ve achieved, but there is one last thing I must ask of you”.

Morrigan tensed, expecting the worst. “What is it?”

“Do you want to be released from the sentinel bond?”

The Witch of the Wilds frowned, her golden eyes narrowing. She heard the voices of the Vir'abelasan with greater clarity then before. A startling change that frightened and fascinated her, yet she knew it came at a price. The sentinel bond that’d leashed her to Flemeth now belonged to another. Its keeper a friend that’d never asked her for more than she was willing to give.

“The spirits of the Well say that you will keep your word”.

Ellana nodded her horned head. “If you wish to be free than I will let you go, but if you have need of me again. You will not be able to find me as you once did. A goddess is bound by the promises she makes. Mythal’s responsibilities are now mine, so her acolytes are my first concern”.

Morrigan stared at her, comprehending who she was at last. “You’re trying to save them as you did the ancestors of the Dalish”.

“They are lost as you were. I must lead them from the darkness and into the light. They will find hope again if I give them that chance. It is what Flemeth should have done, but she abandoned them instead. If I leave them as she did than the Temple of Mythal will become their tomb”.

“They’ll die”.

“Yes”.

Morrigan swallowed the bile that’d crawled up her throat. She glanced at the son she’d made with Mahariel, dear Kieran – her pride and joy. He was small and lean like his father, yet fair where Theron was dark. He’d inherited her hair and eyes, yet he had his father’s nature. Sweet, kind, thoughtful and patient with a stubborn streak a mile wide.

He was Mahariel’s son through and through.

It was with a heavy heart that she admitted her need for help. “I can’t stay. Mahariel needs me. I must find him, but I would have Kieran stay with you. He will be safest in your care, while I search for my husband”.

Kieran Mahariel bit his lip but didn’t argue. It was Ellana that saw the way his shoulders hunched, the line of his spine bending. He was upset but kept it to himself out of respect for his mother. Ellana smiled in response, pleased by Morrigan’s show of trust. Flemeth’s youngest daughter ever bold and brave continued to make her own decisions.

“You would give me your greatest treasure?”

“Not to keep”, corrected Morrigan, her golden eyes narrowing. “To watch over him when I can’t. Kieran is my son. I want him back. Don’t think for an instant that this is a permanent arrangement”.

“Of course not, sweetling”, teased Ellana. “So, you will retain the sentinel bond?”

“I need some way to find you again, lest you try to kidnap my boy”.

“I’d prefer a complete set. You, Mahariel and mayhap several thousand Dalish elves with a handful of city elves mixed in. If you know of any mages, grey wardens and so on that need a new home. Gather them together and I will come. You know how to summon me, child”.

Morrigan grimaced, recalling how she’d encountered Flemeth at the Altar of Mythal. “If I were to do the ritual of summoning elsewhere?”

“That will suffice”.

“Wonderful”.

“If you are ever in doubt, ask the Voices of the Vir’abelasan for guidance. They will lead you to me. Kieran will be safe but considering the road your husband travels. You will be in greater danger than ever before. I would give you something to mitigate that risk”.

“A boon?”

“Of a kind. Call it a show of trust. You will have need of her in the days to come. Mahariel will be wary at first, but he will understand. The presence of such a creature among his people is considered fortuitous”.

Morrigan glanced at her son, frowning when Kieran’s shoulders slumped in relief. He smiled at her with a flash of white teeth, his amber eyes twinkling. “You know something”.

“You’ll understand in a moment, mother”.

Ellana clucked her tongue as if to coax a horse. Out from behind her Dalish skirts padded a black shape. Lean and small with a sleek coat and a long tail, it walked over to Morrigan. The witch gaped in astonishment when a familiar black cat came to sit at her feet. She crouched in front of it, staring into those bright-green eyes.

“Duskie?”

The cat meowed as if in affirmation, blinking in that slow methodical way of a feline. It purred when Morrigan reached out a tentative hand. A brush of the witch’s fingers was enough to earn her a lifelong companion. The cat leaned into her touch, content to bask in her affection. Morrigan blinked back the tears, a lump in her throat.

“She will guide and protect you when I cannot”, said Ellana. “A reminder of the trust we share”.

In response, Duskie lifted a dainty black paw. A soft meow and she laid it upon Morrigan’s hand. A gentle pat won the witch’s heart. She sniffled, her golden eyes watery and nodded as if in understanding. Duskie meowed again, the sound of her confidence enough to make Morrigan smile.

“What is she?” asked Flemeth’s daughter, her voice quivering.

“A friend. Always. She will return to me when you do. Until then, sweetling. I will keep Kieran safe for you”.

They shared a maternal glance of understanding, till Kieran rushed to his mother. He hugged her tight, knowing that he wouldn’t see her again for some time. Morrigan returned that fierce embrace, uncaring about her audience. The sentinel elves were gathered about the Vir’abelasan. Many were newly awoken from Uthenera, some eating what few rations were left.

Abelas interrupted that poignant moment.

“Forgive me”, he told Ellana. “But we have given what food we had to the awakened. Many are still hungry. Our water supply will last a half day more before it too is exhausted. It has been centuries since we had this many sentinels awake at once”.

“You needn’t worry”, she replied with a certainty Abelas didn’t feel. “I have made preparations”.

“You have?”

Ellana smiled, her green eyes twinkling. She turned and said words in an elven dialect Abelas didn’t understand. He gaped when the Eluvian behind them, once inactive flared to life again. It shone silver-white, revealing a building with high walls. Abelas thought it a ruin at first until he saw pristine marble, the flat cobbles of a road.

And familiar faces under the sun, each smiling from ear-to-ear.

“Anise?” called Abelas, dumbfounded when the High Priestess of the Vir Elgara beckoned.

“Garas”, she called. “We are ready for you all”.

Abelas heard Arryn shriek, then the thud of Ilcen and Valoya’s footfalls. Each came running when elves poured through the Eluvian. First Anise then a pair of flame-haired twins, each a reflection of one another in face and form. They were tall and stern, yet their faces softened the instant they saw their parents again. Valoya froze, shaking and wild-eyed to behold her sons.

Ilcen stilled behind her, his face ashen-white. “Taeven? Talan?”

“Abae”, replied his eldest son. “It's good to see you again”.

Talan, the youngest and cheekiest winked at his startled mother. “Amae obviously missed me more than you. I am the prettiest”.

“You mean the ugliest. I’m the gorgeous one”.

“For a frog”.

“You hear that, Abae?” called Taeven. “That’s the envy talking”.

Talan scoffed whilst Ellana looked on, glad to see the family reunited at last. Yet it was Anise that took charge of them, the matron giving the lads a stern glance. They laughed, their shoulders shaking and pretended to behave themselves. Anise rolled her eyes – long used to their antics. She regarded young Arryn with a smile, her grey eyes soft and sad.

“How handsome you’ve grown”.

Arryn overcome with emotion, raised shaking hands to Anise. Throat tight, he didn’t know what to say. He hiccupped when his grandmother held out her hands, stepping forwards as if he were a child again. He sniffled when she smiled and embraced him. Her grip as sure and strong as he remembered.

“Mae’la”.

“I have missed you, ma da’vhenan”, whispered Anise, her voice thick with emotion.

He sobbed, happy and overwhelmed. Valoya and Ilcen were little better, their faces wet and eyes red. Taeven and Talan chuckling as their parents wept over them as if they were babes again. Morrigan having overheard the commotion, watched in stunned silence with her son. Kieran beaming from ear-to-ear was gladdened by the joyous reunions. He tugged on her fingers when yet more sentinel elves joined the growing throng.

Each gasping in shock or crying after finding a friend or family member thought long lost.

“Aunty Ellana led them to safety when Arlathan was razed”, said Kieran. “Those that followed her survived, those that didn’t perished. All were given the same opportunity, each in turn chose their own fates. The rest of the sentinels will be given that choice too. Living and dead”.

Morrigan eyed her son with trepidation. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve always known”.

Ellana held back from the crowd, watching from a distance. The sentinel elves mingled with her folk, embracing, weeping and laughing. She was gladdened by the change in them, that hopeless desperation wiped clean. Abelas left his comrades, crossing the courtyard behind the Vir’abelasan. The rippling waters of that dark pool glistening in slashes of gold, silver and bronze.

The sun was high overhead, a disc of brightness on a sea of blue.

Abelas far from frightened, went to Ellana with a sense of determination. He paused inches before her, head shaking as he regarded his newest mistress. He would’ve dropped to his knees if Ellana hadn’t arched a silver brow. The flash of annoyance in her eyes making him chuckle. He held out his hands, smiling with genuine happiness for the first time in centuries.

He was gladdened when Ellana reciprocated, accepting his gauntleted fingers.

“What you have given my people today is more than hope”, he told her, voice tight with emotion. “It is a future beyond the misery that has held us captive since the Fall of Arlathan. I have spoken to the others, many will follow you wherever that path may lead. Some are still hesitant, but they need time to decide. Will you give them that?”

“Vin”.

“Ma serannas”.

Abelas held tight when Ellana tried to release his hands. He kept hold of her clawed fingers, breath catching in his throat when she gazed at him. There was a question in her eyes, one she needn’t have spoken aloud. He knew in an instant what the sentinel bond had communicated without words. Her brows arched in surprise, the slitted pupils of her irises widening in alarm.

“I am yours if you would have me”.

“Nae”.

“Vin”, he corrected. “I was but an advisor to Mythal, but if you were inclined to take a consort among my people. I would like to be considered. I know it is sudden, but you had a family with Soleryn Fenesvir. Would you consider that possibility with another?”

“This is awfully sudden”.

He ducked his head, flustered by her reply. “You were flirting with me earlier today in the catacombs”.

Ellana smiled from ear-to-ear, recalling her own cheekiness. “I was teasing you”.

“Oh. I had not realised. Ir abelas. I should not have presumed. Fenedhis”.

She relented when Abelas’ grip gentled, his shoulders slumping with embarrassment. He was red-faced, thinking that he’d misinterpreted her interest. The self-recriminations flittering across the sentinel bond like leaves in the wind. Ellana heard the voices of the Vir’abelasan whisper of his desires. She felt the depth of his regret, the taste of his grief like salt on the back of her tongue.

Abelas was more than upset, he was envious of the happy reunions going on around them.

Of Valoya and Ilcen, bonded and relieved to find their sons again. Of Arryn and Anise sharing stories about their own lives since the Fall of Arlathan. Other sentinels like Carys were engaged in conversation with friends thought long lost. The reunions happy affairs after centuries sundered from the rest of Elvhenan. It was good, yet Abelas without family of his own – lingered outside their joyous circles.

A stranger on the periphery.

“You were not presumptuous”, said Ellana with remorse. "It is in my nature to be flirtatious, but even I know my bounds. I meant no disrespect if you were offended, ma falon. You are handsome and you would make an excellent father and husband. But it is a dangerous thing that you offer to one such as I”.

Abelas frowned, perturbed by her reply. “You gave Soleryn seven children”.

“They all died save for our youngest daughter. She survived only because she was hidden away by Mythal”.

“You loved them”.

“Always. Yet their lives were a tragedy. I was not a good mother”.

“You are the best of them”, insisted Abelas. “You saved Anise and her people. You saved those that survived the raising of the Veil. They became the Dalish elves of today. You are here now for my people when we need you most”.

Ellana was far from mollified. “I was too late”.

“Nae!”

Abelas moved before she knew what’d happened. The kiss on her cheek was a sudden burst of heat and determination. She gasped, startled when he repeated the gesture. A third kiss landed at the corner of her mouth. The fourth pressed home, inciting a groan that ended in a needy whine when Abelas bit her lip.

Gently.

Ellana exhaled a shaky breath, nose pressing again his own. Brow to brow, she tried to regain her composure. It was hard when Abelas smelt delectable enough to eat. The dragon in her, long denied a suitable mate prickled with anticipation. It had been centuries since she’d last clutched, the heaviness of a child in her belly a distant memory.

Soleryn had given her that gift, seven times over a thousand years.

Now he was gone, remade and reborn into a stranger wearing his face. She loved Solas, but he was not her husband though they bore the same soul. Their bond hadn’t renewed. It was one-sided, a painful reminder of what she’d lost thanks to Mythal. Abelas wasn’t Soleryn, the sentinel bond they shared a corruption of an older brand of magic.

A lover’s pledge guised as honourable servitude to an Evanuris.

Ellana thought of the consequences if she were selfish. “I can’t, ma falon. I bound myself once to Soleryn and for all the joy it brought me. There was immeasurable grief, a mother and wife’s loss multiplied by eight. First Soleryn than all our children until Miravise. That she lives is a gift, but history has proven that I am a terrible parent”.

Abelas was incredulous. “You believe that she is safer with Felassan?”

“As you would be with one of your own”.

“And if I want you?”

Ellana frowned. “I am betrothed to Hakkon Wintersbreath, the Avvar god of winter and warfare. I cannot bind myself to another. That is why I cannot return to Solas. He will want the permanence Soleryn did”.

“The marital bond”.

“Vin”.

It was then that her prospective suitor understood. “We are already bonded”.

“Abelas”.

“We are”, he repeated, certain of himself. “The sentinel bond is enough, though I share it with all my comrades. They will know if things progress between us beyond friendship. I am long used to my privacy being a thing known across our community. As are they”.

Ellana snorted in amusem*nt. “You are relentless”.

“You have given me the chance to want things I had never considered possible”.

“Fenedhis”.

Abelas chuckled, certain he’d won their argument. “You will consider me first if you choose to take a consort?”

“Vin”.

“Ma serannas”.

Chapter 10: A God without a Herald

Chapter Text

The afternoon was filled with light and laughter. Smiles and banter. The day creeping into the cooler hours of evening. Ellana spoke to Anise. She’d been content to let her acolytes reunite with her folk – to share memories, joke and be merry.

Yet the day was ending, night creeping in.

The sky once that vibrant eggshell-blue had darkened. The waning light staining the sky in shades of orange, pink and red tinged with blues and purples. The clouds were wispy and thin, the singular strands of a great web strewn across the heavens. The sun the spider, bright and burning till it crawled below the horizon.

It left behind the moon, a disc of purest silver that glowed with an ethereal light.

There it hung, a giant eye that watched over the peoples of Thedas. A gift given at the beginning of all things to light the way for the lost and weary. Amaevhen smiled, cheeks dimpling when the stars appeared. Each a pinprick of light, a hole in the void that would glitter and glow like a diamond in the dark. Yet it was a handful of hours from nightfall, the evening shadows still growing long.

“It’s time”.

“Time”, repeated Anise. “Fenedhis. You make it sound so trivial. I have waited five thousand years to be reunited with my grandson. That is not an insignificant thing”.

“I know”, said Ellana, recalling their many debates on the subject. “But I do not live from moment to moment, counting the hours, the days or weeks that pass by. Each a milestone, a memory or a landmark to an elf, a shemlen, a kossith and a dwarf. A spirit knows nothing but the present, even if they can touch the past or glimpse the future. I was that way once; in many ways I still am though in loving and losing Soleryn. My perspective changed”.

“You were a wife and mother. Everything changes when a woman has a family”.

“Vin”.

Anise inclined her head, nodding to the child now a man that she’d recovered. There Arryn sat between Ilcen’s twin sons. Taeven and Talan, the brothers he’d known about but had never met. Valoya and Ilcen sat with them. A family sharing tales of the years gone by. A reunion neither side had ever thought possible till now.

Her grandson was smiling – happy.

Anise smiled too. The moment bittersweet. “You promised me that I would see him again. Although the path was long, the wait longer. It was worth everything I had to give. Ma serannas, Amaevhen. You have given me a gift greater than anything I could hope to repay”.

“You trusted me when no one else would”, replied Ellana. “Nothing that I asked of you was easy”.

“Vin”, she agreed. “But our people are better off than those the Evanuris abandoned. We are alive thanks to you. That you preserved all that we are and more will please Solas if you ever deign to tell him. Yet you have not even with the revelation of your identity. He now knows of who and what you are but not the extent of what you have done for our people”.

“It is best that he remains ignorant”.

Anise stared at her, surprised. “Why?”

“He is tied to Mythal. I will not risk any of you being discovered by Elgar’nan. He will come for me as will Hakkon and the Avvar pantheon. It will be war if I cannot negotiate peace. I would not have you and yours embroiled in it”.

Her many years great-grand daughter sighed. Used to Amaevhen’s possessiveness. She’d always been conscientious of her childrens’ futures.

“We would fight for you”.

“I know”.

Anise considered her for several moments, seeing the pinched line of her brows. The downward tug of her mouth. The shadow of regret plain upon her face. “You love more deeply than we do. I understand. As we watch the shemlen grow, fade and die – so must you watch us leave you one after another. Although the time is slower for the elvhen, the pain of loss is the same”.

“I have never liked being alone”.

“You do not have to be when another has volunteered to keep you company”.

Ellana glanced at her great-grand-daughter. Her eyes narrowing. “What have you done?”

Anise smiled, lifting her hand. She pointed across the courtyard, beyond the black pool of the Vir’abelasan. There perched upon the arch of an eluvian was an owl. Not the horned fluffy grey-owl that the Lady of the Skies had sent to Val Royeaux. This bird was purest white with large blue eyes. Its snowy plumage flecked with black.

“Fenedhis”.

“Go. Speak to him. I will keep watch over our people until you return”.

“My absence will be noted”.

“I will take care of them”.

Ellana arched an eyebrow, inclining her head to Abelas. The leader of her sentinels spoke to Niall, the once leader of Elgar’nan’s sentinels. Tall, black-haired and taciturn. Their conversation wasn’t so-involved that Abelas didn’t notice her move away from Anise. He watched her, brows furrowing in concern – a reaction that Niall noticed as well.

When he tried to follow, Niall grabbed his arm.

Abelas struggled.

“Do not interfere”.

“She would leave us?”

“For a moment”, Niall assured him. “She will return”.

“But where is she going?”

“To speak to an old friend”.

“Whom?”

“Look behind the Vir’abelasan”.

Abelas glanced beyond the black water to the tallest eluvian. There perched upon the arch of stone was a strange white bird. It didn’t look at him, the round ball of its fluffy head turned away. Its blue eyes watching their horned mistress leave them. The spirits of the Vir’abelasan whispered in his ears, asking for patience. Abelas was afraid when it took wing, following Ellana with a flutter of its snowy pinions.

“What kind of bird is that?”

Niall shrugged. “A snow-owl. Rare this far south. They live further east along the ridge of the Frostback mountains. To see one here in the forest can mean only one thing”.

“What?”

“Hakkon Wintersbreath has grown impatient. To come himself without a herald or escort is quite improper. He and our mistress belong to different pantheons. An emissary should stand between them, but Sigfrost is not here. A thing most curious, but it was not outside Ellana’s expectations”.

Abelas stared at him. “She knew he would come”.

“Hakkon is a god of war. He has always led, but never followed. Where Ellana goes, he must follow or be left behind. She is patient with us, but never with him. They are opposites in nature, flame to ice”.

“Are they at war?”

“Rivals more than enemies, though that has changed I think”, said Niall. “If Hakkon came here on his own. He did not come to fight. His purpose is more mundane. It will infuriate Ellana”.

“Why?”

He chuckled. His green eyes glinting. “She likes to pursue not to be pursued. She is fiercely independent. Sigfrost couldn't curb her rebellious nature though he tried".

"With disastrous consequences for all".

"Ellana told you?"

"Vin".

“Good”, declared Niall. “If she trusts you than it will ease your integration into our circle. Garas, ma falon. We have much to discuss. Ellana will return with the expectation that I have informed you about what lies ahead”.

Abelas gaped at him in disbelief. “Ahead?”

“When Ellana returns, we will leave the Temple of Mythal. Together. Anise and I are here to bring you all home, ma falon. Living and dead. It is beyond time that our people were reunited”.

Ellana led him down into the heart of the temple complex, far away from prying eyes and ears. Ellana paused amidst the ruined walls. The scorched flagstones. The hole Corypheus had blown in the ground but feet away. The fissure wide, black and deep. A crack in the earth.

“You come without a herald”.

The owl paused in mid-flight; wings stretched wide. It floated on the air but feet away, feathers glowing lightning-bright. Then in a burst of frigid air, soft as a dusting of snow – it shifted shape. Long flight feathers became calloused fingers. Pinions pale hands, muscular arms and broad shoulders.

A white feathered cloak rippled down a strong back.

Ellana turned around, arching a silver brow. She eyed her rival with distrust, knowing that he’d come alone. A thing unheard of for the traditionalist that was Korth. The Lady of the Skies no less formal. If he was here than it was without his parents’ consent.

A thing unheard of for a god unwed.

She saw the marks upon his skin. Chiselled pectorals slashed with the black and white banding favoured by the Avvar. Yet he didn’t wear paint, mud or white ochre. He’d kept the frost dragon’s stripes on his face, chest and stomach. The surprise unexpected when he shifted on his feet – restless.

She was intrigued when the sun reflected off his skin. There were small overlapping discs like a fish’s mail, barely visible – a trick of the light.

“You still bear the frost dragon’s scales”.

Black brows furrowed. Ellana didn’t like brooding silence, or the way he avoided her gaze. This was not the god with whom she’d contended. His long fingers curling and uncurling. His pale hands twitching as if he’d prefer to reach for the handle of an axe than face her unarmed.

“What are you doing here alone?”

He continued to gaze at the cracked cobbles underfoot. He stilled when she came closer, the darkness of her shadow trailing over the ground. He braced himself when she reached out, muscles coiled and tense. A brown hand clawed and calloused slipping under his chin. Then with unexpected gentleness she turned his face.

“Look at me”.

A pair of icy-blue eyes peered at her from under dark lashes. Ellana stared when she saw not a warrior’s confidence but the flustered shyness of the besotted. He couldn’t long stand her regard, heat creeping down his neck in a wash of red. The pointed tips of the ears poking through his raven-black hair were red too. The flush deepened when she made a statement.

“Your face is red”.

He huffed, brows furrowing. He stared long enough to make Ellana uncomfortable. She didn’t retreat as an ordinary woman might have – standing her ground when he raised his hand. Pale fingers reached into her hair to grasp the ring of ice that glittered in the lobe of her ear. The ring he’d hidden in the heart of a blue rose disguised as a dragon’s scale.

The ring he’d expected her to toss away along with their betrothal.

He looked at her then, quiet and demanding. The gesture simple yet profound. Ellana exhaled a weary breath, knowing she’d been caught. She hissed when he tugged upon the ring. His fingers gripping tight.

The demand – adamant.

“Vin, Hakkon”.

He stilled then stared at her in amazement. “You accept my proposal?” he asked, voice husky – a dragon’s growl behind it.

“I do”.

“Why?”

Ellana knew their history. The aeons of arguments. The contests of strength. The disapproval on both sides. Sigfrost caught between them forever trying to mediate.

“I want an alliance”.

“For the wolf?”

“For my people. For their futures”.

He released the ring in her ear, admiring the way it glittered like an icicle in the sunlight. Then he slid his knuckles along her jaw, hand turning till his fingers slipped beneath her chin. There he curled his palm against her cheek, hesitant at first – expecting resistance. He marvelled when she neither rebuked him nor recoiled though her chin lifted. He snorted when she looked him in the eye, no less fierce, no less fiery even after thousands of years.

“Still spirited”.

“Would you prefer that I singe you?”

“Only if I could lie beneath you, naked and blushing”.

Ellana arched a silver brow. “Flirting now?”

He smiled, cheeks dimpling. Handsome if unrepentant. “I want what I have never had”.

“Why?”

“Ameridan told me of you. I may have listened with a dragon’s ears but through him I learned of Dalish history. The First Keeper, the journey of the survivors out of the ruins of Arlathan. The birth of the First Clan. I doubt he believed it all, but he spoke of Amaevhen the First Mother and the Last”.

She snorted. “I have been so called among the Dalish”.

“But to be a mother, you must first be a wife. Someone kind. Loving. A side of yourself that you showed to Soleryn Fenesvir but not to me. An elven man you took as husband when I am your betrothed”.

Ellana snorted. “You think it mattered to me that he was mortal?”

“You knew that he would die”.

“I loved him”.

“You gave him seven children. Seven. Three sons and four daughters. All beautiful, talented and strong. Children that could have been mine if I had been willing to court you as I should have”.

That got her attention. She stared. “What?”

Hakkon frowned, recalling what he’d allowed to happen. “Soleryn was no thief. You gave him your heart because he gave his own in return. A mutual sacrifice that I was too proud to make. But if you are willing to honour the betrothal made in your name. I would have you as my equal, as my wife and companion for always”.

She gaped at him in disbelief, recalling Anise’s teasing jibe. “You went to my grandchild for advice”.

“Anise was most helpful”.

“Fenedhis”.

“I know you are responsible for my imprisonment”.

“Yet you haven’t taken umbrage and declared war”.

“Nae”, he agreed.

“Why not?”

He shrugged, broad shoulders rolling. “I do not see you as I once did. Spending eight centuries with Ameridan changed my perspective. He made me see what it was that I had let slip through my fingers. You are my betrothed, yet you took Soleryn Fenesvir as husband”.

“He wanted me. You didn’t”.

He pressed a calloused thumb to her mouth, pressing down gently upon her lower-lip. He exposed the fangs that lay beneath that plump curve, chuckling when she bit him. Her teeth digging into his nail, though she never broke through. He still felt the pinch, the barest hint of pressure but never any pain. It was a gentle reminder of the strength she had.

“A mistake I will correct”.

“Is that so?”

“You gave Soleryn seven children that should have been mine. You mixed your blood with that of the elvhen giving rise to Mythal, Elgar’nan and the Evanuris. You are responsible for what happened to the elven pantheon. Korth and the Lady would have me stop you from making another mistake. They believe that you intend to break our betrothal so that you can go to Solas”.

“And Sigfrost?”

“Counselled me to seek you out myself”.

“Meddler”.

Hakkon snorted. “He knows that you are still angry with him”.

“I will always be angry with Sigfrost. The betrothal he promised Korth and the Lady was agreed to without my knowledge or consent. He never has to pay the price of the pledge he made in my name. I am bound to you because of him. If I do not accept it and you than it will mean war”.

“Between us. Our families. Your people and mine”.

“I love my children”, said Ellana. “I will protect them. If I can ensure their futures by binding Korth’s firstborn son to me. I will do what must be done, but if this is the path you choose than you will be bound to me for eternity. Can you stomach that?”

He smiled. “I can”.

“Why bother?”

“You were a goddess longing for the family I refused to give you”, he replied with an Avvar’s blunt honesty. “You did not want to spend an eternity watching the elvhen grow and flourish while you remained the same. Why else did you go down into Thedas if not to be with them? You are the first mother and the last. She who gave rise to the light upon and within our world. Thedas’ beating heart of flame. All within it withered and died when you sought to sever the ties that bound you to it. To me”.

She bared her fangs, hissing like an enraged serpent. She grasped his wrist in her hand, clawed fingers asserting strength enough to break bone.

Hakkon Wintersbreath didn’t relent. His grip tightened upon her chin. His own clawed fingers digging in. “I will not allow you to turn from me again. You are mine now and forever. If you will not relinquish Soleryn or his soul rehoused inside Mythal’s hound. I will claim him”.

That gave Ellana pause. “What?”

“I will have back what Soleryn took from me. Including the lastborn child, you bore him. She will be adopted into the Avvar pantheon where she belongs. Solas will become mine as will the child you must bear him with Mythal’s soul intact. My son will grow beside her within your womb. The first heirs of the seven I am owed”.

“Solas prefers women”.

“He prefers you”.

Hakkon eyed her when she snorted. The challenge in his gaze – irritating, especially when he was correct. Soleryn (like Solas) had preferred her over the myriad elven woman in Thedas. The stubborn bastard. She’d tried to dissuade him.

“I told Soleryn to take a wife from among his own people”.

“He did not listen”.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you offended that he succeeded or that he made an honest woman out of me when you couldn’t?”

“Both”.

Ellana took offense, slapping a clawed hand against his chest. “You didn’t want me!”

“Not then. No”, he agreed, uncaring that she’d struck him. “Soleryn stole what was mine. I shall take Solas as recompense with your help. He will find his way to where he belongs”.

She bit her lip, silver brows arching as she considered the possibilities. “Presumptuous of you”.

“I know your games, Ellana”, scoffed Hakkon. “If you found me detestable, neither of us would be standing here now. You want to save Solas from Mythal. If you could not cut his leash than you hope that I can by offering him the one thing he needs. Allies against the Evanuris”.

She smirked, her eyes glinting. “Handsome and clever. But what makes you think that he’d accept?”

“An alliance with the Avvar pantheon is to his advantage. But do not think that I intend to tear out his fangs. Solas will take on a new role in a place where his gifts will be appreciated. He will no longer be Mythal’s loyal hound. Korth has plans for him”.

“If Solas refuses?”

“We will find out soon enough. Together”.

“Are you to be my chaperone?”

“Naturally”, replied Hakkon. “I cannot have you causing more mischief. It irks Korth that you lack decorum, but he trusts my judgement. If you want my strength in the war to come than you will accept what I have proposed. But when have you ever been accommodating?”

“I can be amenable”, Ellana assured him. “Under the right circ*mstances”.

His fangs gritted when she stepped forward. Hakkon sucked in a breath when her belly brushed his abdomen. Her chest pressing tight to his own. He felt the heat of her touch through his armour. The leather and ice a thin shield against the warmth of her borrowed form.

“Why be at war when we could pave our path with pleasure?”

It took all his strength not to bite. “I seek a lasting union”.

“I will accept nothing less if you intend to seed my womb again”, declared Ellana. “For as long as Thedas endures, so will I unto the breaking of the world. I am the first mother and the last because I alone will remain when everything else is gone. If you accept me as I am than you will be bound as I am until the earth breaks, the seas boil and the sun and moon go out. That is why I have never pursued you for then you would share my fate”.

“You are the fire of life. I am your opposite. We are destined for one another”.

“I have endured alone before”.

He smiled. “Never again”.

“Hakkon”.

“You are mine”, he growled, fierce, final and possessive. “I am yours. We will endure the ages together until the ending of the world. When all our bonds are broken, I will go with you into the void. There might we find respite together at last”.

“Respite?” taunted Ellana. “I have no intention of sitting about in idleness even at the end of the world”.

He chuckled. “What then would you be doing?”

“If you choose to become my husband, thereby spending an eternity with me. We will be busy birthing a new world. Together. Fire, warmth and light I can provide, but life is only possible in the presence of water. I won’t be ignoring the fact that your natural element is ice”.

“Oh”.

“Oh?” taunted Ellana. “That had better not be another complaint about my terrible manners”.

He grimaced, recalling their encounters in the past. The uncomfortable days and nights spent at Korth’s table. Ellana in attendance with Sigfrost, while he’d sat beside Korth and the Lady of the Skies. The hostility radiating from her like light and heat from a furnace. She’d been too furious with Sigfrost to bother being gracious.

Her every look one of derision. Her every word a barb to wound.

Her discourtesy had irked Korth with a constancy Hakkon lamented.

“You could be a little less brusque around my father. Courtesy means much to him”.

Hakkon stared when she pressed a clawed finger to his mouth. He tensed the moment that finger added the gentlest of pressure. He was wary when she smirked, sly and seductive. A touch feather-light skimming the small of his back. She was a typical rogue, exploiting every advantage.

He retaliated in kind, his bare hand grasping a firm handful of her bottom.

He squeezed when she did.

“Just as muscular as I’d expected. Do you think Korth would protest if I made his table our marital bed?”

He groaned, imaging the chaos. His father’s outrage. “No, Ellana”.

She arched an eyebrow. “No?”

“The table is far too narrow. Hewn from a single slab of stone it is harder than I would like. I prefer to be comfortable. Ice is my domain but even I enjoy the warmth of furs beneath me. Our marital bed is ready and waiting for you in our abode”.

Ellana tapped his lips with her forefinger. “Ours?”

“Ours”, insisted Hakkon. “If Solas proves amenable”.

“That’s quite the gamble. He can be uncooperative, stubborn and possessive. A wolf in a mage’s robes. He will not ally with either of us if he believes it is not to his advantage. He might prove agreeable were I to consider safeguarding Mythal’s soul”.

Hakkon considered her for moment, his eyes narrowing. He saw the glint of her eyes, the mischievous arch of a silver brow. “He wants to secure her rebirth”.

“Vin”.

“You refused him”.

She smiled, knowing that he’d hidden himself in the trees overlooking the Altar of Mythal. A white owl concealed in the highest, thickest and densest branches. Masked by a veil of leaves. His speckled feathers swallowed by green. Ellana hadn’t seen, sensed or smelt him, but she had found a stray feather in the grass.

White with black banding.

“I can be persuaded to consider a new course”.

“Persuaded”, reiterated Hakkon. “Then I will go with you tomorrow night to the Altar of Mythal. There we will meet with Solas. Together. He will agree to my terms. You will help me convince him of the rightfulness of my conviction”.

Ellana smiled. Wicked. Her emerald eyes glinting. “Ma nuvenin”.

Abelas was anxious until his new mistress returned. He saw her climb the steps, barefoot – lifting her skirts so she didn’t trip. It was so mundane, so mortal and unexpected from a god. Ellana preferred to walk wherever she went as if she were an ordinary person. It was so absurd that he stared when she reached the topmost step.

He was still staring when she crossed the landing, her bare feet soft and soundless on the flagstones.

“You walk when you could transport yourself with greater dignity”.

“What?” asked Ellana, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Abelas gestured to the ground, flapping his gloved fingers at the lichen-crusted stone. “You are our mistress. A goddess by birth, yet you walk like a mortal. Is it to blend in with us so we do not notice that you are different? I find it strange that you do not demand greater deference”.

That he dared to question her startled his fellow sentinels.

Many stopped talking. Their conversations hushed. A multitude of eyes regarded him with wariness, although Ellana’s people (used to her eccentricities) shared knowing looks. Anise, hers by blood – smiled. Taeven the eldest of Valoya and Ilcen’s twins, elbowed his brother.

“Venavis!”

Talan snickered, not in the least concerned. He took a second jab in the ribs without complaint.

“The first thing you will learn is that our Amaevhen is not at all like what you would expect a goddess to be”, he told Abelas, ignoring Taeven’s hiss of remonstration. “Others of a loftier disposition might think the ground they walk on sacred, so they should be carried over it. Amaevhen prefers to travel upon her own feet, clawed or booted depending on her preferred disguise. It drove Niall to near madness when she refused to sit upon a litter and be conveyed everywhere upon our shoulders. She likened it to a boar roasted on the spit brought to a banquet table for a feast”.

Abelas glanced at Ellana, amazed by her exasperation. “You were offended?”

“Vin”, she replied. “I have legs and feet of my own. I won’t sit on a platter like a stuffed and roasted carcass. I walked the width and breadth of Thedas for millennia before any of you were born. I don’t know why you lot think my knees are so rickety I can’t manage to walk on my own anymore”.

“You are a god”.

“So?”

Ellana watched and waited for Abelas to counter. The sentinel stared, his brows furrowing when she flapped her hand – impatient. Moments passed in an awkward silence till Talan snickered, breaking the stalemate. Abelas scowled, uncertain if he’d won or lost their argument. Ellana shook her head, nodding when Niall thought it best to intervene.

“Fenedhis”, swore her First. “Taeven, take Talan and go and help Arryn and the others prepare for our departure”.

“Vin”.

Taeven grinned as he turned away. He grabbed his twin’s arm, dragging him off to find Arryn. The pair shoved one another, laughing as they walked. Ellana snorted when they spotted Arryn. They took off at a run, pouncing upon him.

She snorted, hearing the sentinel yelp as they tussled. “Still rambunctious. Some things never change”.

Niall cursed, rolling his eyes. “Fenedhis. Forgive them, Amaevhen”.

“Let them play. It’s been too long since the lads had someone their own age around. Arryn will be an excellent addition to their social circle. They’ll help ease his transition from serving Mythal to me. He will set the example for her surviving acolytes”.

“You think it will be difficult?”

“Somewhat”.

“Why?”

“You elvhen are stubborn”, said Ellana to his chagrin. “It took you a hundred years to warm to me. A hundred more to realise that I wasn’t going to abandon you. A third hundred for you to trust me. Or do you not recall how long it took for me to earn your regard?”

Niall frowned. “That is an exaggeration”.

“It’s not”.

“It is”.

They stared at one another for several moments. The silence fraught with tension. Abelas pursed his lips to respond, intent on resolving the stalemate. He paused when Niall capitulated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ellana smiled – unrepentant.

“I win”.

“This time, Amaevhen”.

“Till our next bout then”. She bowed her head, winking when Niall rolled his eyes. She looked at Abelas, snickering when she saw his furrowed brows. “It took him awhile to accept that I have a sense of humour. He was far too serious whenever I’d tease him about something”.

“If the Evanuris joked than someone died”, grumbled Niall. “I was understandably cautious”.

“I’m not an Evanuris”.

“So, you have always said”.

“There’s the injured pride talking”, she cajoled. “Garas”.

He blushed. “Amaevhen”.

“Garas”, she insisted, beckoning to him with a flick of a clawed finger.

Niall planted his feet. He refused to move to Ellana’s amusem*nt. Abelas watched in bewilderment when she wandered over, slinging her arms around him. He saw her hug him tight, laugh and kiss his temple as if he were her child. Niall reddened, cursed in elvhen and endured it all with the long-suffering look of a man used to Ellana’s eccentricities.

A gentle shake made him growl. “Unhand me! I am not a child!”

“You’re all children to me. I’m the oldest person here. Remember?”

“Amaevhen!”

“Don’t be so grumpy”.

“Stop coddling me!”

“I cannot help it. You’re too cute when you scowl like that. It’s adorable”.

Abelas took a step backward. Wary.

Niall glowered at him. “Stay where you are! If I must suffer the indignity of her affections. So must you! I will no longer endure this alone!”

The sentinel wasn’t reassured when Ellana smiled. Toothily. Her jagged teeth gleaming white in the sun. He was even less reassured when the slitted pupils of her eyes narrowed. Abelas reminded of a cat, wondered whether he should run.

“I said stay there!” hissed Niall.

Abelas flinched when a shadow fell across them. He exhaled a shaky breath, heart hammering against his ribs when he spied Anise. He was less enthused when he saw that she’d returned in the company of his lieutenant. Arryn grinning from ear-to-ear, waggled his russet brows. Abelas glared certain that he was moments from commenting.

Arryn ignored him. “Are you intimidated by our new mistress?”

“Nae”, he replied – voice tight.

“Why are you standing over there?”

Anise chortled. Abelas grimaced. Arryn winked – unrepentant. Niall groaned – annoyed. Ellana giggled, glad that her little band of misfits had grown.

“He intends to court you both”.

“Vin”, confirmed Ellana.

“And you are fine with this?”

She shrugged, used to Anise’s uncertainty. “Nae”, she replied. “I still don’t like him, but Haakon is their God of War. This will also bring the Avvar pantheon into the coming confrontation. They have too long ignored the wider world beyond the circle of the Avvar tribes”.

“They love their people”.

“As do I”.

Abelas stared, still surprised that she’d bothered to share this at all. All around him were Anise’s people and his own – the living and dead alike. The spirits of the Vir’abelasan pressing inwards, a constant presence that droned inside his head. A hive of bees. A comfort after centuries of strained whispers and a tense hush.

He felt the weight of their eyes, real and otherwise.

The judgement of Mythal’s former acolytes a heavy burden to bear.

“But we cannot fight them as we are”, he protested. “Many of my fellows are newly awakened from Uthenera. They must recover from the battles we have had prior with invaders into the Temple of Mythal. Then housing, food and so forth. We have not all been awake together like this in centuries”.

Anise flapped her hand. Dismissive. “You need not worry. We have made preparations”.

Abelas heard his comrades murmur amidst themselves. He saw them exchange bewildered glances. Arryn sitting among their brethren shrugs – nonchalant. Abelas is suspicious the instant he smiles. The boy knows something.

“Preparations?”

Ellana smiles when Anise replies in her stead. “Vin. You will understand when we pass through the eluvian. Together. Ir abelas, dalen – but today’s reunion is also a farewell to the Temple of Mythal. Amaevhen roused your comrades out of bed because you must all leave this place behind”.

He glanced at Ellana, silver brows furrowing. “You said they would have time to choose”.

“They shall”, she clarified. “But not here or now. They cannot remain in the Temple of Mythal. Every acolyte that was her is now mine. Dead and alive. There is danger in staying here without my protection. If I must leave, so must they”.

“But this has been our home for centuries!”

“You wanted my help”.

Abelas flounders, caught between anger and fear. “It is all we have known!”

His comrades gape – bewildered – when he trembles, his face white. They do not speak, but many bow their heads in shame – expecting recrimination. Ellana glances their way, her face softening when only Arryn dares to meet her gaze. He nods – silent – echoing their sentiment with courage that she respects. He is young, strong and so very aware of the struggles faced by Mythal’s former acolytes.

Niall curses, soft and under his breath, head shaking as he rolls his eyes. Exasperated. Anise looks on, waiting for their mistress to play her hand.

“If that’s how you feel”, said Ellana, eyes glinting with mischief when Anise smirked. “I’ll have to tell Melana that you’re not coming home after all. She was very much looking forward to seeing her brother again after five thousand years. Your babae will be most disappointed, as will your amae. Veloran and Nesa will be quite upset with me, but I did warn them that I might not be able to convince you”.

Abelas floundered when she tapped her chin with a taloned finger, looking thoughtful. “You never said anything about my parents or my sister being alive!”

“You never asked”.

“That is a vital piece of information you withheld from me!”

“I thought you wanted to stay here”, goaded Ellana. “With Mythal’s broken statues, the empty Vir’abelasan and the shattered eluvian”.

“I am coming with you!”

“That was easy. How about the rest of you?” she asked, eying the remnants of Mythal’s former acolytes. Living and dead. “I have promised more than seventy elvhen families that they will be greeting long lost friends and family members. There is someone waiting for each and every one of you on the other side of that eluvian. Would you have me disappoint them?”

The rest of them gape in shock. Only Carys has presence of mind to reply in earnest.

“You rescued our families during the razing of Arlathan?”

“I like complete sets. You’d slot in nicely next to your babae, amae and siblings. The only girl out of four brothers. You had to put up with Alanar scowling at any pretty lad you’d ever met. He’s still the same, darling”.

Carys’ lower-lip wobbled. “He’s the oldest of my brothers. You have met him?”

Ellana waggled her eyebrows. “He sent me to fetch you home. He also said that if you were stubborn. I was to smack your bottom, throw you over my shoulder and drag you back through the eluvian. Fun as that might be”, she teased when Carys reddened. “I’d rather you came along of your own volition”.

She laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “That is something he would say”.

“Will you come with me?”

“Vin. I would hate to disappoint him”.

Ellana said nothing when Anise spoke to them. Her second smiling – wry. “She speaks true. Many of you have families waiting. Friends. You have all endured out here by yourselves for far too long”.

Niall nodded, offering his own opinion. “Garas ma. Leave the past to lie where it will. The future awaits, ma falon. It is time to come home”.

Ellana gestured to the waiting Eluvian. “Go”, she told Abelas, the sentinel lingering longest after Anise, Arryn and Niall had gone ahead. Valoya, Ilcen and their sons stepped through the mirror, its silver-white pane wavering like water. She saw them appear on the other side, shepherded onward by the spirits of the Vir’abelasan. Abelas the last of his brethren turned, offering a gauntleted hand to Kieran.

“Garas, da’len. It is time”.

The grandson of Flemeth regarded his mother with a sense of sadness. “Mother. You must let me go”.

Morrigan looked down at her son. Conflicted. Her pale fingers gripping his hand tight. She sniffed, mouth wobbling. A tear slipping down her cheek.

“You’re my greatest treasure in this world”.

“I know”.

Her darling boy with his golden dragon eyes, her pale complexion and inky black hair. So, like Mahariel at his most mischievous when he flashed his small white teeth. He had his father’s roguish smile, his wit and charm rather than her blunt insensitivity. Morrigan was glad that Kieran hadn’t grown up isolated as she had. A small child raised alone in the wilds of Thedas.

“I will come back for you”.

“I know”.

Morrigan opened her arms once last time, glad when Kieran tucked himself against her side. Her boy already ten years old, growing taller by the day. She was glad that he wasn’t old enough yet to resent embracing his mother. She kissed his forehead, ruffling his hair for what she hoped wouldn’t be the last time. Mother and son shared one last look, Morrigan committing her son’s face to memory.

“Be good. Behave yourself. I want no complaints from Ellana when I see you again”.

Kieran huffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mother”.

She patted his shoulder, refusing to sniffle when she let him go. Her arms dropping to her sides, her hands coming to rest against her thighs. Morrigan slipped one hand behind her back, hiding the fingers that curled into a fist. Her nails digging into the curve of her palm, biting deep. Blood welled when she broke the skin.

“Ar lath ma”.

Her boy smiled again, his cheeks dimpling. He repeated the words he’d learned from Mahariel. The elven vowels and syllables rolling off his tongue like silk. His fluency better than her own, another gift from her husband. Kieran had a knack for languages that Morrigan herself lacked. He could read and write better than she could too.

He’d always been clever.

“Ar lath ma”.

Morrigan swallowed her pride, uncaring what the sentinel of Amaevhen thought. A second tear then a third rolled down her cheek. The scent of brine filling her nostrils. Her lower-lip wobbling when Kieran waved in farewell. She would have gone after him, would have grabbed his hand and taken him home again.

She hated to see him go to Abelas, to see him reach up and clasp the sentinel’s gauntleted fingers.

She hated how her son’s eyes lit up. How he looked at the sentinel with the trust he’d only ever shown to Mahariel. Her boy would have a new role model in his life. Another male elf that he would emulate in the days to come. A man that would become a second father to him.

“Dareth shiral, my boy”, she whispered. “Until we meet again”.

Abelas looked down at Morrigan’s son – humbled. The boy far too young to know the darkness in the world. His eyes bright. His face fair, unlined and unscarred by the rigours of adulthood. He was an innocent, a shemlen half-blood with elven heritage.

“Are you ready?”

“Vin”.

“Garas”.

Morrigan watched as Abelas led him to the Eluvian. Kieran never once looked back, so like Mahariel – disliking tearful goodbyes. He followed when Abelas stepped through the mirror, trusting the sentinel would keep him safe. Morrigan exhaled a shaky breath when her son disappeared. A shadow cast above the watery line of the Eluvian’s shimmering surface.

There then gone as Abelas led him away on the other side.

Her composure crumbled when the Eluvian turned dark. The magic that’d opened it closing. Again. Her breath hitched as she sank to the ground. The tears came thick and fast, a deluge of fear and frustration. A small black cat curled against her hip.

Morrigan scooped her up, pressing her face into Dusky’s neck.

The cat’s fur soft, dry and warm. A comfort in the depths of her sorrow. She wept for the child she’d had to give up, the husband she’d lost and had to find. The family she had that might never be whole again. Nothing was certain.

“You will find Mahariel”, said Ellana. “You will see him again”.

Morrigan lifted her head, sniffling as she looked over Dusky’s slick fur. Her face wet. Her sclera veined with red. She spied the new mistress of the former sentinels of Mythal. Amaevhen, Mother of Flame – The First Keeper.

The curling draconic horns upon her head, a crown amidst her silver tresses.

“Where?” she asked. “When?”

“Soon, sweetling. Duskie knows where he is. Trust her judgement”.