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Chapter Text

Her heart sank in time with the blade of the dagger that she plunged into the map.

"We will save our friend from himself…if we can."

The implication hung heavy in the air as they all stared at the dagger protruding from the territory designated 'The Tevinter Imperium'. The only one in that room hell bent on his salvation was her. She knew it. They knew it. She only worried that her friends had begun to question her commitment to the Inquisition, and though she was loathe to admit it; her loyalties were indeed divided. Could the Inquisition truly bring peace and order to Thedas if the Inquisitor was too besotted to do her duty? The unspoken question buzzed through everyone's minds.

After the war table conference had adjourned, she swiftly made her way out into Skyhold's throne room, turning on her heel to trot up the stairs only to come to a staggered halt on the first landing. A hiss escaped her lips as phantom pain shot through where her left arm used to be. Her breaths came in gasps as she leaned heavily against the banister, eyes tightly shut while she tried to regain her composure.

"Inquisitor?" a soft and familiar Orlesian lilt murmured hesitatingly.

This snapped Ellana out of her pain induced stupor immediately.

"Leliana?" she whipped around, abruptly.

"Ahem, I mean, Divine Victoria. Your grace, I did not expect to see you here. We would have welcomed your presence at the war table." Ellana mumbled, lamely attempting to cover the embarrassment of her momentary weakness and she stood ramrod straight.

"Ah, yes. I regret I could not join you, I have only just arrived. I am afraid my duties have made my schedule tight these days." Leliana replied with a soft, if not awkward smile. She had clearly seen more than Ellana would have preferred, but such was to be expected of the former bard turned Divine. The Inquisitions Spymaster always had been the most well informed of them all.

"This must be a pressing issue to have brought you from Orlais…" Ellana gave the mail-clad Orlesian a probing look "…and one requiring some discretion?" It was unheard of to see the Divine in anything but her chantry robes these days, and yet here Leliana stood in the hooded mail which she had worn for much of her time in the Inquisition.

"Yes, I'm afraid this matter is of some urgency…and I wanted you to hear it from me." Leliana replied haltingly, her eyes flitting away from the Inquisitors to study the floorboards. Unbidden, Ellana's heart leapt into her throat.

"Solas?"

"Yes."

An awkward silence descended. Leliana knew what this meant as well as Ellana did.

"We have reports of a sighting along the Ferelden border. Some of my agents have been attempting to infiltrate…had been attempting to infiltrate Fen'Harels circle-"

"And?" Ellana snapped, immediately regretting it as Leliana gaze returned to her, wounded.

"I'm sorry, I just-…It's been a long day and I hate it when people call him-" but she was cut off by the cold, clattering embrace of a mail-clad hug that she hated to admit she had desperately needed. She felt rebellious sobs shuddering through her body, desperately clawing at her throat for escape from the prison her chest had become, as tears pricked her wide, fade rift-green eyes. For so long now, it seemed, she had been the scarred elven mage that people far and wide revered as The Inquisitor, but it had been so much longer since she had been just Ellana; the woman. The last time had been in a peaceful grotto in Crestwood, and just look where it had gotten her.

"Ellana, I-…I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve this." Leliana murmured soothingly as she gently stroked her friends raven hair.

Ever strong, ever persevering, Ellana steeled herself, swallowed her tears, and cleared her throat then pulled away. Now was not the time for weakness.

Leliana flushed and studied her toes.

"In any case, I believe we may have pinpointed one of Fen-…I mean Solas' outposts. I lost some good agents in the procurement of this information, but it is a good lead. I just…thought you should know first." She had regained her austere professionalism in the blink of an eye.

"Here is the missive regarding the matter." She handed Ellana a sealed letter, which Ellana received with a barely concealed tremor in her remaining hand.

"I did not want to risk this falling in to one of his agents hands before you or the inner circle could act upon it. I am urging a covert operation to investigate our suspicions. I would encourage you to only share this with those you trust most, and have a pretty story prepared for all else." She rattled off most officiously. Ellana nodded, clasping her hand behind her back and matching her energy.

"Understood, your grace."

Leliana's gaze softened as she smiled sadly.

"I hope…well…I hope you find peace, Inquisitor."

"Ellana will do just fine." she sighed, returning her melancholy grin.

"Ellana, then." Leliana nodded.

They shared one more friendly embrace, then parted; Leliana dissolving into the shadows, and Ellana sauntering, exhausted body and soul, missive clutched in hand, up the stairs.

The dreams came again, like they did every night. She would see him; the six eyed wolf, lingering on the fringes of the twisted fade forest with it's towering trees of stone. She ran like she always did, calling out to him;

"Vhenan! Wait, please!" hand outstretched.

And just like every night before it, he would simply disappear, leaving her to slouch into a shuddering puddle of tears and resentment. How could he? He'd waited till she'd opened up completely, till she'd given herself over mind, body, and soul. Till she'd sacrificed her very identity as a woman of the people for him. Only then had he ripped out her heart, and now he'd betrayed her as well. And there it was; she loved him still. He had taken away all that she was, threatened her very existence and the existence of all she held dear and yet she loved him still. So much for the great and mighty Inquisitor; brought low by the weakness of a woman's heart. In a twist of dark irony she found that she both loved and hated him, but she hated herself more.

As usual she awoke in a cold sweat with streams of cooling tears upon her cheeks. The ache in her chest was still there, and so she wept instead of sleeping.

The next day heralded meeting after meeting; public announcements about "an urgent diplomatic trip to an unnamed village of former Orlesian refugees which had sprung up in the Emerald Graves and had found themselves in conflict with the local Dalish", and far more discreet planning and preparation amongst the inner circle. Ellana found herself strangely energized despite the dark circles beneath her eyes from her lack of sleep. She pulled on her armor for the first time since her fateful journey to the Darvaarad. Even her hart seemed to sense this nervous energy as she led it from the stables.

"I can't believe you dragged me away from my duties for this, Inky." smirked Varric as he followed her with his mount in tow, his tone dripping with cheeky wit. She knew as well as he that the stout dwarf welcomed any relief from his new responsibilities in Kirkwall, especially with the way the seneschal had been after him with his impressive backlog of mail.

"Pfffft, doodies." Sera snorted as she trotted out on her dappled mare, seated backwards and terribly graceful about it. While Sera was "officially" retired and spending her time in domestic bliss with "Widdle", most close enough to the Inquisition knew better. She would never stop raising hell; once a Jenny, always a Jenny. Her saddle bags jangled mysteriously as she squirmed about in the saddle to face forwards.

"Good you, yeah? Right well bringin' Beardy along too, but why Cully-wully? Big stick up the doodie that one." she chirped in proper Sera fashion as Thom and Cullen made their way out of the stables, leading their mounts and too deeply engrossed in conversation that undoubtedly involved combat tactics to hear Sera's playful jab.

Ellana was to be the only magic user on this journey; with Dorian attending to his responsibilities in the Qunari beleaguered Tevinter Imperium, and Vivienne engrossed in revivifying The Circle in an attempt to out-compete the robust Enchanters college. However, she was too tired to be concerned, or to exert much energy in an attempt at tact as she addressed her companions, ensuring her voice would carry far enough for onlookers to hear.

"Inquisition! We ride on a mission of utmost importance. We must all be on our best behavior-" she shot a pointed glace at Sera "…as we embark. The peace, and more importantly, innocent lives are at stake. We can't afford to lose our foothold in the Graves. I want no Orlesian or Dalish blood spilled. Are we clear?" Her tone was commanding and severe; all nodded their assent. The bustle of Skyhold barely slowed to aknowledge her; but she knew better. These days the ancient stone walls had ears.

"Then we ride." she swung up onto her hart as the rest quickly joined and fell in behind her. An uncomfortable silence descended. They could all sense something wasn't quite right, and it was no great mystery what that something was. It was several hours before Sera broke the silence, and soon the warm afternoon was filled with friendly chatter; yet Ellana was content to keep to herself. There was too much on her mind.

Even if they did find his outpost, which might not truly be what they suspected, there was no guarantee he would be there; in fact the likelihood seemed quite low. Even then, why did it matter? She grimaced, deep in thought and self-loathing. She clutched the remains of her left limb absentmindedly as it ached. It didn't matter, she told herself. She had a job to do, people to protect, and orders to follow. She would not let her heart get in the way of common sense this time. She would try to save him, yes, but if he proved himself irredeemable she would do what she had to. She would do what she must.

A rich, Ferelden "Inquisitor?" broke her from her reverie.

She looked up to meet Cullen's soft brown gaze, brow furrowed in concern.

"I'm fine." Ellana replied, clipped and dismissive.

"I uh…actually I was wondering if you wanted to set up camp for the night?" he asked with no small amount of hesitation.

Ellana flushed and gazed up at the bloody horizon; surely enough the sun was setting. Had an entire day truly whipped by already? She glanced back to see the rest of her companions, slouched in their saddles, entirely talked out, and eying her warily. She hated this; they all stared at her like a cask of primed Gaatlok that they dared not attempt to defuse lest it blast them all to oblivion.

"Oh. Um, ahem." she cleared her throat, her low voice rough from nearly a day of disuse.

"Yes. Sera, scout out a place to bed down for the night…please." She grumbled, hating the way the words came out even as she said them.

"Yeah, right. You got it, your Inquisitorialness." Sera retorted, revivified by the grace of sheer snark as she slid fluidly from her saddle and disappeared into the foliage along the road almost as swiftly. They continued on at a slow amble until she reappeared to guide them all to a neat little clearing. The simple matter of pitching tents and kindling a small fire was done in short order, and as the sun set they all congregated around the fire, warming their bones and partaking of bland but hearty trail rations.

Gone was the easy camaraderie of earlier. As Ellana's strange mood had made itself more and more pervasive by merit of her silence punctuated with snippiness, the others had grown less and less sure of how to comport themselves. An air of tense melancholy had descended over them all, and remained thus until they had all retired. As the others hunkered down for the night, Ellana remained; her gaze transfixed upon the dying flames and glowing embers.

She did not relish returning to the dreams once more; without the solid stone walls of Skyhold to contain it; her nightly weeping would be on full display for all to hear. A warm hand on her shoulder made her jump as she was wrenched from her sulking.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't…" Cullen stammered awkwardly, withdrawing his hand as though burnt.

Ellana willed her pulse to slow, biting back a rude remark and taking a slow, deep breath.

"No. I'm sorry. I owe all of you an apology. I just…" She trailed off lost for words in a sea of grief, her gaze drifting back to the fire, the reflection of the last wan flickering flame glinting in her eyes like teardrops.

"It's alright." Came his hushed reply. She could feel his warmth as he stooped to sit beside her on the ground. She realized he'd doffed his armor and fur, and even in the chill of the evening wore only his linen chainse and soft buckskin breeches. He stretched his bare feet towards the fire and spread his toes as if to let the heat soak in between them. Shem though he was, he handled the chill well, apparently.

"I understand. I'm sure it doesn't seem like it, but I do." he tore his gaze away from her to watch the dying embers. Silence reigned for but a few moments.

"When I stopped taking lyrium…life was…well…it was terrible. I truly think the only thing that kept me going throughout that torture was-...was this. Us…ahem…the Inquisition I mean. It was challenging…" he faltered, glancing at her, then back to the dimming coals once more, pausing to put the right words together. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and in the course of my time as a templar I've done some terribly difficult things. If you had told me to take it up again…" he chuckled wistfully "…well, I doubt I'd have had the strength to deny your orders even if I'd wanted to."

The communal song of the bugs, frogs, and occasional owl harmonized in a sweetly delicate symphony, and the earthy smell of the woods beyond the glow of the campfire made for a heady perfume. Ellana felt herself relaxing for the first time in a while as she listened to Cullen's soothing voice and took in the sounds and smells of the night.

"…and I tortured myself for that, for wanting it so badly despite it all. I tortured myself like-…" he continued and her gaze was drawn away from the coals to scrutinize him as he looked to her again, a strange but familiar expression on his stubbled face. "…like you torture yourself now."

They held each other's gaze for a few moments of pregnant silence which left her feeling that he might even be able to hear the thump of her heartbeat.

"You don't need to make yourself suffer like this anymore, Inquisitor." He said plainly, the act of holding her gaze for so long clearly taxing for him.

"Ellana is fine." she murmured and returned her gaze to the inanimate comfort of the now mostly dark coals.

"Ellana…" his voice was all but a whisper.

Even through her armor she could feel the heat radiating from his skin as he snaked an arm around her and pulled her close to his side. Once again she found herself embarrassed to realize how badly she'd needed that touch; though she was loathe to admit it, she was terribly lonely. This time when she looked up at him, startled and a little chagrined, she found her face inches from his. The coals had died out completely and the milky light of the gibbous moon illuminated her porcelain face, now clear of vallaslin but still sprinkled generously with freckles. He took the sight of her in with reverence as she studied him breathlessly in turn.

Her heart hammered in her breast as he brought a knuckle beneath her chin to cock it upwards.

"…you don't have to walk this path alone." he murmured, and she could feel the caress of his breath on her lips as he gazed deeply into her wide eyes. There was apprehension in that look, but hope and longing too. She'd been aware of the commander's latent feelings, and had even encouraged them at the beginning. When she'd fallen for Solas, though…She began to drift into memories.

She was abruptly pulled back to the present as she felt his mouth on hers; hot and hungry. The prickle of shemlen stubble against her flesh was strange, unfamiliar, and exciting. Her eyes slipped closed in rapture as, unbidden, visions of what could have been flashed before her eyes; stolen kisses on the ramparts, a soothing presence beside her instead of an empty bed, a wedding with a mabari in attendance. As she felt his arms wrap around her completely, and pull her into his lap; for a moment she couldn't help but wonder if the dreams would stay away if she didn't go to bed alone. But the visions faded, her eyes snapped open, and she pulled back. Seated in his lap she felt impossibly small as she always did in the presence of shemlen men. The coarse hairs on his face, his round ears, his heavy jaw; as she looked at him she realized she saw a shem; not the man she loved.

He gazed down at her with a look in his eyes that made her insides quiver; his cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly parted and gleaming wetly from their kiss. She felt herself flush as well as she realized that what she felt prodding her backside was yet another indication of the size difference between her people and shemlens. Longing bubbled deep within her in the form of a pulsing ache in her loins, but something just didn't feel right.

"I-I can't…" she stammered, her lips still a hairs breadth from his.

"Ellana, I-"

"No." she replied more firmly.

A sudden glint of metal pricking at Cullen's throat made them both freeze.

"She said no, Curly." Came a deadly calm voice.

Ellana scrambled from Cullen's embrace and brushed herself off indignantly, shooting a glare at Varric "Were you just lurking in the shadows watching?"

"Inky, I was just-…" he faltered as he withdrew his wickedly curved dagger from the frozen commanders neck.

"Well, it was hardly necessary. Goodnight." she snapped at them both, whipping about on her heel and storming off not to her tent but to the cool darkness of the tree line, her bare feet crunching through fallen twigs and leaves as she went.

"What kind of man do you take me for?" she heard Cullen huff indignantly behind her.

"Sorry, Curly…" but she soon could no longer track the conversation as she swiftly retreated from the clearing.

She walked for a good long while, till the moon was high, lost in thought and haggard from exhaustion. When she finally did come to a halt it was to scrape together a pile of leaves beneath an oak tree. She burrowed into the leaves, gazing absentmindedly at the soft bioluminescent glow of a blooming embrium. She thought back to a time when she'd placed such a blossom on Senna's grave.

Senna, beloved,
May your ashes be gathered by Falon'Din
and carried safely,
after all the long years you carried me.

How much his approval had meant to her then, she mused bitterly. It seemed so unfair; how was it so precious to him, the love of these two elves, when hers was so easily cast aside? She buried her face in the rustling leaves and breathed in the rich smell of them. She could feel slumber plucking at her as her eyelids drooped.

Her armor had become mildly uncomfortable, and so she stripped it off, wearing only her light blouse and her cotton leggings. A chill quickly crept over her and so she hunkered down into her nest once more, laying her leather and chain mail attire over the leaf pile for additional insulation. Even in these odd circumstances, exhaustion pulled her into sleep quickly. As usual, with slumber came the dreams.

Chapter Text

She chased him, sprinting through contorted and warping trees and called out.

"Vhenan! Please, wait for me! Don't leave me!" her voice husky with tears.

But tonight was different. Amongst the strange and twisted shapes of the stone formations of the fade, she came to a halt before a pile of leaves covered over with mage's armor. He stood just behind it, his eyes glowing coolly like two blue stars, and his gilded armor as bright as moonlight. With a pang she took in his posture just as erect and rigid as she remembered, his hands clasped behind his back, and his chin held high. She'd always thought his carriage unfitting, but after recent revelations it had all begun to make sense. Now he made her feel like a bug being scrutinized by a disdainful spider.

"Why are you here?" his voice echoed, unearthly and yet heartbreakingly familiar.

"I left the camp…" Ellana trailed off evasively.

"That is not what I mean, and you know it. Why are you here?" His voice was cold as he strode swiftly towards her, his steps making not a sound. She felt a confusing shock of fear lance through her as she took a step back, but it was too late. He stood before her in all his Elvhen glory, armor and skin gleaming, his chest inches from hers. Why didn't it feel like she had expected it to? Where was the elation, the relief, the deep love she'd been expecting to flood her heart and spread out through her entire body?

"I-I don't know." She stammered, shrinking back. His brow furrowed with frustration, or confusion; she couldn't tell which.

"Your heart betrays you, vhenan." his eerie voice echoed as the blue fire in his eyes burned into her soul.

"But the question remains, what really brings you here? Do not attempt to decieve me as you have the others." his gaze softened as he saw the pain written on her face.

"Mi'nas'sal'inal¹!" she blurted abruptly, while his voice echoed ethereally hers had a dull lack of resonance. She felt more than heard the hitch in his breathing as it caught in his throat at the sound of the old tongue coming from her lips.

"I walk the dinan'shiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.” He replied in a halting whisper, his guise of dignified superiority beginning to slip. The scant space between their bodies felt like a vacuum.

"Isalan na², and so I must save you! As you are bound to your journey, so am I to mine. Don't you understand?!" she wailed, balling her fist and bringing it down weakly against his armored chest as she trembled from the effort it took not to melt into him even as what had started as fear swiftly turned to resentment.

"Vhenan, please…"

There was more merit to what she said than she even realized. The real cruelty was that it was no mystery to him. She'd unknowingly born his mark for years, and even if she had not been aware; the mark had known it's master. Just as her limb had once been a part of her, so too had the mark become a part of her; it had knit itself into her flesh, sinew, bone, and even metastasized into her blood. If not for the quick act of magical containment that had taken her left arm after their last parting it would have consumed her entirely. It was a loss he would not - could not - have allowed. So in yet another act of pure selfishness he'd doomed her to live on both maimed and heartbroken to witness the end of her world, alone. Even now even with the mark and the offending appendage gone her blood still remembered the song of his magic; no, his essence. Every molecule of her being cried out for him like burning poison coursing through her veins and pooling in her gut. They both felt it. Only he understood the 'why' of it.

"Fehnedhis! I love you, dinlathelan³! As much as I will it to not be so, I do…" her voice trailed off, weak with grief. "You will be the death of me, and I will welcome that blade with open arms and bleed out with your name on my smiling lips. I wish you'd give me back my vallaslin and take this damned needing instead! Ame in'anbanal⁴!"

He scoffed then, eyeing her in a way that clearly communicated that offense was taken. "Dinlathelan³? Na elithal gira del'eolas⁵. I told you, what we had was real."

"What we had?! Had?! It's not gone, I will never be free of you, and so you will never be free of me! I can't even bring myself to enjoy another man's touch! Words are cheap, Vhenan, you would not be doing this to me!" she growled through her tears, grasping his necklace and pulling herself up closer to him with it. She had yearned for this moment for so long, yet now that she'd finally caught up to him the emotions pouring out of her were all wrong. Pain, resentment, anger; gone were the sweet affectations of love and longing. Yet despite it all, she loved him still and she hated herself for it.

His expression was passive as he stared down the wild eyed warrior mage; love could cripple even the strongest and most vibrant spirits. He'd always vacillated between regarding the passions of the heart as weakness or beautiful strength. As he took in the sight of the distraught woman before him and felt every fiber of his being trying to fly to pieces in the face of her distress he could not doubt it was anything but a weakness. Her eyes held his, and somehow in those unfathomable burning blue depths she saw guilt, but she saw something else there as well.

"Another man's touch?" He asked quietly, and wrapped his gauntleted hand around hers where she gripped his necklace. His grip was tight, and sent a shock of electric adrenaline through her.

"Ar laimem mar bartuasha'te'lanem⁶?" He asked, and it was clear that what she had glimpsed was jealousy.

Her heart lurched and she flushed brightly at his break in character; he'd never been quite so blunt before. While moments of wanton tension had passed between them in the past, he'd always pulled away from her, leaving her hungry for more. She practically felt that same hunger tinged green with avarice rolling off of him like a cold and furious tide breaking over her shores; the fade was a strange place indeed.

I would not lie with you under false pretenses. The memory of his words seemed to echo around them. The fade was a place shaped by thoughts, emotions, and the spirits that were drawn to them. She died a little inside as she heard the innermost workings of her mind announced into the aether. She attempted to pull away, but his grip had slipped to her forearm, holding her against him.

"Well?" He asked softly with a disarming calmness in his voice, though his gaze was anything but calm.

"No…Not for lack of trying." She grumbled, wiping the residual tears from her burning cheeks on the stump of her left arm. She observed with some chagrin that even dreaming in the fade her body was still mangled.

His breath hot on her ear froze her in place, and sent a shiver down her spine.

"Why not?"

She shut her eyes tight, her grip tight upon his necklace still as though holding on to it could ground her and keep her from falling to pieces.

"I've had somewhat more important things on my plate." She gritted through clenched teeth, only for her breath to catch when she felt his armored fingers gently graze the point of her ear as he tucked a short coal-black lock behind it.

"You are right, ma vhenan, as usual. I am sorry." sadness and longing mingled in his voice. She opened her bright green eyes to catch his luminous gaze, but the burning blue flames in his eyes had died, leaving the sad stormy grey she had fallen in love with. He saw everything he loved reflected back at him; the piercing green of the fade and his peoples lost legacy, and her rare and marvelous spirit. A war was being waged in his heart between the two.

She was breaking, he could hear it in her voice."You said you would rather they…we… die in comfort…" The Elvhen 'god' found himself transfixed.

"If you truly loved me, why would you make me the only exception to your so-called 'compassion'!? I am in agony!" she sobbed, her grip tightened until the thong holding the wolfs jaw which hung from his neck snapped. As the leather strip broke in her hand, so did he break upon her tears. His armored hands flew to her shoulders and pulled her into a crushing embrace; pressing his lips to hers, silencing her heartbreak, and filling her with something else entirely. His mouth crushed hers as he lost all semblance of restraint. Hot and slick; his tongue slipped between her lips and she eagerly opened to receive him feeling a deep and aching void finally beginning to fill. This. This is what had been missing, she realized as she felt a great swell of something indescribably bittersweet filling her from the inside out.

Though his armor was hard and cold against her breasts, prickling her nipples to pin-points, there was a kind of unearthly heat that she could sense as well; something more than mere temperature. A small whimper of relief, grief, and need spilled from her and filled his mouth like cool water and he realized how thirsty he had been for it. It sated him like nothing else, and filled a void of his own which he had not even been aware of. His body responded to her little noises, and he grasped her tighter; his hands slipped to her waist and her soft hips, pulled them against his own as he delved deeper; a starving man encountering sustenance after prolonged famine. If only he could pull her closer; the hunger began to consume him as he devoured her and he found himself wishing he could simply swallow her whole. It felt as though he could never get enough. She detected his hunger as though with some sort of sixth-sense; a perfect mirror to her own longing. Her body pressed against him as though she could somehow pull him through the fade and find herself in his arms in that simple pile of leaves; then the world could be right again.

They kissed until it seemed their hearts would tear a new rift with their frantic percussive duet, and at last they parted if only a hairs breadth.

"Ar isalal na. Ar isalem na⁷. But I do not know if I have the strength to do this…" he murmured, melancholic, against her lips.

"You have the strength to destroy your world and then mine, but you do not have the strength to love me?" she whispered plaintively, thoroughly breaking his ancient heart.

"Ma vhenan, let us end this suffering…" As he breathed these words between her parted lips, he suddenly found his arms empty. His eyes flew open, only to find himself standing alone in the fade surrounded by a cloud of curious and wanton spirits and his own aura of ineffectual and humiliating frustration.

Ellana woke instinctively at the sound of boots on the ground. Years of training kept her frozen in place as she slowly cracked her eyes and gazed through the warm and musty complex of leaves around her. Her body was still primed from ample amounts of fade-tongue and sweet Elvhen words. She could have sworn aloud from her own frustration, but dared not even take a breath until she laid eyes on the source of the noise.

"Inquisitor?" came a gruff Ferelden query, and she at last poked her head out of the leaves to smile half-heartedly at Thom Rainier. She observed with some degree of relief that she'd woken without tears on her face for the first time in ages.

"Gods, there you are, woman! Had us all worried, tearing off like that."

She sighed and rose from the pile of leaves, snatching her armor up quickly to cover her loose and light undergarments.

"You have Varric and Cullen to thank for that." she grumbled.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ehm. Yes. I heard. Kinda hard not to."

"I gathered as much." she replied tersely.

Silence descended as she donned her armor as quickly as she could. Rainier himself had not yet geared up, and had clearly left the camp in a hurry.

"Did he…I mean…Did the commander actually…?" he trained off uncomfortably.

"Force himself on me? Hah! No, of course not. Not that Varric gave him any opportunity to prove as much." She chuckled bitterly.

"Gods, that's a relief." Rainier let out a breath as though he'd been holding it in anticipation.

"We'd better hurry back so you can tell Sera. I don't know how much time we have." an anxious urgency had crept into his voice that made her stomach sink with dread. Without any further prompting, they took off at a brisk trot, hastening towards the camp and the sounds of conflict.

Chapter Text

"What the hell is going on here?" Ellana asked with deadly calm as she stared Sera down.

Sera froze, arm cocked back with a peculiar and wicked looking four bladed weapon ready to hurl with undoubtedly deft accuracy. The mysteriously jingling saddlebags suddenly made much more sense. She smiled slyly as she saw Ellana, who had emerged from the tree line.

"You want I should go for the marbles? Whatcha say?" She giggled manically.

Ellana felt her temper rising and face flushing brightly as she took in the spectacle before her. Commander Cullen was stripped bare as the day he was born, bound and dangling upside down from the branches of a sturdy oak with his own smallclothes crammed into his mouth as a gag. His wide eyes and pink cheeks spoke of a combination of abject humiliation and terror. She saw several other bladed weapons similar to that which Sera held buried in the tree behind him, and one buried in his thigh which seeped red rivulets. She also couldn't help but notice that her suspicions about shemlen endowment seemed to be true based on what gravity had done to the appendage which hung against the well muscled commanders belly.

Sera had turned her attentions back to the Commander. "Don't say 'so fun!' when you're the one naked and afraid, yeah?" she wound up to cast her wicked looking blade.

In two ground eating strides Ellana was beside Sera, ripping the weapon from her hand with such force that it toppled her over backwards. Sera stared, wide eyed and mouth agape, up at the fuming Inquisitor who, with a flick of her wrist and a crackle of energy, severed the ropes tied around Cullen's ankles, sending him crashing to the ground with a muffled cry and a thump.

Silence reigned and time stretched as she stormed over to the commander, sliced through his bonds with Sera's strange weapon, and rose to cast her gaze about.

When her eyes fell on Varric, sitting on a log and idly cleaning Bianca, she glared furiously at him.

"Hey, don't look at me. I wasn't about to get strung up-" He began defensively, only to be cut off.

"Did it not occur to any of you that I am a seasoned battle-mage who can more than adequately fend for myself!?" Ellana shouted. A tense silence descended again. Even the bare-naked commander froze with one leg in his smalls and two out.

"You've all been treating me like some-...some... fragile thing, and I'm sick of it!" she spat, her teeth bared and her eyes slitted with rage. Though she refused to admit it, some corner of her subconscious knew that her declarations in the fade the night before had not been the words of a seasoned battle mage, but as a thing most fragile, indeed. The bitterness of denial rankled and roiled in her gut. With that she whipped around to begin furiously tearing down her unused tent only to be brought up short.

"Then stop acting like it!" Sera cried indignantly.

"Oh you think we're all a bunch of gits, caring about you, yeah? Well maybe we are. I thought we were friends! We made cookies! Don't I get to be arsed when you're hurting?!" She shouted.

Ellana drooped, shame washing over her. Once again she was forced to face her warped priorities; these were the people who had stuck by her side through hell and high water. Of course they cared. Of course they were protective. They deserved her respect and gratitude, and yet...The sympathy just served as a painful reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

"It doesn't exactly take a master spy to see that all this has taken a toll on you, Inky." Chimed in Varric, hopping off the log and slinging Bianca onto his back. He was already packed and ready to go, clearly having not let a moment go to waste in the morning hours, despite his non-action on behalf of the commander. She couldn't help but wonder if he was simply fearful of Sera's wrath, or if perhaps he didn't truly believe that nothing nefarious had transpired the night before.

"Not that any of us fault you for that, Inquisitor." Thom added haltingly, his eyes full of concern as he stood awkwardly to the side of the clearing, still not sure where to insert himself after the mornings uproar. Poor, sweet Thom.

Cullen yanked the blade from his thigh with a hiss and pulled his smalls on. The trauma of his earlier ordeal stayed his tongue, and he silently set to packing his gear as the others waited in anticipation for Ellana's reaction. This was her fault, she realized. If she'd stayed she could have explained everything. He never would have been strung up and wounded in such degrading fashion. She sighed, and resumed packing with some more constraint.

"I just want everything to go back to normal." She said in a small voice, focusing on the task at hand instead of the eyes upon her.

"Oh, normal? You mean like with the giant gaping green hole in the sky and the darkspawn magister trying to destroy the world?" Varric remarked wryly.

"No! I mean…No. I just…I just want everything to be easy again. I just want all of us to be friends out on another errand together. I just want this to be fun again." She sighed in resignation.

"You make it sound like sealing the rift and defeating Corypheus was a walk in the park." grumbled Cullen. Ellana ached with guilt.

"It was with all of you by my side. None of that would have worked out without you." Ellana said plainly, turning to look at them all. Cullen felt his heart lurch when her eyes fell upon him.

"And don't forget it!" Sera sassed with a cheeky grin.

"I'm sorry." Ellana sighed.

"I know everything has been weird since…lately. Can we please just try to get back to how things used to be? I'm ok. Really. I promise." She gave the others a forced smile. Varric smiled back, Thom nodded, Sera harumphed "Fine, I guess.", and Ellana noticed with some concern that Cullen merely continued to stoically pack his things. With that, the party finished packing the camp. Sera roughly stitched up the commanders leg (perhaps taking a little too much delight in the process) once it was made clear to her that no boundaries had been crossed. They quickly saddled and geared up their mounts, and without further ado set off for Din'an Hanin.

The days ride was less tense between four of the five companions. While the group chattered idly, Cullen rode silently at the back, his eyes on the pommel of his saddle. The rejection alone would have been enough to handle, but the accusation of sexual violence and the retributive violence in turn had left a sour taste in his mouth. He'd not had as much opportunity to spend time on the road with the others, and as a result he'd already felt like the outsider. The humiliating events of that morning had left him feeling subhuman; to have had his agency taken, and been completely at the mercy of one who derived pleasure from his pain had been both terrifying and emasculating. For Ellana to have seen him like that…

He cringed visibly in the saddle.

The thought of what she must have seen; a helpless and ridiculous spectacle made frantic with fear. It turned his stomach. No wonder she didn't return his feelings; what was a pathetic human man when compared to an elven god? Even when that elven god was a poison upon the land, an emasculated and impotent coward was clearly no alternative. The wound on his leg throbbed. Sera had not been gentle in her ministrations. He couldn't blame her, at least not entirely. If he'd thought someone had forced themselves upon Ellana…well…he'd have probably done much worse than she had to him. However, it didn't gentle the sting of what had transpired, and why hadn't she eased up when she'd learned the truth?!

Ellana had clearly said no. He didn't even have a chance to release her when she'd said it. He would have, he told himself. What he had felt for her…what he still felt for her…was not something that could be satisfied without reciprocity. But now that would never happen, he thought bitterly, how could she respect him after seeing him as she had?

The day seemed to pass in a blink of an eye. The music of her velvety alto voice was now a bittersweet tune in his ears; he could not listen to her without dwelling on what she must think of him and the sting of shame it brought. By the time Sera had scouted out a new spot for them to make camp, they were solidly within the Graves. He set his tent and bedroll far apart from the others, even going so far as to kindle his own small fire. As he fed tinder to the budding flames, he heard steps behind him.

"Cullen?"

Oh gods, it was her.

He whipped around, caught by surprise and scattering a shower of embers as he carelessly struck the glowing coals with his bare hand.

"Ah! Shit!" he cursed as he quickly turned back to his humble fire, smothering the rogue embers and nursing his fingers.

"I-I'm sorry. Really…I am." Ellana said.

"Oh, no. Not to worry, Inquisitor. I'm fine. Just surprised me, is all." He replied with forced joviality.

"No, I mean I'm sorry about…last night."

He could not help but look to her once more. The sun had begun to set, painting the sky in fiery hues. She was so beautiful, illuminated in the daylights death throes. Her midnight black hair fell to her sharp jaw, caressing her angular, freckle-dusted cheekbones and framing her spring-green eyes. Her bright red lips were quirked in a half-hearted smile; how he longed to kiss those lips again. The few moments he had tasted her mouth would live in his heart till his dying day. But, more than his desire to kiss them; he desired to see a genuine smile upon them again. It seemed like it had been so long since he'd seen her smile in earnest. If only he could make her smile; truly smile. If only he could make her feel joy again.

"There's nothing to apologize for." he reassured her, mustering a similarly half-hearted smile.

"At least, not from you. I could have done without Sera's target practice though…" He added morosely.

"About that…" Ellana sank down next to him, in front of his pitiful fire.

"That was my fault. I should have stayed. I should have been there to defend you. That should not have happened. Cullen, I'm so sorry-"

"Is this how you feel? When everyone handles you with kid gloves?" he snapped, and immediately regretted it as she grew silent.

"Probabbly." at long last she broke the silence.

"I don't need you to protect me. I want to protect you, Ellana." he closed his eyes tightly, and took a deep, bracing breath.

I love you.

Was what he wanted to say, but instead he simply sat in silence. His heart seemed to thump audibly in sync with the chirring of the crickets. He stared intently at the flames, willing himself to look at her again and yet unable. The ache in his chest had spread to his throat, and he felt the heat of embarrassment conquering his face.

"May I...?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes shot open as he felt a gentle touch on his thigh. The shock on his face made Ellana blush furiously and, much to his disappointment, snatch her hand away. Her touch left a slightly pleasurable tingle in it's wake that made him shudder. She dismissed it as the cold.

"Healing is not my expertise, but I have some. I would ease your pain...speed up the healing process...if you'd like...?"

Understanding washed over him, leaving him all the more embarrassed. Why would she suddenly display interest after she made her feelings so very clear the night before? An unwelcome thought crept into his mind, even as he attempted to stifle it; but she had kissed him back. Might there not be some part of her that wanted him, too? It was no matter. He had his answer, and all she was offering was a healing. He gulped audibly, casting his eyes down to the faint stain on the leg of his breeches where some blood had seeped through the bandages.

"Ehm...Yes, Inquisitor. I would welcome it. Thank you." he cleared his throat, hoping her keen eyes couldn't see how red his face was in the growing twilight.

"You'll need to...uhm..." she averted her eyes to the treeline. He cursed internally as he realized that if he could see her blushing, she could certainly see him doing the same. He coughed awkwardly.

"You'll need to expose the wound." She mumbled, clearly embarrassed. Oh gods, she wanted him to take off his pants.

"Well, uh, I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea..." He laughed nervously, already worrying about the prying ears and eyes that undoubtedly surrounded them. Damned rogues.

"I'm sorry, Cullen. I'm not that skilled; I can't heal through fabric. I promise I'll be fast."

He glanced about nervously, then began undoing the tie at his waist, and slid his breeches down, lifting his hips in a way that made Ellana's stomach do a somersault to shimmy them down to his knees as he remained seated on the ground. His heart was hammering in his chest as she reached for his leg once more, and hers hammered in turn as she couldn't help but notice the slight twitch in his smalls as her fingers lightly rested upon the inflamed flesh surrounding the wound. The gentle caress of her rough fingertips on his bare flesh caused it to prickle with goosebumps, she dismissed it as the chill in the air. The lightness of her touch felt like the tickle of a feather, but even that was enough to antagonize his wound. He grunted.

"This isn't good..." Ellana murmured, turning her attention entirely to her task.

"Infection is setting in already. I'll see what I can do." A look of intense concentration fell upon her face as a gentle glow emanated from her fingers. For a moment it felt like a red hot iron being pressed to his skin, he gasped, but the moment passed in a flash and the sensation became pleasant, soothing even. He closed his eyes, and tipped his head back in a way that elicited an unwelcome response in her. She gulped and set herself to her task, willing herself to focus and the tingling throb deep in her belly to go away. For Ellana it felt as though an hour had passed, but to Cullen it felt no more than the span of a few breaths before she withdrew her hand. The friction of her fingers trailing over his skin as she pulled away elicited a shuddering sigh that he could not stifle. He took but a moment to look at the wound; pink and somewhat healed, it looked and felt much improved.

"You're really not as bad at that as you say, you know." He remarked breathlessly. They looked up to each other, and both flinched away in turn as they realized how close they found themselves, once more. He scrambled to pull his pants up, fumbling clumsily with them as he found a less than cooperative impediment upon attempting to slide them over his smalls. How had he not realized the response she'd elicited from his loins?

"I-its ok. That's a pretty normal side effect..." she stuttered awkwardly, having clearly noticed far before he had.

After dressing himself once more, they sat quietly and stared at the pile of smoldering twigs that had been the beginning of his fire, until at last Cullen broke the silence.

"You know, I never would have…could have…When you said no." He stammered.

"I know." she responded, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He suppressed another shudder as she wrapped her arm around him in a gentle and platonic way; reassurance that she was not afraid of him, that she trusted him. She felt herself leaning into him, needing a solid corporeal embrace to hold her up, to hold her together. All he felt was the sweet comfort of a friend, and the longing for more; he ached for her. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and he could even hear her gentle breaths corresponding with the puffs of steam coming from her lips. It was too much to bear.

"I am lucky to have you as a friend." He told her gently, pulling away from her touch.

"Thank you for…for being you. For being here." He rose, picking up the scant bits of kindling he had collected to try to revivify his dying fire. As he fed the dwindling embers, he suddenly heard a crackle from behind him, and had to fall clumsily backwards in order to keep his eyebrows when the flames abruptly roared to life. He turned around, his surprise plain on his face, and what he saw gave him some hope and more than alleviated the humiliation of earlier that morning.

Ellana sat with her hand outstretched towards the fire, magical energy still glowing red upon her slender but weathered fingertips, and a big, beautiful, genuine smile beaming forth from her pretty face; a smile that he couldn’t help but return.

She was eager to return to the dreams, and so she hastened to her tent after departing from Cullen's fire. She quickly scarfed down some crumbled trail rations as she went, not wanting her empty stomach to interrupt her tonight. Quickly and quietly she slipped into her tent, freeing herself of her clothing and sliding naked into her bedroll. Her body was, long, lean-muscled, and deliciously dappled with caramel freckles on a milky field. She folded her arms behind her head, splaying her legs out comfortably, and letting her eyes slip closed. The lullaby of the forest soon saw her off to sleep, and she strode breathless and naked into the fade.

Chapter Text

"Solas! Solaaas!" she called, her voice echoing in the seemingly limitless expanse. She thought she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Ellana?" she heard a familiar voice from behind her, but her heart leapt into her throat upon realizing that it was not the one she was expecting; that was when things began to go sideways. She whipped around and covered her nudity, the porcelain beneath her freckles stained rosy red with mortification. But no, it was impossible! How could Commander Cullen be standing there before her? He did not have the ability to enter and walk the fade. He did not even have magic!

"What are you doing here?!" she hissed.

It seemed that no time passed, and suddenly he was simply there in front of her; one hand on her bare hip, and the other wrapped in her hair. She gasped, her head pulled back and her throat bared as he tightened his grip on her hair and crushed her against his body. She felt his breath on her flesh, and a warm wetness trailing over the delicate skin of her throat which she could only assume was his tongue. The mind was unwilling, but the body was weak, and she could feel the place where her legs met softening like warm butter.

"W-what are you doing? Get the hell off of me!" she gasped as the tongue trailed down to her breast to encircle a nipple and pull it into a hungry mouth. The warm, wet pull of suckling stole any further protestations from her lips, even as she felt stubble prickling at the soft swell of her breast. That same familiar Ferelden voice echoed through her head, but there was no doubt in her mind that they were not truly the commanders words.

"Fickle girl, isn't this what you wanted? Your body seems to have made up it's mind, at least." there was the implication of a wicked smile in the tone of the disembodied voice.

She felt one hand leave her hip even as the other twined in her hair pulled and bent her backwards, forcing her to arch her back and press her belly and hips against the commander. His body was hard and warm against her. The press of fingers at the melted spot of desire between her legs caused her to cry out. He kneaded insistently; liberally spreading the slick moisture about but never quite dipping into her well.

"N-no! Get off of-"She gasped, all words and higher thought snatched away from her as the probing presence at her cunt found the hard bundle of nerves there and stroked it firmly. Her hips bucked against her will, and she felt a palm pressing against her mound, holding her in place, as it continued to lavish solid strokes upon the center of her pleasure. This familiar stranger had her completely at his mercy.

"Oh, no? Perhaps this is what you want?" the stranger inquired slyly, speaking in a new but still horribly familiar voice. The hand tightened in her hair and wrenched her up straight so she could gaze into the eyes of the Dread Wolf himself. It was Solas, but not. His elbow pressed into her back, driving her breasts against his chest, now inexplicably bare. The firm strokes upon her womanhood were picking up speed and insistance, causing her legs to tremble weakly beneath her.

"Ma vhenan. Give me that precious flower of yours." and though the words echoed, his lips did not move. She could feel the press of a solid appendage against her thigh, and shuddered with a confusing mixture of dread and lust at the realization of his sheer size. Even in the face of certain danger, her baser instincts seemed to take the wheel.

"P-please. Not like this. S-sto- ohhhh!" she cried as the slick caress trailed from the entrance of her womanhood to her most sensitive bud, spreading the fruits of her arousal in a most delicious way. He bent his head to her breast as she watched, but something was not quite right about the way he clamped his lips around her swollen nipple once more. Perhaps his mouth was too wide, or his teeth too pointed. She'd studied her love enough times to know that there was something strange about this vestige. All semblance of thought flew from her mind as the suckling resumed and the finger at her slit began to press more firmly into her. As she felt her legs giving out on her she felt him sinking into her deeper yet, or rather she felt herself bearing down upon his fingers, and panic rose as the twin to her lust.

Even in the absence of complex thought she could still tell that something was wrong. It shouldn't be like this.

A sudden explosion of booming green energy deafened her and sent her softened body flying backwards as her would-be assaulter was flung in the opposite direction. As she was flung prone she found that the landing was somewhat more gentle than she would have expected, given the circumstances. The misty haze left by the burst of fade-energy slowly began to dissipate, and her heart thumped heavily as she saw the gleaming gilded plate of the one who she knew was Solas standing between her and the one she knew was not Solas.

"Anaris! Na gyal¹?!" He snarled, his body warping and twisting into a towering beast; a massive wolf with six glowing red eyes and many more long, dagger sharp teeth.

She felt her stomach twist and turn as she watched the figure opposite him begin to contort and bubble into a sickening purple ooze which finally found form in the shape of a strange winged creature. Long ears hung from it's head, tattered and degraded while eyes of black flames burned upon its stretched face. A pair of horns adorned it's brow, and a seductive yet androgynous figure tapered down to powerful haunches. It was the strangest looking desire demon she'd ever seen, but there was no doubt as to what it was. It's full, lush lips parted in a frighteningly wide smile to display teeth just as pointed as those of the wolf before it.

"Ar odheem na dialun'an². How could I resist? Tel'she'el giremah asha saron³." The demons voice was sweet, sticky, and as sickening as it's hungry visage, and as it spoke a brightly blazing lance formed in its clawed hand.

"You are sick, Anaris! Tel'gira elgar, arona tel'gira sa'syl! Ar'vara, Geldauran⁴! Return from whence you came, it will not be long until we face each other again as things were intended. I will cure you then! This is neither the time nor place!" Solas' voice roared through the echoing expanse of the fade like thunder, and Ellana noticed that no other spirits tarried there; neither fear, nor wrath were anywhere to be seen. They had made themselves scarce, leaving the two incredible forces to their own devices.

"You will not fool me this time, Fen'Harel!" it snarled back at him, then turned its horrifying gaze on her now, leering in a way that made her feel filthy for the wetness on her thighs.

"You know, Oinu⁵, he once called me by another name." It's voice was thick and sickly sweet like rancid blood. She was paralyzed, like a halla waiting for the hunters spear. the way the creature looked at her left no doubt as to it's own hungers.

Before it could utter another word, the hulking wolf leapt upon it with a snarl; his teeth snapping at the demons throat. It shrieked writhing wildly, and whipped the blazing spear at him in a haphazard manner that glanced his furred flank. A loud sizzle and the smell of burnt hair filled the air as the gargantuan creatures came together in a furious flurry of violence, their massive bodies writhing and flailing with alarming speed as they attempted to sink claw, fang, or weapon into each other in turn. Solas snarled from the pain in his haunch and sank his dagger sharp teeth savagely into the demons shoulder when he could not find purchase upon the throat. A spray of blackened blood misted the air of the fade and painted his fur slick and shiny. The creature howled and writhed in his jaws, then to Ellana's horror, in a sudden moment of clarity it swung it's lance about, angled it towards his ribs and plunged it deep. The sound was as though a blacksmith had quenched a red hot ingot in a barrel of water, and Solas released his grip to throw his head back and utter a very un-wolf-like scream of pain.

"No!" she screamed gutterally, throwing her hand out and thrusting a magical torrent of frigid cold at the blazing weapon. Crystals devoured the shaft of the implement, and crawled up onto the claws of the creature. It felt as though her heart would leap from her chest as she listened to Solas gasping and gurgling while the wolf whined, and the beast grunted in annoyance. With a flex of its claws it easily shattered the glittering ice and brutally yanked the spear from the wolfs side. The whine turned to a yelp, and beneath the yelp she heard Solas cry in pain as the wolf fell limp to the barren ground of the fade. It was then that the desire demon turned upon her; the spear in it's talons glowed brightly causing the residual ice to simply evaporate from it. It's gaze sent chills through her; it now hungered for her blood instead of her body, that much was clear. As it advanced she found herself scrabbling pitifully upon the ground, trying to escape even on hand and knees with no vestige of dignity left. She was a mindless beast of prey; simply desiring a few more heartbeats.

Much to her shame, she found that all thoughts of Solas had fled her mind. She could not even tell if he still lived; she was far too concerned with her own livelihood.

"Shhhh…Come to me, sweet little thing. I will give you the release you seek. No more pain. No more longing. No more heartbreak." It stalked closer and closer on all fours with it's wings splayed wide and it's bizarre ears dragging along beside it. It's form twisted again, this time forming yet another sickeningly familiar shape. Sera stood before her, a haughty smile on her pouty lips and a gleaming bow from which the sounds of rolling thunder emanated. The arrow she knocked to it howled like the wind.

Ellana was a halla in the hunters sights, paralyzed with fear and unable to flee; her mind raced and her body refused to obey her. If only she could summon a spirit blade, or simply get up and run! Sera drew the burning shaft back, the bowstring taut with killing force. Though she willed herself to move, to fly to safety, it was as though her limbs would no longer obey her. Some strange force of unknown origin had thoroughly enslaved her to it's will and she was glued to the spot, staring from the pointy end of the golden arrow. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath, willing herself to wake up.

"Dar'atisha-⁶" The Not-Sera began, but was cut off abruptly.

A sharp stinging shot across her cheek, and she felt the tailwind of the shaft whip past her face as the arrow flew wide. She opened her eyes in time to watch in horror as the massive six eyed wolf crushed Sera's golden head between it's terrible jaws with a sickening crunch like the sound of a particularly juicy beetle being smashed under a boot. A fade-shattering scream resonated and echoed endlessly. It was ear splitting, and seemed to go on and on. She clutched at her head and scrunched her eyes tightly shut.

Hard hands were grasping her shoulders, shaking her roughly. Her eyes shot open, only to realize the scream was coming from her own lips. Upon seeing the wide grey-blue of Sera's eyes set in a freckled countenance furrowed with concern she screamed all the louder and thrashed away from her, batting her off with her one good hand. It took a few moments before she remembered where she was, before the look on Sera's face registered as genuine concern, and more than a little bit of alarm.

Footsteps hammering upon the underbrush in the gloom of the pre-dawn hours heralded the arrival of the others. Cullen slid in the leaves with his chainse hanging off him haphazardly and legs bare as though he had only just put himself together, sword drawn only to stumble and fall flat at the sight of his Inquisitor laid bare within her tent with its flap flung wide by Sera's swift entrance. Sera hastily snatched Ellana's blouse up and threw it over her nakedness. Thom arrived shortly after, having taken the time to pull his pants on as well, sword drawn and scanning the surrounding forest for hidden foes, while Varric seemed to once again materialize out of thin air fully armored and ready for combat with Bianca loaded and ready for action.

"Wake up! We're here, got it?! You're safe! It's just a stupid nightmare!" Sera pleaded with no small amount of anxious frustration in her voice, grabbing her by the shoulders once more and shaking her until the screaming stopped. Wild eyed and still disoriented, Ellana clutched her blouse to her bosom, her legs tangled in her bedroll as she glanced about frantically while hyperventilating.

"Inquisitor…?" Thom glanced into the tent, then averted his gaze as he took in her state of undress.

A sharp slap across her face jolted Ellana out of her stupor as Sera smacked her a good one.

"What kind of stupid frigging elfy shit is this? You're awake now, right?" She looked equal part angry and scared as she took in Ellana's state.

Ellana buried her face in her hand as a sob shuddered out of her.

"Oh balls. I'm sorry." Sera wrapped Ellana in a soft, reassuring hug.

"It's handled, innit? Nothing to see, yeah? You can go now!" she snapped over her shoulder to the men who then sauntered off, all equally confused and perturbed.

"I-I saw you die…" Ellana breathed shakily.

"You tried to kill me!" she whimpered, trembling in Sera's arms.

"Oughta know what a nightmare is by now, yeah?" Sera chided gently, sitting back to take in the sight of the disheveled and still anxious woman before her.

"No, Sera. This was different. I was in the fade. It was you, but it wasn't. I-I…I can't explain it. It was you!" she was getting worked up again. Sera sat back, eyeing her oddly.

"Sounds like demon-y shit to me. You possessed now, then?" Sera seemed to almost magically produce another of her new bladed throwing weapons from the folds of her tunic, cocking her arm back and tilting her head curiously. However, upon seeing the look on Ellana's face she immediately stashed it back to wherever she'd produced it from.

"No. I…Oh gods, Sera I was so scared! I was scared of you!" Her pretty face crumpled and she sobbed again.

"Fade shit never got anything good in it. Demons and wrongness, and that's all of it. Just have normal dreams like a normal person! It's not like you have to go to the fade when you sleep…I mean, it's not, right?" she wrapped her arms around her knees, sitting opposite Ellana and tucking her chin behind her knees to continue scrutinizing her.

"N-no. I don't. I just…"

"Okay so don't. Need you right-minded and not demon-y."

They sat in silence for a moment, Sera hugging her legs and Ellana her shirt.

"Also kinda don't like seeing you like this. Obviously." She added quietly.

"I'll try, Sera. I'll try." But in her heart she knew that after what had transpired that night, nothing would keep her from returning to the fade once more.

Chapter Text

The sun rose; a blazing flag of surrender. The dawn chorus sounded chaotic and dissonant to Ellana's ears. She laid, wide eyed and tense in her bed roll.

"What they gonna do, besides muck it up!? Magic the magic away? No good coming of more magic where there's already too much friggen magic!"

"We are out of our depth, Sera! We have no choice!" Cullen snapped in exasperation, dismissing the fleeting notion of explaining what "dispelling" was to Sera.

Sera looked to Varric plaintively, then glowered as he shook his head.

"I'm afraid I'm with Curly on this one. Whatever is happening to her is beyond our abilities and knowledge."

"Aye. Maybe her own people will know more about this. Will know what to do. I for one think it's worth trying if there's a chance we can get her back. We can't continue on with her like this." Thom added.

"Her own people?!" Sera shrieked, then launched into yet another bout of fervent protestations.

Ellana listened passively as her friends spoke about her like she wasn't there. In a sense she wasn't. Horrifying visions of the night before passed before her mind's eye; rapidly replaying over and over. The great wolf throwing back his head and howling with the voice of beast and elf as one as steam rose from his searing wound. Sera's face caving in with a spray of corrupted black blood as his fangs clamped down upon her, stormy blue eyes bursting and oozing down her ruined cheekbones. Over and over, the scenes replayed in her mind. Was his adversary truly Anaris, the forgotten one? Could a forgotten one be killed? Was Solas still alive? Had he succumbed to his wounds? Would it really be so bad if he had?

The last was the only question she knew the answer to; if he was gone, it would be the end of her world. She had already accepted this mission to be her last; one way or another it would consume her. It practically already had consumed her. Though she barely understood the why of it, she knew she could not live on in a world without him. The hope of seeing him, saving him; it had become all that sustained her. The cadence of her footsteps and heartbeat alike served only as the counter-rhythm in the song of hope that sang through her when she thought of him. With this in mind, she puzzled that perhaps she knew the answer to the first two questions as well; if he was gone, surely she would feel it.

Thom trudged through the dense forest, looking for any sign of Dalish passage. He scanned the ground for aravel tracks, the trees for markings, the clearing for signs of previous inhabitation.

"This doesn't look good." he muttered to himself.

"You never know, Hero" chimed in Varric. "It's never too late for a twist of fate." The carefully constructed hope in his voice masked his anxious doubt.

Ellana had seemed quiet after Sera had calmed her down, but had rapidly transitioned to all but catatonic. She responded to questions with blank looks, quiet grunts, and small nods. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn’t leave her tent. Something horrible had happened that night. Her cheek had darkened gradually and a black gash had burst open upon her face in the early morning hours. It had spread, necrotic and hot to the touch. Flesh sloughed from it like ash to the point that they had all begin to worry that they might soon see bone. To further complicate matters, tiny black lines had begun to spider their way out from the wound; Thom knew enough about wounds on the battlefield to know what a blood infection looked like, but not enough to know how to fix the issue. However, he was certain that the two were related; the creeping contamination and the inquisitors borderline catatonia. He only prayed it wasn't some form of the Taint. He'd seen those suffering from Blight sickness before, but this was different. It had to be something else, it just had to!

He was getting frustrated, but deep down he knew the frustration was merely a product of the intense fear he felt at the prospect of losing the woman who had championed all he valued. When he'd found himself searching for direction in post-rift Thedas; she'd given him something to believe in. When the truth about his ignominious history had come to light she'd shown him Andraste's own mercy. She was a beacon in a world that was morally adrift, and he would be damned if he would stand by and watch her simply waste away; no matter how grim the odds were.

"Maker's breath…" He grumbled as he drew his sword to slash through a particularly stubborn patch of scrub, only to be brought up short as an arrow whizzed from the branches to bury itself in the ground just inches from his boot. He froze, knowing well enough to not make any sudden movements.

"Well, well. Looks like we found our elves." Varric murmured, slowly raising his hands.

"Guess again." Thom replied.

A glint of gold flashed in the underbrush as a well camouflaged cloak slid back to reveal gleaming ancient armor. The muted color of the elf's garb had done its job so well that neither Thom nor Varric had been able to perceive the tall elven man standing not 20 feet Northwest of them. Two things told Thom that this was not the Dalish clan they were looking for. First; he was alone, and second; he'd seen this elf's armor before. This was a Sentinel.

"…well, elf. Singular." quipped Varric.

"Halt, shemlen, and come no further! You are not welcome here!" His accented voice rang out with a rich timbre. Thom couldn't help but notice that this elf bore none of the facial tattoos characteristic of both the Dalish and the Sentinels of the Temple of Mythal.

"At ease stranger, we come in peace-" Thom was abruptly cut off.

"I want none of your 'peace', shem. Nor yours, child of the stone. Leave now before I lose my patience." he spat at them, glowering down the length of another arrow.

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, friend-" Varric took a ginger step forward, hands still raised.

"We are not 'friends'." the elf snarled as he pulled his wicked looking longbow to full draw, causing Varric to freeze in his tracks once more.

"Please. The Inquisitor - Ellana Lavellan - she is gravely ill. We-… she needs your aid." Thom pleaded dropping his sword with a dull thud upon the leaf litter and raising his hands as well. Humility came easy when faced with the grim reality that he'd seen creeping across her flesh.

The strange elf's eyes widened slightly at the sound of Ellana's name, then narrowed as he took the two in once more, this time with even greater scrutiny. The tension in his draw arm slackened, and slowly he began to lower his bow, eyeing them each in turn.

"Yes. I remember your Inquisitor. She honored Mythal, she respected the sanctity of our traditions, and she then let a shem drink of our well. What has befallen her?" The air of cool disdain in the elf's voice was measured. Too measured, by Varric's estimation.

"We aren't entirely sure what happened, but it seems like something magical in nature. None of us are equipped to deal with this. She could die, and I don’t think we have much time." Varric interjected, ignoring Thom's sideways glance.

The elf seemed to ponder this for a moment, then returned his arrow to its quiver and slung his bow upon his back in one fluidly graceful movement.

"Stay here. I will return." He commanded curtly, and disappeared into the brush as though he were mist.

The two companions waited for what felt like an eternity, but judging by the path of the sun could not have been more than 20 minutes. There was no rustle in the brush, nor sound of approaching footsteps to warn them of their approach; the three bare-faced sentinels were simply there where they had not been. Thom jumped visibly, causing the same elf from before to smirk slightly.

"Lead on, Inquisition." there was a distinct sneer in his tone. Thom bristled as the taste of humility began to sour, but Varric cleared his throat and attempted to lighten the mood as he was wont to do.

"Shouldn't be hard to pick up our trail. Hero practically razed everything along the way." He aimed a humorous half smile at Thom.

"We do notice." came the broken, and thickly accented response of the elder at the fore of the group. Their voice dripped with disdain. The elder was stooped, their armor ill fit for their wizened body. They leaned heavily on a staff that both Thom and Varric knew well enough to be more than a mere walking stick. The pale icy blue of their eyes had the alarming effect of leaving one with the initial impression that they had no iris at all. Centuries had creased the elders face in valleys of sorrow, but there was not a single sign of facial tattoos nor scars from their removal. Thom was reminded of Ellana's return from Crestwood; broken-hearted and clean-faced. The removal of those marks had heralded more than a mere cosmetic change; they'd all seen what it had done to her. Where once had been a powerhouse of confidence, strength, and motivation a mere husk was left in its stead. Sure, she had maintained the façade, she had maintained her momentum, she had saved the world anyways. Yet, all who spent enough time with her could tell that the warmth and light had been stolen from her along with her valaslin. Perhaps those qualities had been tied to those markings, or perhaps they'd been tied to Solas. Either way she hadn't been the same since, and like the festering wound on her face she only continued to grow worse. Perhaps heartbreak was a terminal illness more dangerous yet than the black gash on her cheek.

He picked up his sword, sheathed it as the three strange elves side-eyed him, and fell in behind Varric.

While Thom's mind lingered on the past, Varric's furiously picked over the present. He began to lead the elves back along their path of broken greenery. He knew that the loss of Ellana's valaslin was Solas' doing. He knew the only elves who did not wear the characteristic facial tattoos were either those too young to have yet received them, or those born in the city; these elves were clearly neither. His heart sank as he began to fully comprehend the implications. If these were agents of Fen'Harel, then their cover was surely blown. However, that was inconsequential in the face of the potentiality that they might do far worse than help Ellana when they found her. Ellana might still hold some affection for the ancient Elvhen god, but Varric knew better than to trust a wolf. No amount of past loyalties seemed to be able to sway the elven madman from his plan, and so he doubted any amount of past affections would spare her life. He began to mentally compile his options. He could attempt to take them out now; no good, they were outnumbered, out matched, and the risk of letting Ellana succumb to her magical wound was unacceptable. He could signal the others to attack when they arrived at camp; too risky, Ellana was unable to defend herself and could get injured in the crossfire, and again they couldn't risk her not getting treatment. The more he mulled it over, the more he realized that there was no choice but to give them access to the weakened Inquisitor. He could prepare to defend her if the need arose, but they would just have to take a chance on these dubious elves.

A glance up at Thom told Varric that he had also pieced together the details. They trudged along in silence, the elves eerily quiet even in their plate armor. Varric began trying to formulate a plan; anything that could tactically position them to intercede should they show a sign of hostility once they arrived at the camp. They had taken the upper hand by positioning themselves at the rear of the procession. He could feel their eyes on his back, sharp and dangerous as daggers. The elder one seemed to be the healer, or so he assumed by the presence of the staff. The arrogant one with the bow seemed to be the de facto leader of the small group. The third was a mystery. He had caught only a glance of a valaslin-less face under the earthy colored hood of their cloak, but had been unable to discern any distinguishing characteristics. The first two would likely be best handled at close quarters, meaning Thom and Cullen would be integral. However, the third one represented a concerning wild card.

"So, what can we call you, then?" Varric posited, trying to muster up some casual banter.

"Nothing." snapped the arrogant archer.

"Alright, Nothing. Nice to meet you. I'm Varric." He quipped in response. He thought he might have heard a scoff come from the third elf.

"And how about you?" he directed at the elder.

"Banal¹." The elder replied in clipped Elvhen.

"A pleasure, I'm sure." Varric replied with mock obsequiousness.

"And how about you?" he addressed the mysterious third.

He was met with silence.

"Not speaking." The elder rattled out.

"No kidding…" Varric sighed.

And so they continued on in silence. When at last they spotted the edge of the camp through the trees, they were almost immediately thereafter met by Sera, sprinting at top speed towards them.

"You couldn't have taken any longer than that, could you!? Well, hurry up and get the-" but her words stuck in her throat as she laid eyes on the elves. The elder gazed at her in turn with a very peculiar look in their eyes.

"Where is Inquisitor?" the elder asked her plainly, squinting her pale eyes at the young elf. A split second glance at Varric stayed Sera's hand, but her hackles were clearly up.

"Move your old elfy bum, then." Sera groused and turned to trot back towards the camp. She led the group to the clearing as quickly as the old one would totter.

There, beside the unlit fire pit, sat Cullen. He cradled Ellana gently in his lap; she looked impossibly small and fragile wrapped in his fur. His gaze was fixed on her sallow face where the blackened flesh had spread to cover the entirety of her right cheek, and had begun to creep down her jaw to her neck. Where once her skin had been pale, now it was ashen. Her hair splayed out on his shoulder where her head rested; held there cradled in his hand, and her labored breaths came quick and shallow. His large arms encircled her protectively; it was clear to any who looked that what he held in his arms was very precious to him. He looked at her like he would shatter if she stopped breathing, and with each rattling breath he feared another would not come. As the others approached, his head snapped around to face them and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of the strange elves. He reached for his sword with his right while shielding her face with his left.

"Commander, no! Wait!" Thom cried, but too late. It was just the opportunity the archer had been waiting for. In less time than it had taken to reach his sword, the archer had loosed an arrow at Cullen with lightning speed.

The arrow flew true, but before any of the companions had a chance to react the shaft exploded in a shower of splinters just inches from the commanders nose. The elder flicked their staff with surprising dexterity, and the splinters rained down to the ground with a sound like a light rain. Cullen stared wide eyed at the elves, flexing his hand wide and pulling it back from his weapon to hold it in front of him, never relinquishing his grip on the precious bundle curled in his lap.

The elder glared at the archer, who sheepishly slung his bow onto his back once more, and then began to rattle off a slew of Elvhen that none of them understood, but clearly expressed some profound degree of disapproval towards the archer. Though the elder's words were incomprehensible to the rest of the party, it was clear they were exceedingly displeased with his actions; a torrent of ancient elven spilled, loud and tumultuous, from the elder's lips as they tore into the Archer. So much for de facto leader, Varric mused with some relief as he and the others resumed breathing. These were not the words or actions of an enemy force; perhaps these elves did not mean them harm after all.

As the elder chastised the archer vehemently, the third elf stepped forward, striding towards the commander and his charge with purpose. Cullen's grip tightened on Ellana; he did not trust these elves, but he knew he had little choice at this point. He stood on a precipice; behind him a probable enemy, and before him the certain destruction of the woman he loved. Nonetheless when the elf stood before him and pulled back their hood, Cullen was not comforted when his eyes met a familiar, if not changed face. The pale, vallaslin-less feline features of Abelas stared down at him.

"Your charge is safe with us, Commander. Please, we have little time." Abelas extended his hand, and waited.

Chapter Text

She found herself drifting in and out of consciousness. What moments she spent in semi-wakefulness were agony; the pain started in her head, blazing across her face, lancing down her neck, and burrowing it's way into every joint and limb. The moments of clarity swiftly drove her back into the welcoming embrace of the Fade, and so she washed back and forth between worlds like the tide.

"Stand down, Rainier! There's no way!" He bellowed, straining against Thom's grasp.

"I won't stand for it! Don't make me do this, Thom!" Cullen was frantic as Thom Rainier struggled to keep the Commander from slipping past to where the elder stood before the shimmering Eluvian with Abelas and the archer at their side. The archer rolled his eyes, huffing indignantly then turned to stride swiftly through the mystical portal. The elder gazed at them apathetically, then cast their eyes intensely over towards Sera.

Thom could not help but notice that Sera leaned against a tree to the side of the ruins, pointedly looking away from the scene. She was torn; smart enough to know now that Ellana's only hope laid with these elves, but too stubborn and afraid to go with them.

'None but those with Elvhen blood may follow.'

Abelas had stated earlier, translating for the Elder but offering no further explanation as to why. At that point Sera had harumphed and stormed off. Varric had cracked a nervous smile as his gaze was swiftly drawn to Cullen. Cullen, of course, had lost it completely. Now it was taking every ounce of Thom's strength and will to keep the Commander from storming over and ripping Ellana's crumpled body from Abelas' arms. Their armor clanked and scraped as they grappled furiously with each other.

"Stop this Commander! You know it must be done!" Thom grunted as Cullen struggled to topple him.

"No! How can we possibly know she's safe if we just let them have her?! How can you just let them walk off with her?! This is insane! You know who they are!" He yelled directly in Thom's face, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. His brow was slick with sweat and red from his exertions. He would not go quietly.

"Makers breath, Sera. Please just go with them." Varric pleaded.

"He'll never shut up otherwise. Plus, he's right. We know who they are, we'd be crazy not to try to keep an eye on her." He added.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do, well? Just fight off an army of abominations and demons by myself when everything goes bad, Yeah? Not enough arrows for that." She snapped defensively. Varric threw up his hands and turned on his heel.

"Fine! I guess I was wrong about you. It happens." He replied, exasperation saturating his tone.

"And what's that supposed to mean?!" She whipped around in turn, hands on her hips and leaning towards him defiantly.

"Here I thought you were a Jenny. I thought you were here to defend the little person, and keep the big players in check. I hadn't realized that was only under conditions where no magic was involved. Turns out Jenny has a lot less teeth than I thought." He crossed his arms, trying and succeeding to stifle the sly grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"I'd like to live, thanks!" She shouted, the fire and fear in her heart spilling out into her voice.

"I bet she would too." He replied gravely, turning around to stare her down. Sera returned his stare silently, sullenly.

"If anyone is the little person right now, it's her." He pointed abruptly at the wilted Inquisitor in Abelas' arms. Abelas stood awkwardly, witnessing the exchange and then glancing towards the elder who still stared intently at Sera.

"And you're really going to let them do whatever they want with her? You don't even want to be there to speak for her, protect her? Your friend?" It was working. He could see the turmoil roiling behind her stormy eyes as she glared at him, then watched her eyes fall as her shoulders slumped in a combination of shame and defeat.

"You're…well, that's…shut it." She stammered, her brow furrowed in frustration.

"She needs you, Sera." He finished; it was the final nail in the coffin and they both knew it. Sera stood for another moment more, a grimace slowly working it's way over her freckled features.

"Ugh, pissbags. Fine. If I don't make it back, then you get to tell Widdle why. Wait up, you elfy nobs!" She grumbled acquiescence, then shouted to the small group of elves as the Elder stepped through the illuminated surface of the Eluvian. She cursed as she clutched at the strap of her quiver, and trotted over towards them.

"You can stop now, Cully. I'll keep an eye out." She sighed in resignation as she passed Cullen, who's struggle became progressively more feeble until it ceased entirely as he saw her approaching the ethereal portal. His chest heaved from his exertions and no small part of anxiety which was clear on his face as he watched her. Sera made a mental note to be gentler with the man (if she survived); he cared too much about Ellana to be a threat to her safety and he'd clearly been through enough.

Varric watched Sera go, feeling one tension dissipate and another take it's place. Any accompaniment was better than none, in this instance. However, Sera would have been his last choice if he'd had any say in the matter. A knot of worry and doubt churned in his gut as he hoped, perhaps vainly, that Sera would do nothing to make matters worse. If she could just keep the Inquisitor alive long enough to get her the healing she needed and then back again that would be enough. Hopefully her big mouth wouldn't get in the way of things running smoothly.

As Cullen's belligerence abated, Thom studied his face. Worry deeply creased Cullen's brow, and he panted as though he could not catch his breath. His normally well-coifed hair was a tousled mess from the scuffle, and his displaced fur hung askance. Thom clapped him firmly on the shoulder, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring smile despite the fact that the Commander stared right through him to the Eluvian.

"It's for the best. Relax, Commander. You said so yourself; this is not something we can fix on our own." He gave Cullen a gentle shake, but the man merely stared past him as Abelas disappeared through the magical gateway.

Sera continued on, her strides long and fast as though if she could only keep her momentum up she would not falter, would not turn away and run.

"Don't like this. Not one bit. Magic. Mage stuff. Elfy stuff. End of the world stuff. I mean, of course it's end of the world stuff. Can't have magic elfy mage stuff without the end of the world stuff. Can't believe I'm doing this, ugh!" She grumbled nervously as she drew nearer.

Her whole life she'd been told -no- warned about the pitfalls of magic use. She'd lived in terror of magic, and the conflict it had brought. If any more evidence of the problematic nature of magic had been needed, not long ago she could have simply pointed up at the sky. What most seemed to forget is that the problems people waged magical wars over rarely had anything to do with the daily lives of normal people, but the fallout most certainly took a tremendous toll upon them. The worst part was that it seemed inevitable that the only cure to the problem anyone with any power would pursue was the exact same poison that had caused it. As with any such poison, no solution seemed possible without calamitous consequences which in turn required more problematic solutions; and so the cycle continued on and on for what seemed like all eternity to Sera. It seemed obvious to her that this was the way of things; magic simply begot more problems, why did no one else understand this clear and simple truth? Naturally, the ones seeking these magical solutions to magical problems never had to look the displaced orphans or the starving men and women in the eye after their mages, templars, and whatever else stomped through and decimated entire communities with their conflicts. This whole business with the fade and the veil was just one more magical problem with a magical solution that would likely take countless lives and livelihoods in the conflict. She should have put an arrow or three up Solas' elven glory when she'd had the chance.

Sera stood before The Eluvian, knuckles white as bone as she gripped the strap across her chest. The mysteriously shimmering field was inches from her; a swirling miasma of impending doom. She shuddered.

"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade; for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost…¹" She murmured hastily under her breath, taking a deep breath and bracing herself then stepping forward, terrified, into the ominous unknown.

Chapter Text

Sera found herself holding her breath and scrunching her eyes shut while her heart pounded in her ears as though she had plunged into a bottomless lake with no idea as to when she'd surface again. As she passed through the portal she felt the silken sheet of magic slide over her skin; cool, smooth, soft, and strange. It was a foreign feeling, and one she spent altogether too much time fixating on. Dread knotted her viscera into painful lumps which refused to settle. In the second or two that it took her to pass through the Eluvian time slowed to a crawl, and by the time she felt the silk withdraw she found herself gasping for air as her eyes snapped open. The sight that met her eyes was one that set her to gasping yet again.

"Nope. Don't like this a bit." She whispered to herself as she looked around wide eyed.

Acrophobia sank its needle-like talons into her knotted guts; the path she found herself standing upon floated in place with a truly unfathomable drop below. Whether she was more alarmed by the physics defying heights, or the flagrant display of magic; she could not be sure. She only knew she found herself momentarily petrified. She suspected that there was no end, no bottom, no limit to the emptiness beneath the unnaturally stable cobbles. It was truly a mystery how they held together at all, for it seemed that they simply hovered in the air. Much to her increasingly nauseated distress she even saw where one cobble was absent in the pathway; nothing but open space beneath it. On impulse alone she sank to her haunches, squatting and trembling as she closed her eyes and took a breath to steady herself. She tried vainly to sink her fingers into the stones, then thought better of it when she took a moment to wonder what had displaced the missing cobble. Taking another tremulous breath, she leaned over to peer over the edge of the pathway; still no end to the plunge in sight. A hastily expectorated gob of spit confirmed what she already knew as she watched it fall and fall and fall til it simply disappeared into the hazy fog which seemed to permeate the empty space surrounding the pathway. Not even the faintest 'plap' met her ears as it supposedly continued to fall for all of eternity.

This fog did nothing, however, to obscure the sight of the four elves ahead of her, making gradual progress down the pathway to another truly breathtaking vision. On the horizon -if it could even be called that in absence of physical limits to the plane on which she found herself- floated a fortress that looked altogether too much like Skyhold. Sera took but one moment more to choke down the terror that threatened to crawl up her throat and spill all over the magical footpath, then rose on legs as unsteady as those of a newborn colt and began trotting carefully after the small party whom did not even deign to turn to confirm her presence.

"H-hey, don't think you get to go places without me!" She called out through the expanse, trying not to let the tremor of fear carry in her voice.

"Faster. No time extra." Called the elder, who shuffled as swiftly as their frail old bones would allow, which in turn made it quite easy for Sera to catch up.

When she arrived at the heel of the party she found herself brought up short once more at the sight of Ellana's state. The condition was progressing even more rapidly. New and alarming features were making themselves seen. Her head leaned back against Abelas' shoulder and her mouth hung slightly open. Her lips had taken on the same black tinge that half her face had, and the same darkness had spread to fully encircle her neck. Blackened veins spidered their way over what skin was still pallid, but the pale flesh was completely devoid of the flush of life. If not for the labored sound of her breaths, Sera would have thought the Inquisitor long dead. Her half lidded eyes showed only the whites, and even her fingers and greying nail-beds showed signs of the blackness that crept through her veins. What was most alarming by far, though, was the barely detectable movement of shifting green in the inky darkness which had spread to cover so much of Ellana's body. Sera found herself wondering how she'd never noticed it before; perhaps it was the otherworldly, sourceless light where they now were. It was as though hundreds of faintly glowing worms crawled through the corruption seeping through her body.

"Ohhh that's no good. How much longer…?" She trailed off, looking up at Abelas and almost forgetting her disdain for a moment. His face was pinched in what was clearly a look of intense focus as he strode as quickly as he could without losing the elder.

"Not much." He fired back quickly. He was clearly struggling not to outpace the mage who tottered along on creaky limbs, leaning heavily against their staff.

"Well then come on! Let's go! Slow is slow and we don't need to be!" The urgency was palpable, Sera brushed past the small group and began striding quickly along the path, only to turn and see Abelas glaring darkly at her.

"Melotharin is the only thing keeping her from succumbing. To remove the Inquisitor from their range would hasten her condition." He explained slowly and condescendingly, like he was speaking to a child.

Sera scowled in return.

"Done with this stupid shit! Come on!" She fired back, and then promptly swooped the elder onto her shoulder like a sack of grain. She moved with such speed that her elven companions were left aghast; given but a fraction of a moment to contemplate what had just happened before she took off down the path at a trot with her new burden.

The elder's protestations were incomprehensible to Sera as the ancient elf beat their fists weakly against her back. Their body was frail and diminutive, and as a result the burden was negligible to Sera. Melotharin bounced about with each of Sera's strides in a most undignified fashion, cursing in elven and pounding at her as fiercely as their aged body would allow.

Out of sheer necessity, Abelas picked up the pace; he could not allow the effect of Melotharin's time distorting magic to grow too distant from the inquisitor. Lost for words at the brash behavior of the irreverent young elf, he did all he could do; which was to say that he chased after her. The archer cast a shocked and appalled glance at him, but he merely shook his head. Time was short and there was no room for debate. The consequences of this breach of decorum paled in comparison to the consequences they would face if the woman in his arms died. There would be time enough to argue later.

Whether a strange effect of the bizarre plane they found themselves on, or a product of the nature of the passage of time when under great duress; the pathway seemed to stretch on forever to Sera. After what felt like several minutes which were in reality several seconds Sera felt a stillness as Melotharin ceased their struggling and accepted their fate. Like a horse nearing the stable after a long ride, Sera picked up the pace as she saw the portcullis growing closer. All thoughts of her terrifying surroundings had fled her mind, and her mission had given her courage. Her steps were swift and steady and her breaths rasped quickly in and out as her legs churned. Urgency gripped her like a vice; the sight of Ellana's quickly changing body had rattled her more than she had let on. The only thing more terrifying than the strange and dangerous magic that crept through Ellana's veins was the prospect of losing her, or at least that was what she thought when she passed beneath the portcullis. However, she was not prepared for what awaited her on the other side.

She felt the silken caress of another wave of magic pass over her skin, which caused her to gasp and shudder involuntarily.

"Melena⁰!" Cried the elder, hammering on Sera's shoulder again. There was an urgency and anxiety in their brittle voice that told Sera all she needed to know despite the language barrier. Sera skidded to a halt, her heart hammering from exertion as well as the fact that the sheet of magic had thoroughly wrapped itself around her like a smothering blanket. Behind her she saw Abelas slow as he neared her, the Inquisitor in his arms looking much unchanged, and before her she saw the courtyard of Skyhold, but shimmering and shifting as though it were reflected upon the surface of a pool of crystalline water. Sera struggled to breathe as she felt fear snaking it's way up from her belly to wrap itself around her windpipe; whatever laid before them was not as it appeared, and it was clear by Melotharin's tone that it represented some kind of imminent danger should they approach it incorrectly.

A stream of elven language poured from Abelas' lips like a song; the cadence seemed to flow in a way that was very different from normal conversation, and the façade before them dropped leaving Sera to stare at a dramatically different scene as it was revealed by the fallen illusory curtain. The courtyard before them was like Skyhold's, but not. The plants were gone, and the architecture was warped and unfamiliar. Mosaic's covered the brickwork; some fresh and some ancient. The ancient ones clearly depicted legends, some familiar even with Sera's limited knowledge, and some long lost to the sands of time. The newer ones gave Sera pause; in vibrant colors she saw the exploits of the Inquisition unfold; all the figures were alarmingly familiar, though that of Ellana seemed to always take center stage. There were other even fresher panels, all the figures in which were unfamiliar; save one. She would know that pointy-eared bald head anywhere. Fear was swiftly transforming into fury.

Then she heard that familiar voice echo across the disturbingly unfamiliar courtyard.

"Salladin! Ellana'gira Tua'vun¹?!" Solas' voice was full of an imperious and demanding tone that thinly masked barely restrained panic. As he practically flew down the stone stairs to the north of the courtyard, Sera could not help but notice the same strange green energy squirming about in the air around him.

"Vin²." Replied the elf, who up until that moment Sera had been certain had been called Abelas. His voice was taut and sharp as he strode towards Solas.

Slipping the elder gently from her shoulder, she stepped forward, sharp words perched on the tip of her tongue ready to fly free. In the millisecond it took for him to cast his eyes over her, they flashed bright blue and Sera suddenly found herself frozen to the spot. The elder stood before her, eyeing her sourly and brushing themselves off before harumphing and tottering along with Salladin.

"Nerien," Solas barked at the archer "Dirth'esh'ala ajua in'shalasha'aria³." His voice fell to a whisper as he came to a halt standing before Salladin and Melotharin, his eyes fixated on Ellana's much changed appearance.

This was his fault, of course, just like everything else. He cursed himself internally; once again his selfishness had put others in danger. In his weakness he'd had to see her and his desire had drawn the most dangerous of threats directly to them. It had struck her a mortal blow, and in so doing had wounded far more than just her. Perhaps the most dangerous threat was not the fallen ones, after all. Perhaps it was him. His chest ached and his throat tightened as he stared down at her; the corruption creeping over her had not diminished her beauty; a beauty that was nothing without the vibrant life that had burned within it not too long ago.

Time slowed as he reached out to lay his hand upon the rancid wound on her cheek; the seed of her slow and painful destruction which had laid roots through every inch of her body. He hadn't seen her, let alone touched her, outside of the fade since that last kiss in Darvaraad. He found her skin to be much colder now than when last he'd rested his hand there, but a faint flicker of life still burned deep in the cooling depths of her waning husk. The effects of Melotharin's unique magic were working, but they wouldn't for much longer, and so as Salladin handed her once lean and powerful form to him, now a frail and fragile shell, he nodded curtly at them both and turned, uttering only;

"Sura⁴."

He paused only to cast his gaze over Sera once more, then finally utter the only words she'd understood since passing through the portcullis.

"Follow, but no more than that."

She could feel another soft wave of magic pass over her body, and then her feet were moving; one step placed in front of the other. She realized with a combination of humiliated rage and horror that she had no control over her body; she was but a puppet that danced to his magical tune. This was what she'd warned Varric about; what good was she in the face of this kind of power? Arrows could not defeat this.

Solas hated doing it to her; despite all the petty conflict between the two of them, he'd always respected her free spirit. He knew she could be counted on to call out corruption and the abuse of power when she saw it, and what he did now was a betrayal to that free spirit he admired. She was so much more than just a cheeky young elf, and even if she didn't know it yet he could not afford to let her run loose and wreak havoc in this place at such a crucial time. One more casualty of his selfishness; he acknowledged bitterly that out of yet more pure selfishness it was simply another casualty he would live with. Why could no one thing he did ever be simple, straightforward, and just?

As he moved he began to channel his magical energy out from his center, letting it course through his arms, and into his hands, then through his fingers. With it he sent a sensitive probe to assess the damage.

Anaris' weapon was ancient, and incredibly powerful. The venom that coated their arrows and blades was the same venom secreted by all manner of immensely powerful corrupted spirits; it was a uniquely infectious agent, very similar to the corruption that caused the taint. In some creatures it spread blight, but in others it killed, and for some creatures already corrupted it granted a godly fortitude. It was an oddly mutable substance that never seemed to behave the same way in any two beings, and very few mortals had ever been unlucky enough to experience it's bite. This was a weapon normally saved to put down far greater beasts; gods, and titans. It seemed that what magic of his which remained in her after the removal of the anchor seemed to have buffered the effects after a fashion, but nonetheless the blackness had spread and wrought massive damage throughout her entire body. The mere fact that it had carried over through the fade into the material plane was a testament to it's virulence.

She moaned and stirred in his arms as the traces of magic in her felt the return of their master, and his heart fluttered. It was so different to have her there physically, even under these conditions.

He could sense the final touches of the shielding being put in place as he ascended the stairs and passed by the mages, breathless and exhausted from their exertions, as he entered the guest chambers they had only just finished preparing. Sera felt the magical barrier slip over her, but found herself helpless to react. The act of raising these wards had been an immense one, especially with such a brief turnaround. Solas silently reminded himself to commend them later when he'd had the chance. The elven men and women who had joined his ranks over the last few years had grown both in numbers and strength. He was proud of his people, and what he knew they would become once more. The evidence of that growth was more readily apparent each day.

"Close the door." He uttered another command to Sera, who could do nothing more than obey. He could feel her fighting against her bonds, but it was a weak effort indeed. She had striven so hard to distance herself from her magical heritage that even with her unique latent abilities she was no match for his geas.

He gently, reverently, laid Ellana on the clean white cotton sheets of the chamber's bed, her ebony hair spilling across the pillow. Her blackened skin and hair stook out in stark contrast to the snowy bedding. As Sera stood like an unwilling silent sentinel at the door, she watched Melotharin walk up beside Solas, placing a gnarled hand upon the shoulder of his ornate Elvhen robes. She could see in far greater detail as greens and blues began to swirl about the two. She noticed that more similar plays of light and color were becoming visible in many places in her field of vision. It no longer seemed a trick of the light; but a near tangible energy she could see floating through the air. Evil made visible, she told herself. Every fiber of her being longed to lash out at the silvery lights dancing about her body; they were the chains which bound her like a slave.

Solas knelt beside the bed, placing one hand upon Ellana's wounded cheek, and the other upon her heart where he knew he must fight the hardest to keep the corruption at bay. With Melotharin's magics pooled with his; he stood a chance. And so the real work began.

Chapter Text

One moment she'd been talking to Sera, and the next she'd felt an intense wave of gravity that seemed to pull her down towards the earth. She could only struggle against it for so long as she felt the heat blossoming on her cheek, but she quickly wore herself out. That was when she'd found herself adrift; a small vessel pulled out to sea at the mercy of the winds and tides.

She bounced back and forth between worlds, one moment in the fade and the next back on Thedas, and in misery. It was dizzying, it was nauseating, it was disorienting. The only moments free of pain were those she spent in the fade; every time she dipped her toes back into consciousness it was as though splinters of burning lyrium were pouring into her from her cheek and flowing through her veins. She was too weak to cry out, too weak to struggle free of the various different grasps she found herself in as she was carried, and too weak to remain on either plane intentionally. It went on like this for so long she found herself yearning for an end to it; the fade was a far kinder fate than what she experienced each time she was hurled back into her physical body.

In the moments she found herself in the fade, she could feel a weakness that transcended her corporeal existence soaking into her bones; but there was something else as well. A fury was creeping through her. It was faint at first, innocuous, almost unnoticeable; an irritation. As she wandered the fade, occasionally finding herself ripped through time and space back to Thedas, she felt it bloom, and spread, and grow. It was a fury born of deep resentment, fear, self-loathing, and abandonment. It grew and grew until molten rage coursed through her.

How unjust it all was! She'd done nothing but try to help; to help Thedas, to help the people who lived there, to help Solas! She offered nothing short of her all, and often times had put her heart and her life on the line for it. How could this happen to her?! A fate like this could be nothing short of punishment! Why should she be punished for loving, for helping, for fighting for what was right?! Suddenly it seemed so clear; it was because she was weak. She was soft; spending too much time concerning herself with the interests, wants, and feelings of her lessers instead of prioritizing her own needs. Furthermore she'd been stupid; volunteering herself for pain and loss. The strong survived because the strong knew what needed to be done to achieve their goals and simply did it. They didn't concern themselves with ineffectual and inconsequential distractions. Selflessness, affection, the need for companionship; they were deficiencies in character. Coddling those who could not or would not care for themselves and their world was not only a betrayal of her own strength, it was a betrayal of theirs. By shouldering their burdens for them they had grown too weak to bear the weight of them. She had crippled the people of Thedas. The clarity of this epiphany burned white hot and true, and like fade fire it illuminated her path through the darkness, chasing away the spirits and the gloom. With it came a surety that anchored her firmly in the fade, her bare feet finding steady purchase with each step so that she could no longer be pulled back to that place of pain in Thedas. Her spirit drifted; untethered from her deteriorating body.

She did not consciously choose her path, but she found that each deliberate step took her closer to the towering, dark silhouette on the horizon. The Black City beckoned.

"Vhenan!" A familiar voice carried on the stagnant air, faint but audible. She ignored it, plodding on towards the lofty ramparts.

"Vhenaaaaan!" It cried once more, louder now.

"Please, Vhenan!" It pleaded, growing louder yet.

There was a time, she was certain, that such pleas would have moved her, would have broken her heart and halted her steps. However, she knew the truth now. She would no longer betray herself; the very notion that one would dare to call out to her to impede her progress enraged her further. The flame of fury burned so brightly in her heart that the light which lit her path swelled to illuminate everything around her; blinding her pursuer. The rage inside boiled, bubbled, and rose until it spilled forth from her mouth in a roar and she rounded on the familiar form of the source of all her troubles.

Solas shielded his eyes as he found himself frozen to the spot in a combination of shock and horror. Perhaps it was in part to the magic he'd left within her, perhaps it was her own magic which had caused the change; either way the venom had clearly had a unique effect on Ellana. Had he not known with a surety that he felt in his bones that it was indeed her that stood before him, he would have guessed that yet another Fallen One had broken their shackles. The fact that Anaris had somehow escaped the Black City would have left no doubt in his mind that this was simply another Geldauran who's name he did not yet know. But he could sense it still; a few residual motes of himself flowing through her, clinging to what little bit of her spirit which still remained, keeping her afloat in a sea of hatred and fury.

Her lean figure, once compact and muscular now towered above him as a behemoth. She was a corrupted spirit of flames and fury, blazing white hot with wrath. Although every aspect of her shape was familiar from the gentle swell of her breast to the curve of her hips; she was entirely changed. Each detail down to her missing arm was present like a twisted reflection in her new shape; her remaining limb was a horrific mass of shards of obsidian and half molten crystals protruding viciously from a gooey club-like protrusion of magma. Despite the size of this new beast, Ellana's absence left a void larger yet into which his heart plummeted endlessly with the horror of realization. Yet there was still hope; where her large, luminous green eyes used to be there remained a twinkle of verdant energy. What was left of him clung to what was left of her like a pair of lost souls adrift in a storm of malcontent. Those two small glimmers of emerald opportunity were enough for him. He stood his ground, fear and longing tugging at his insides as he searched for the right thing to say to bring her back to him.

He did not have long to contemplate as the creature that had once been Ellana whipped her weaponized limb in his direction, showering him with sparks and embers as it crashed into the spot he'd been standing in only milliseconds prior. He rolled deftly to the side, barely escaping the blow while the ethereal heat radiating from her seared his flesh. Indeed, the violence of the attack combined with the intensity of her rage left a glowing scorched patch in it's wake as she withdrew and slowly wound up for another attack.

"Ane'atisha, Vhenan¹-" He attempted to sound reasonable, calm, loving, but as the next blow flew at him he found his efforts maddeningly ineffectual.

"Coward! Liar! Betrayer!" She screamed in a voice that was hers, and yet not. It seemed that a thousand dissonant cries of outrage screamed as one with her, creating an eerie chorus of displeasure which was punctuated by the sound of her pyrocrystalline fist slamming upon the bedrock. It was a cacophony like shattering glass and tumbling boulders; an attack that would surely have laid him flat, even now with his renewed powers.

"Do not do this, my love!" He pleaded as he frantically dodged her blow once more.

It was not the heated quartz shrapnel which jettisoned from the site of impact which shook him, though, even as it sliced into him and blistered his form; it was that word.

Betrayer.

It was a name he'd been called many times over. In the past he might have contended it's use, but there was no doubt in this instance, at least, that he'd earned that title. He staggered to his feet, off-balance physically and otherwise. She was right, as usual. Even now, even as this twisted spirit of rage that he barely recognized; she was right. By merit of that simple truth it was plain that she was still in there. She peered out at him from the abyss. She was not lost. He could save her. He could make this right. If anyone could fix this it was him, it had to be him. He did not know what place there would be for her in the world he would rebuild, but he had to believe there was something for her. Somewhere beneath the igneous crust of corruption there remained that same rare and marvelous spirit; the one that was already inexorably tied to him. He would not see her corrupted and wasted in this fashion.

"I will not fight you!" He cried defiantly, his fists balled at his side as though to contain offensive magic which threatened to burst forth.

"BETRAYER!" It was as though she knew exactly what word would hurt the most. She howled with searing, mindless, fervor as she slowly reeled back to put the entire weight of her massive burning form into the next blow. He waited for it, crouched and still. Then, as she swung her terrible arm he took one carefully calculated step back. He felt more slivers and shards burrow into him, the blow having missed him by but a hair's breadth. He extended his hand swiftly, placing his fingertip upon a jagged protrusion and pressing till he felt the serration pop through the surface of his skin. He sizzled, and began pouring his mana into her. A fool's folly? No, he was certain of it. The behemoth faltered as a flood of green light spilled out of him and flowed up it's limb like a swarm of ravenous ants. The spring buds where her eyes had once been blossomed into verdant suns lending the face an expression of shock, and the beasts body began to tremble and shake as though weeping silently.

She struggled, lamely attempting to pull away from his touch and finding herself affixed to the spot as he channeled his power through her. Steam rose from his skin as her unnatural heat traveled into his bloodstream. Without the strength of an Evanuris, he would have succumbed to his wounds; his spirit bled from dozens of cuts, and the blood evaporated just as swiftly as it flowed. He was giving her more than his energy though, he was feeding her spirit with what made it uniquely her. Curiosity, wisdom, bravery, compassion, loyalty, virtue, and love; she could feel all of it radiating off of him, and it burnt her far more viciously than the flames of her rage. Her fury dwindled.

A screech which tapered off to a whimper emitted from somewhere deep within the creature as it's shuddering form slowly shrank. Gradually he saw her emerging from the mass of fragmentious magma like a delicate sprout budding from the barren soil after the first thaw. Spring blossomed in his heart as he laid eyes on her; her freckled cheeks were rosy with life, her midnight hair tousled and unruly, her wide eyed stare of dismay, her lean and trembling form, even her brow furrowed with the hot pain that blazed through her veins. As Ellana bloomed like a flower from the demonic slag, it was the catharsis of a long awaited homecoming. Nostalgia took him as he remembered the first time he'd encountered her in the fade, the longing and the elation. He watched these same feelings play over her features as she experienced the memory with him; the halting, awkward flirtation, and the heart-pounding revelation of long withheld desire. The echo of that past kiss, like a candle, warded off the darkness that threatened to devour her. Her resistance slowly became weaker, and less willful until he simply stood there holding her hand and waiting breathlessly.

He'd dragged her spirit, kicking and screaming, back to stare her own essence in it's face. He would force her to see that it was not weakness, but strength to face the guarantee of pain that came with the burden of righteous duty. True weakness was living in fear of that pain, and hiding from it like a coward. Who she was, as seen through his eyes, laid spread and illuminated before her minds eye like a brilliant tapestry of greens, golds, milky white, darkest black, and blood red; she was no coward in his eyes. It wasn't enough for him to simply show her what he saw; there was more than just her in that pretty picture for he had also left the marks of his passing. As she watched herself steal that first kiss through his eyes, she felt his elation like butterflies in her stomach. As she watched herself laugh, she felt the bubbling of his joy and satisfaction in her very core. As she witnessed her deeds, she felt his admiration and relief like a warm blanket wrapped snugly about her. As she saw herself drawn close for a tender kiss, a final kiss, she felt his regret like a knife in her heart. And as she saw herself, emerging from that monstrous cocoon; she felt the relief, the pure unadulterated relief, the longing, and the guilt.

He was spent, but he had her once more. A swift tug sent her flying across the chasm between them and into his arms where he crushed her tightly to his chest. Every inch of him was aching from his exertion, but he needed to hold her; needed to feel her against him again. She'd been so close to travelling too far for him to follow, and that reality terrified him. Still dazed and weak, herself, she offered no resistance as her limp spirit smashed against his. The overwhelming strength of his embrace pressed all her scattered pieces back together, and she felt herself settling back into her proper shape. They both sank to the ground, simply trembling against each other from nerves and weariness and experiencing the undeniable feeling of rightness that came from being in each others arms.

Long ago he'd left some of himself in her blood, and now he'd given her more. Each beat of her heart moved his magic through her; and yet he was just as much tied to her as she was to him. This was no secret knowledge to him. This wordless truth had come to her by the same metaphysical osmosis through which they had shared memories. She understood it, now. They were bound to each other whether they liked it or not. She felt her heart sink as a new seed of doubt was planted; was this why she couldn't simply harden her heart against him as yet another enemy to be conquered? Was this the reason why she felt the way she did? Was this the only reason why she loved him?

The Fade stuttered around them, and once again Ellana found herself turned upside down, spun around, and flung across reality as she was ripped from the plane of dreams and spirits and dumped unceremoniously back in Thedas. She knew she had returned by merit of the agony that splintered through her body, causing a wave of dizziness and nausea. She could feel a hand on her cheek; a hub of sharp pain. Another hand rested on her chest, and a familiar warmth spread from it; sweet and comforting like honey. She moaned, shifted, and turned her head to vomit nothing over the crisp white sheets she laid upon. She heaved weakly with only a trickle of black bile to show for her efforts. Although she could barely move, she could see enough to determine that she laid on a bed in a small sleep chamber. Her heart lurched as she saw Solas, kneeling beside her with his hands on her, pouring immense amounts of healing magic into her as a wizened old elf stood beside him, sweating and shaking with the effort involved in lending their own power to him. He may have been wearing regally tailored cloth that shone like golden silk, but he still held himself with that same quiet dignity. His brow still pulled into the same familiar lines while he focused, dappled with the same freckles and the same little scars she'd once spent so many passing moments memorizing. He had seemed so far away, even when they touched in the fade, and now here he was physically touching her. She felt that she might fly to pieces from the blissful shock of it all.

It was him. It was really him. Here on the physical plane, in his physical body, with his actual hands on her actual skin. All previous doubts forgotten, her heart lurched so intensely that she gasped from the ache in her breast, and his eyes flew open in alarm. It seemed impossible, like waking up and finding that her dreams had followed her into the waking world. However, the grim implications of his presence began to creep in and consume her elation even as she found herself enamored by his stormy gaze. If he was here, where exactly was here, and was this the stronghold they'd been seeking? What had she missed during her stay in the fade?

Most alarming though, was Sera; standing wide eyed and magically paralyzed at the door with impotent rage burning in her eyes as she stared daggers at Solas.

"Solas…Sera…What…?" She managed weakly, wincing. There was so much more she wanted to say; an accumulation of words and sentiment long backed up and yearning to burst free, but she did not have the energy to do much more than just breathe through the pain that drenched her entire body.

At the sight of her responsiveness, Solas slumped til his erect posture of quiet dignity had been reduced to a weary slouch. The whites of her eyes had darkened to the same color as her pupils from the intrusion of the venom, but the bright fade rift green of her iris remained true and pure; she was alive, and that was enough. The numerous wounds he'd sustained in the fade had weakened him, and he found himself significantly diminished yet satisfied and relieved.

When he had neutralized the venom which Anaris had poisoned him with it had been only moments after being wounded. As an Evanuris, himself, he was an ancient and powerful mage just short of a god, and had the fortitude to match. His swift action and strength had saved him from the harmful effects of the taint Anaris had laced their weapons with. Ellana on the other hand, was an extremely talented mage; but she was mortal and certainly no Evanuris. To compound the severity of the matter the venom had nearly an entire day to corrupt her spirit and permeate her body. He'd invested significant amounts of his power in bringing her back from the brink of death and spiritual corruption. If not for the traces of his own potent magic that had already inoculated her blood she would have been lost before he'd ever laid hands on her, even with Melotharin's aid. She had been but a breath away from being lost to him forever, and that shook him to his core. He'd accepted the prospect of being apart from her, but now found he could not accept the prospect of her ceasing to exist. He knew he should not feel this so keenly nor give in to his own selfishness, that he should focus on the task at hand instead of investing his own valuable resources into just one elf…but she was no longer just one elf, was she? The magic he'd poured into her was a part of her now. She was a part of him. There was no denying it any longer.

Everything happened so quickly, then. Melotharin slumped against him, losing consciousness and sliding to the floor, and he felt his own grasp over Sera slipping. They had both depleted their mana to dangerously low levels, and Sera would be her own free agent once more soon enough. He could guess at what she would do to him in his weakened state; they were no longer allies. To make matters worse, he'd done the unthinkable; he'd taken away her free will. Even with cause, this was a crime that he knew would not be easily forgiven.

"Lasa halani'em!²" He cried weakly to the door, trying with the last dregs of his strength to keep the fragile elder from crashing to the stone floor.

The mages who'd stood guard at the door blew in like a flurry of so many leaves, scooping him up along with Melotharin and whisking them out. Just as they passed through the barrier, Solas felt his tenuous grasp on Sera at last give way. The shutting of the door was punctuated by the audible 'thunk' of her arrow burying itself in the wood, and the stream of colorful curses that followed. This was followed by the elaborate clinking and clanking as the guard that was to remain posted at the door secured the complex locking mechanism upon it.

His departure was like the amputation of yet another of her limbs, and Ellana felt the combination of disappointment and hurt acutely as Solas withdrew and the door locked behind him so shortly after laying eyes on her. She was not left long to stew in those emotions when the bed was shaken by Sera slamming against the side of it as she panted, practically frothing with frustration and anxiety as she fired another arrow futilely at the door and her flood of invectives came to an end. She turned, and Ellana found herself unnerved to see a truly out of character despondency on the young woman's face which quickly turned to elation as she laid eyes on Ellana, and realized she was looking right back at her. Ellana smiled weakly.

"Shit! You're awake! Really awake! Oh, your eyes, they're all weirdy! That stuffed up magicy shite really did it! " Her rage forgotten, Sera flung herself onto the bed to embrace her, jostling Ellana and causing her to cry out as a wicked pang shot through her from head to toe like lightning.

"Oh! Pissbags. Sorry." Sera scrunched away from her awkwardly. She looked Ellana over dubiously; it was clear that she had not been fully repleted.

Her porcelain skin was still crisscrossed by veins blackened like scorch-marks, and while the midnight patches that had covered her flesh were receding, her lips and nail beds remained grey. A fine web of dark black veins framed her eyes, squeezed tightly shut as she breathed slowly through gritted teeth in an attempt to soothe herself. The changes were slow, but gradual enough that Sera could see them happening before her very eyes. The injustice and humiliation of her earlier treatment had disappeared from memory, and she slid off the bed, kneeling to watch the transformation take place with concern.

"S'ok…" Murmured Ellana, her jaw clenched and her brow furrowed.

"Evr'thing hurts." She whimpered, her lip trembling. The venom slowly dying in her veins was excruciating, but she did not merely speak of her body. Watching Solas retreat had left her with a deep and lonesome ache.

"I-I…what do I do? I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do!" Sera stammered anxiously, feeling terribly useless.

"Don't kn-know…" Ellana choked out, tears pooling in her long lashes and spilling down her cheeks. Inky black tears.

All Sera could do was gently daub them away with the corner of the bedsheets, and watch the pitchy stain spread over the white fabric. Internally she cursed Solas for leaving before doing something about the agony that Ellana was clearly in, and more importantly for leaving before she could put her foot up his ass.

"Don't worry, I-I'll…I dunno…I'll think of something." Sera stood bolt upright and looked frantically around the room for something, anything, to alleviate Ellana's distress.

Her eyes fell on a simple clay pitcher and a mug on a table on the other side of the chamber. The water in the pitcher was crisp and clear, and after pouring it she swiftly returned to Ellana's side. In an effort not to exacerbate her condition, Sera slid onto the bed as slowly and carefully as she could, gently scooping the limp body of her friend into her arms, and propping her at an angle in her lap. Ellana hissed with pain, but when she felt the cup press to her lips she drank greedily. After gulping the contents of the mug down, she gasped till she caught her breath, and she relaxed against Sera.

"Sera?"

"Yeah?"

Ellana gulped, her eyes still closed and leaking dark tears.

"Is he going to come back?" Her voice cracked.

"Dunno. Hope so. Got some arrows for him." Sera grumbled as she gently stroked Ellana's hair in an effort to soothe her as she felt the Inquisitor shudder with pent up sobs.

"I hope so, too." Whispered Ellana.

Chapter Text

He leaned heavily on Irosyl as he released his grasp on Melotharin so that Salladin could catch their limp body. Sweat stung his eyes; the effort of holding himself up even with assistance was proving far more taxing than he'd anticipated. This was not lost on those around him, and he could read the alarm plainly in their eyes. The small group of mages and guards stood in rapt silence, staring at him. Despite his best efforts to break them of their habit of deifying him, they still saw him as their golden god; their fearless and invincible leader. They had not been ready to see him falter.

At least his fallability was undeniable now; though that knowledge was a mixed blessing, they needed to come to terms with it. He knew how Ellana had felt all those years at the head of the Inquisition; and yet still she'd chosen to dally with her hobo apostate companion despite the ire it stood to earn her. He closed his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath and regain his composure.

"Ha'ren?" Irosyl ventured tentatively.

"Yes, da'len?" He panted.

"Wh-what exactly was all that?" The flame-haired youngster was a city elf turned to the cause; inquisitive, driven, and pure.

"Nothing to worry you, Irosyl. She was gravely ill, and now she will be well."

"Yes, but…why-?" The young man was abruptly cut off as Salladin shrewdly and abruptly inserted himself into the conversation.

"Tel'en dirth'ala."¹ The youngster was not yet fluent, his words were for Solas.

"Please ensure our guests are well provided for, da'len. Be wary, though. They must stay here with us, though they may not appreciate that just yet." Solas smiled softly at his young protégé. He knew Sera would be a problem, but if anyone was sharp enough to wrangle such a problem it was young Irosyl and so he left the guard under his capable supervision. He stood on his own once more, removing his weight from the shorter elf and wincing as he felt the ache in his knees from having knelt so long on the stone floor. It seemed so short a time since he woke from Uthenera when compared to the centuries before it, yet the quickening seemed to already be catching up to him. He needed to lie down, but first he would see the frail elder cared for.

"Salladin, we must see that Melotharin rests comfortably. They have depleted themselves." While technically Solas' junior, Melotharin had lived far more of their life outside of Uthenera, and the years had the expected effect on their body. Unless the veil were to fall, such a fate could be expected for each and every elf that currently walked Thedas. Solas turned to walk towards the elders chambers, knowing the former sentinel would follow in turn.

"Rya var'len'en dirth, arani."² He murmured discreetly to Solas as they went.

"Vin, ahn'rahn?"³ Solas replied casually, some small part of him knowing the answer already.

"Ar dhruem Fen'Harel amem silgesha. Ase esahn tel'en El'las'in. Elvhen dirthemah'ahn? Re salhasis."⁴ He practically hissed as their steps echoed thunderously in the silence of the corridor.

"Ea dirthemah'ahn?"⁵ Solas replied coolly, for there was no rebuttal to be made. Salladin was right, although he would not - could not - admit it, nor could he bring himself to care enough to do any differently than he most certainly would continue to do.

Since their meeting at the temple of Mythal, he had immediately known Solas' true nature. He had been one of the few to see living Evanuris before his long sleep, and he would recognize them again even after a million years of Uthenera. The Dread Wolf had promised him a return to the familiar; to the lost glory of Elvhenan. He would gladly fight for that cause under Fen'Harels banner, but he would not see that cause corrupted by the strange sway this woman seemed to have over him. The name he'd taken had been a testament to the renewed life his cause had given him, and so he would fight for it with the fervor of one fighting for his life. He was not blinded by loyalty, and he was one of the few who knew first hand that Evanuris could bleed, as well as fall victim to their own vices.

"Ane teldirthalelan! Re delavir!"⁶

"Ea sil'dirthemah, la sil'dirthalas?"⁷ Solas halted abruptly, turning to face Salladin with an expression on his face and a chill in his voice that wrapped cold fingers around the former sentinels throat.

For a few moments they stood in silence, squaring up while each assessed the other. A silent challenge was declared, and won as Salladin averted his gaze at last. Melotharin groaned quietly as they leaned against him, so he effortlessly swept the elder's wan frame into his arms like a small child.

"Ar telsilal telir o no, arani."⁸ He eyed the floor reticently as they resumed striding down the hall with nothing but the echo of their footsteps to fill the silence.

In the following days, much to their consternation, Sera and Ellana found themselves very much so sequestered to their quarters. At first their pleas for freedom were met with apologetic refusal. Soon pleas turned to demands, and polite refusal turned to silence. However, they were left wanting for nothing. A steady stream of food, clothing, and even at one point a magical addition to their room which included a luxurious bathroom kept them well maintained (Sera's initial distrust of the magical bathroom lasted long enough to bring Ellana to the point of begging her to use the bath, which she finally did but only after Ellana promised to keep an eye out for "weird magicky shit".)

The small window, not much more than an arrow slit, looked out on the eerily familiar courtyard and the horizonless void-scape beyond. Each day, Sera would sit attentively, an arrow ready to pick off Solas should he show his shiny head. Each day Ellana dipped her toes into the Fade, searching for him, calling for him. Each night they huddled together and bit back tears of helplessness and frustration.

As Ellana recovered, it became clear that certain changes were not going to reverse themselves. Charcoal veins spidered out from around her pitchy eyes from which spring green glowed like lanterns in an endless black void. Her lips remained an ashen grey, as did her nailbeds as though the poison had scorched all that was in her which had once blushed pink with life. To her relief, Ellana found that most of her blood still seemed to be red when she punched the stone wall in frustration one day. However, beyond the cosmetic changes, she could feel something different as well. As her strength returned, she found more yet continued to fill her; far more than she'd had to begin with. She felt her mana reserves accumulate far past the depths they had once reached. Furthermore, every once in a while it seemed she could hear a whispering through the walls; just faint enough to be indiscernible, but just loud enough to leave her questioning her sanity when Sera confirmed that she heard no such whispers.

Clearly something strange had transpired within her, and day by day she felt the chaos remaining from what had been inflicted upon her settling closer to some new form of homeostatic equilibrium inside. More than the physical and magical changes her thoughts raced around and around, trapped inside her head and focused only ever on one thing. Where was he, what was he doing, and why wouldn't he return?

Solas' recovery was considerably less prolonged than Ellana's. After a good nights rest, and a hearty meal he was right back to tending his flock, pouring through books, musing over the war table, and anything else he could do to keep his mind off of his pretty new prisoner-…no, guest. Guest. He kept telling himself over and over as his thoughts paced the ancient halls of his mind that she was there for her own good, she was treated well; she was no hostage. The darkened chamber of his heart held a truer knowledge though, and a vexing problem. As long as Sera was trapped in that chamber with his precious and hard won prize, he didn't dare show his face to either of them.

Sera represented a deeply concerning risk. This was not necessarily because she was physically dangerous, though she might disagree with such a statement, but because of the poison she carried within her; though it was different from that which Ellana had already survived. The corruption in Sera represented every betrayal inflicted upon his people that had transpired since his transgression, and just as he would not see the poison of the Geldauran take her away, so he would not see the poison of this age take her away either. At least for the time being, Ellana was physically safe. This gave him time to plan. He would find a way to separate them, somehow, and remove Sera from his little sanctuary in the bit of in-between he'd carved out where the crossroads intersected with the fade and the material world. If he was capable of chiseling out small bits of the veil to suit his whims, he was capable of wrangling a tow-headed shem-ified brat.

He'd discovered his ability to whittle away at the veil after absorbing what was left of Mythals life force from the human shell she'd deposited it into. In ways it was similar to erecting the veil in the first place; it required an acute understanding and attunement to the energies that he'd warped and wended to create the barrier. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he couldn't put the memory of those forces out of his mind if he'd tried. He found himself becoming a tailor, nipping, tucking, stitching, and hemming until he'd created a secret pocket of what once was; the perfect place to erect his bastion. He'd worked with the feverish passion of one trying very hard to distract himself from reality and found that once the space had been cleared; calling the immaterial forces of the fade and the materials of Thedas to form a fortress was a relatively simple matter. After that, the people came in droves and he filled his bastion with hopeful elves effortlessly. Many were eager to see the people restored.

But not her.

Why not her?

He would never understand it, but he would fix it. One way or another.

Chapter Text

Twenty paces North. Pivot. Twenty paces South. Pivot. Twenty paces North. Pivot. Twenty paces South. Pivot.

On and on the rhythm went. On the first day it had helped to keep the commander sane. On the second day it had been far less useful. On the third day it had no effect upon his mounting anxiety. After the fourth day it just seemed to make the painful knot in his chest grow larger yet. He'd worn a raw and dusty path into the moss in front of the Eluvian in the following weeks, and on the fifteenth day he broke. Like an animal -wild with impotent rage and fear- he flew at the dull, lifeless mirror and clawed at it as though he could pry away the metallic shell and reveal the magical portal beneath. The sounds that burst out of him were guttural and furious and echoed through the trees like the cries of a wounded beast.

Varric nearly fell from his perch upon the gnarled oak that had fought for and won it's place where it protruded from a half crumbled wall of the elven ruins. Thom, on the other hand, had been expecting this. He recognized the wildness building in Cullen's eyes on the fourth day. He'd sent a raven when he'd seen the shift in the commander, but just like the much anticipated return of the magical portal the much anticipated reply had not yet arrived.

He tackled Cullen with a force the weary and heartbroken man was not expecting, sending them both tumbling into a clattering pile of flailing armored limbs.

"Stop! Stop it now! You'll damage it!" Thom shouted.

The noise Cullen made was neither coherent nor quiet. Varric sat dumbly where he clung to his perch as he watched the two massive men struggle. While normally the victor would have been anyone's guess, this match was now uneven. Cullen had barely eaten or slept in the last two weeks, and was significantly diminished.  Neither Varric nor Thom had failed to notice the loose swing of his armor as it grew progressively more ill-fitting.

"That's enough! Commander! Stop! Get it together, man!"

A dull thwack heralded an open palmed smack laid firmly accross the commanders cheek, jarring him into silence and stillness. He stared wide-eyed up at Thom, his mouth agape, and spoke the first coherent words he had in days.

"You hit me!" His Ferelden accent heavy with indignation.

"You needed it!" Thom retorted.

A rich bark of laughter jolted them both, causing them to whip around and stare venomously at the laughing dwarf who dangled precariously from the tree until he finally lost his grip in the throes of his mirth.

"Something funny, Master Tethras?" growled Thom as he pushed himself up off of the commander, hauling his now much calmer opponent up after him.

"I -haha- I was just -hahaha- wondering when -heh- that was going to happen. With the way you were looking at him I thought you were going to -heheh- string Curly up days ago!" Varric chortled as he scooped himself up off the ground, brushing the dust from his shirt.

"This is no laughing matter! She's been gone for more than two weeks now! Who knows what they've done to her?!" Cullen was swiftly becoming frantic again.

Varric's laughter died abruptly, and he glanced uneasily at Thom.

"Curly…uh, well…Have you considered that maybe she decided to stay there?"

The look that fell over Cullen's face told Varric that he had, in fact, been trying very hard not to think of that possibility. Much to Varric's surprise, it was Thom that protested first.

"Perhaps the Inquisitor, but I don't believe for a second that Sera would willingly stay in that company."

"True, but…" Varric trailed off, thinking, worry creasing his brow.

"No. You're right." Cullen interrupted despondantly.

"If she's even still alive…" He trudged over to the foot of the tree Sera had sullenly leaned against a couple weeks prior, and slumped down to sit at it's base.

Suddenly Varric was there before him, gripping him by the shoulder and looking him gravely in the eyes.

"No, Curly. Hero's right. If she were dead there's no way Buttercup wouldn't be strolling right back through that thing with a light quivver."

Cullen held his gaze for a moment, only to whip his head towards the West as the rythmic sound of distant footsteps began a very gradual crescendo. The three men wasted no time, quickly hiding evidence of their presence and finding cover in the shadowy crags of the surrounding ruins. They sat, and they waited.

The chorus of steps indicated a sizeable force, and the volume indicated a confidence that only comes from superior numbers. This was not a battle the three men would be able to fight, and so their only hope was to avoid the conflict entirely. They scanned the trees with bated breath, waiting anxiously for even the slightest sign of movement.

When at last the movement came, it was from a most unexpected direction.

"You're losing your touch, Varric." A sweet Orlesian lilt purred from the shadows behind the three, causing them all to jump at once.

"Sweet Maker, Leliana!" Cursed Cullen as he fell back against the stones they'd taken cover behind.

"Don't do that to me!" He snapped, causing Leliana to quirk a sly smile.

"Do pardon me, but a little bird told me you needed some help…So I brought some." She leaned back, and crossed her arms triumphantly. That was when the force emerged from the treeline.

Scores of inquisition foot soldiers in full regalia, the shadows thick with scouts, and the unmistakable glowing staves of battle mages began to fill the clearing. A rack of impressive and recognizable horns jutted forth from the midst of the ranks, and at the fore was someone Varric had certainly not expected to see again anytime soon. Morrigan stood with her strange golden eyes transfixed obsessively upon the Eluvian. A rather skeptical female figure in Seekers plate stood beside her, wearing her characteristic look of disgust. Apparently even Cassandra had deigned this journey worthy of her time. More surprising yet was the dignified and gilded woman beside them both, her clipboard tucked into the outer pocket of her travel satchel. Even Josephine had come? Apparently this was a mission warranting very nearly the entirety of the Inquisition, minus one Orlesian and one Tevinter.

"They're over here!" Called Leliana, causing Cassandra to whip about and grow pale at the sight of Commander Cullen's gaunt face.

"Commander!" She called out in alarm, rushing over followed by Josephine and a mage none of them yet recognized. Morrigan remained undistracted from the object of her focus. Frozen in place and focused intently upon the silent mirror.

"Cullen, what has happened to you?" Cassandra asked with equal parts shock and disapproval. Leliana blanched as she fully took in the sight of the commander now that he had drawn the attention of the others.

"That's what two weeks of pining looks like." Varric piped up sardonically, earning him a glare.

The commander cast his eyes downwards, offering no retort.

"Ugh, ridiculous. Come with me." Cassandra rose, hauling the commander up after her and practically dragging him from their collective hiding place. She strode swiftly with him in tow towards where the rest of the sizeable company was already setting up camp some distance away from the ominously looming inactive portal. Morrigan, however, remained transfixed in front of it, staring intently as though seeing something no one else could.

"What's up with her?" Varric asked nodding towards Morrigan as he broke into a trot to catch up to the two while Thom brought up the rear.

"We are not entirely sure. She has been…different since she returned." Josephine replied, walking casually beside Thom.

"There is a strange presence about her." The mage interjected. It was then that Varric took note of her for the first time.

She was diminutive in stature, and if not for her rounded ears he might have assumed she was an elf based on her frame alone. She looked and sounded terribly young except for a look that lingered in and around her eyes like deep grey wells of exhaustion. Perhaps the trip had been taxing for one so small and young. Everything about her seemed worn, drained of life, and tired. Even her deadpan expression seemed to indicate some diminished capacity to care out of sheer weariness. She was as blank and bleached as a sheet of parchment, and the flaxen hair sweeping to cover most of her face was so light as to be white if not for her youth .

She quickly noted the attention of the three newcomers which had turned to her as they settled around the growing cook-fire that had been made a priority even as the rest of the camp was still being erected. She was used to being stared at by now, but it still wasn't the most comfortable of experiences. She glanced over at Cassandra, only to see her occupied. So she was on her own again.

"Morrigan…She's not a normal woman, is she?" She asked, gazing up into the commanders hollow eyes with hollow eyes of her own. As they all seated themselves on the various logs around the fire, the pale mage slid to the mossy ground, kneeling at Cullens feet. Cullen tensed as she gently laid a slender and frail looking hand upon his knee, and he felt a familiar warmth emanate from her touch. So she was a healer.

It was Varric who answered her though.

"The Witch of the Wilds is anything but normal."

Thom and Varric both stared openly at the strange magical girl, but Cassandra and Josie didn't seem to notice anything out of the normal as they conferred with each other, undoubtedly concocting some new combination of strategic and diplomatic approach to their next steps.

"And who are you, my lady?" Asked Thom, bluntly.

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry. I am Astrid." Came her rote reply, as though it answered the entirety of their question.

"…and you are a healer, then?" The commander gritted through his teeth.

"Yes. I…I'm sorry, am I causing you pain?"  She snatched her hand back abruptly, her head cocked in confusion that her face did not fully reflect.

"N-no…Wh-…" Cullen stammered awkwardly, then froze. Ever so slowly he reached towards the unflinching girls face and carefully, slowly pushed aside the wispy curtain of pale hair to reveal the sickening sun shaped scar beneath.

"How?" He asked breathlessly, recoiling from her as if the scar had snapped at him like a snake.

"You're a tranquil?"

"Leave the poor girl alone!" Cassandra barked, rounding on him as she realized what was going on.

Astrid looked from one to the other with her brow crumpled in confusion above still blank eyes, but relief blooming in her heart as Cassandra neared. Cassandra swiftly strode over to stand by her and gently help her up.

"I didn't mean any offense…" Astrid trailed off quietly.

"No, child, of course not. It is alright. The commander has simply experienced a challenging few weeks and has forgotten himself." She finished with a hard look cast his way as she gently led the girl deeper into the camp.

"Makers breath, what was that?" Muttered Thom, casting his gaze over towards Josephine.

"That, I'm afraid, is a terribly long story. A story best saved for after we've all had a meal and some rest." Sighed Josephine with a tired smile. Up close they could all now see the film of dust covering her usually pristine garments. Josie was not used to travelling as they had. Clearly this affair was being treated with great urgency by all parties.

"Did someone say mealtime?" Uttered a deep and rumbling voice accompanied by the heavy footsteps of one towering Qunari. His trademark horns were accompanied by a set of antlers protruding from a buck slung over his shoulders, freshly killed.

"Mealtime!" Quipped Krem as he strode up alongside The Iron Bull, already unsheathing a wicked looking skinning knife. As the rest of the Chargers filed around the cookfire, returning from their successful hunt a fearsome growl suddenly silenced them all. All heads turned to face Commander Cullen, who clutched at his stomach and sheepishly offered the first smile he'd had to spare in days.

Chapter Text

The fortress was unnaturally quiet at night save for the incessant whispers that buzzed about in Ellana's head. It was too quiet for something that looked so ancient. Old buildings were like living things; they creaked, they moaned, they groaned, and they breathed. This structure was different. While Ellana had not been conscious for the journey from Thedas to this in-between place, she could tell something was not quite right, even with the room shielded as it was. Though their imprisonment in the small chamber with it's magical bathroom was made as comfortable as possible for them with decadent food and lavish accommodations it was imprisonment nonetheless, and night time was the worst of it.

Sera was curled up on her side of the plush white bed, snoring contentedly. Ellana, on the other hand, laid wide awake; her pitchy eyes cutting through the darkness to stare blankly at the door. The whispers she heard through the walls had grown no more comprehensible than the first day she'd heard them, but they remained loud enough to keep her awake. She tried her best not to toss and turn too much; just because she had to lay awake and in misery didn't mean she had to drag Sera along with her into the waking world.

She sighed, wrapping her arms about herself. She was always cold, these days, and it had been a fair amount of days. She should have started counting when they'd gotten there; she'd lost track of time. They'd been held prisoner for long enough now that she was becoming more acclimated to her new state. The well of her mana seemed to be without an end, but she dared not experiment with her magic lest she scare Sera, and though it had once seemed impossible the value of their friendship had grown more precious yet in isolation. Her appearance was clearly permanently altered, and still Sera slept beside her each night; trusting and safe. She found that the changes in her flesh were not reflected in the fade as she wandered it each night. Ironically, even with Solas physically closer to her than he'd been in what felt like ages she still found herself fruitlessly hunting for him in dreams.

What happened to 'let's end our misery'? She thought bitterly, her throat tightening.

She couldn't even fathom what he was playing at. He'd saved her life, but to what end? To leave her locked up with Sera in this chamber til the world ended? Why would he bring her here just to lock her up and never speak to her again, and where exactly was 'here'? It looked strangely like Skyhold, but it certainly didn't feel like Skyhold.

A sudden ripple in the aether snapped her out of her reverie. That was new; she wasn't entirely sure what the aether was, but the unexpected disruption to its stasis was acutely apparent like a ripple in a pool of water. Something was happening nearby, but she wasn't exactly sure what.

Then she felt the magical barrier outside her room drop, and with it so did her stomach.

On silent, trembling legs she slipped from the bed and landed softly on the floor; careful not to alert her guards and in turn silent enough not to rouse Sera. She crept as stealthily as she ever had towards the door, placed a fingertip against the locking mechanism, and sent a delicate probe out into the metal and wood. She discovered several things.

First and foremost, every molecule of the door vibrated with magic; the wood had not come from a tree and the metal had not come from any earthly ore. Secondly the lock was still engaged, but that could be easily remedied. Thirdly, the magical field was indeed down, and only the slightest residue remained. Finally, the guards still remained outside the door, and they seemed to be fully aware of what she was doing.

"Shhh." Came a muted whisper from the other side.

"Don't wake the archer." It pleaded.

Ellana turned back to gaze passively at Sera, though a none-too-passive battle warred within her.

"Please, he just wants to speak, not fight to the death." The whisper came again.

Sera twitched uncharacteristically where she laid, and Ellana's heart hammered in her breast. Was she waking up? This could be her only chance to speak reason to Solas. She had to seize the opportunity while she could.

"Hurry, then." She hissed quietly as she withdrew her magic from the door, feeling the lock being physically manipulated and disengaged as she extricated herself. It was quickly becoming clear to her that her new magical capabilities were far beyond what she'd once had; the heightened awareness and feeling of control made is feel as if she had a new set of limbs; limbs with superhuman strength. She was almost certain she could have ripped the door off its hinges as easily as she could have torn a piece of parchment. For now, at least, she would not put that to the test. But if things were to go sideways…

Outside the door stood a frightened young red haired mage, and another somewhat less anxious looking older one. They both beckoned her out in frantic silence, their gaze darting back to Sera's strangely twitching form on the bed. Ellana had slept beside Sera far more than once, and if not for her familiarity with her friends sleep patterns she perhaps would have just assumed Sera was having a particularly strange dream. However, never once had she seen her move like that either in dreaming or waking; it was unnerving, but she had no more time to think on it for as soon as she stepped out the door shut silently behind her and the magical field slammed back into place, causing a pressure in the aether that made her ears pop painfully.

The two mages seemed to breathe a little easier with all the security features back in place, but Ellana couldn't help but notice that there were also four armored figures standing behind them in the eerily familiar hallway with unreadable expressions and gleaming sentinel plate. The mage with the ginger hair seemed to take her in for a moment and she watched as his face dropped. She supposed the physical changes she'd undergone did have a somewhat jarring effect, but she hadn't expected any of these lot to care so much.

Where once she'd been blushing with life, she'd grown ashen pale. Her lips and nail beds were grey as though scorched, and a small hint of thinly traced black veins still spidered out from around her eyes. On her cheek was a glimmering silver scar where Anaris' arrow had skimmed her flesh. Most chilling, though, were the voids where her eyes had been; as black as night with a glimmer of fade-rift green shining like lanterns. She stared coolly at the youth, waiting, until finally she broke the silence.

"Well…?"

"Oh, um, yes. I-…" He stammered, fumbling over his words until one of the guards seemed to take pity.

"You are to come with us." She said, her words reverberating inside her helm creating a strange effect. She was not quiet, though. If stealth was no longer a priority did the magical field dampen the noise they made?

"Am I, then?" She replied loudly. The mages and guards alike stood in silence. They were apparently not expecting this. She couldn't help but note that she heard nothing from the other side of the door.

"Why was Sera moving around like that? What did you do to her?" She rounded on the mages, the young one looked like he was about to be sick.

"I-I don't…Uhm…What? I-" He tripped over his words until the older mage finally interjected.

"We have done nothing to your…friend. It is in your best interest to follow these ones now and speak with the master. If you are unwilling it is no matter, but it is in your best interest to go now, and go of your own volition. What will it be?" The older mage was cold, and far more secure in their declaration; but Ellana did not detect any dishonesty.

"Fine. But if I find out you've harmed a hair on her head the Dread Wolf will be the least of your worries." She snarled at them, and while the young man seemed thoroughly terrified, the elder mage offered only a smirk and a dismissive flutter of their hand as the armored guards ushered her down the hallway. She couldn't help but notice that only half the retinue accompanied her, while two remained behind to confer with the mages.

What laid behind quickly flew from the fore of her mind as their steps echoed in the desolate halls. While this place looked like Skyhold, none of it's characteristic artwork hung on it's walls, no carpets adorned the stony floors, and none of the cheer and life her people had brought to it filled the air. It was unearthly, eerie even.

It was not long at all before they found themselves before a small and unassuming door. This was it, she thought, any moment now she would be face to face with the man who had been the subject of her every waking and sleeping thought for the last several years of her life. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh, cry, or scream.

Ellana didn't even have a moment to brace herself before one of the guards flung the door open, only to find herself in a room she'd never seen in Skyhold. In the center was a large marble bath filled with steaming water and smelling of herbs and flowers. The walls were lined with rows upon rows of fine looking garments, and beneath the racks of attire sat rows and rows of fine looking foot wraps. Adjacent from the bath was a vanity; a pale oak desk with a tall mirror. All manners of brushes, oils, perfumes, and cosmetics laid upon it just waiting to be selected.

She turned to look at her guards, who awkwardly avoided returning her gaze.

"Is this a joke?" She asked blandly.

They were silent.

"Do you…Does he really expect me to-…?"

"Yes, my lady." The guard replied, her tone clipped and careful.

Scream. Yes. That's definitely what she wanted to do.

She huffed indignantly and stormed into the chamber, stood at the edge of the tub and gazed into it's bubbly depths. More magic; she could feel it rolling off of every single thing in this room. She turned back to glance at the door, and much to her chagrin realized the guards remained, standing at attention and staring directly at her.

"A little privacy?" Ellana grumbled, but the guards remained.

"Seriously?!" She cried.

"Yes, my lady." Came the same rote response.

"Ugh!" She was starting to sound like Cassandra.

She quickly slipped off her threadbare travel clothes, and slipped into the tub just as swiftly; trying her best to forget her modesty. As the warm soapy water enveloped her she found it to be quite a pleasing temperature; but there was more than just soap in the water. The herbs and floral oils that gave it it's intoxicating scent were laced with an innocuous charm. She felt it crawl and slither upon her skin, sending a shiver up her spine. Her new sensitivity to magic was proving useful already. She decided then that it would be an excellent opportunity to see what other new capabilities she harbored. She sank into the water, fanning out fingers, toes and spreading her limbs to give the charm as much exposure to her flesh to as she could. A suppressed shudder wracked her body as she felt it trying to squirm it's way in through every pore and orifice that it could, but she waited until she felt it upon every inch of her. Then she gathered up a bead of her mana, small and hard like a marble, and dropped it down into the water. The ripple it sent, though not visible in the bathwater, travelled through the aether with staggering force. The charm dissolved like dust in a breeze. A glance over at the guards told her they had not sensed a thing. Whether or not any others in the bastion had sensed it remained to be seen.

Despite her growing unease and the unspoken sense of urgency that came part and parcel with the agenda she'd grudgingly committed to; she took the time to enjoy the water for a few moments. As luxurious as her accommodations with Sera were, it was not often that she had been able to bathe so quietly. Though she was still not alone, at least the guards were not so prone to chattering to fill the silence. She took the opportunity to scrub her skin soft, though noted with some chagrin that the blush of life still would not return no matter how hard she scrubbed. She let her hair fan out in the water, ducking her ears beneath the surface. The disembodied whispers were strangely louder beneath the water, and she strained, trying to make out the words with no luck.

After several frustrating minutes she sat up, accepting that the still muted murmurs would not become any more comprehensible no matter how long she spent submerged. She shook the water from her mane, extricating it from her ears, and peered about for a towel. Naturally the guards still stood rigidly at their post, either oblivious or apathetic to her plight. Thankfully a towel was not far from the edge of the bath, folded fluffy and white upon a small table beside a glass of wine, both which seemed to have magically appeared as she bathed. She side-eyed the guards before sending out a probing tendril to confirm what she already knew; the wine was also magically adulterated. As though sensing her thoughts, the water began draining away from the tub. She snatched up the towel swiftly to cover her damp flesh and yet as soon as the water receded she was cold again so she rose to step gingerly from the tub; leaving the questionable wine to sit untouched.

Much to her chagrin she noted that her threadbare clothing had disappeared; her only choice was to select a new garment from the seemingly endless racks that lined the walls of the large, echoing chamber. She paced the perimeter of the room, trailing her fingers over the silks, velvets, and fine linens of the rainbow array of garments and occasionally casting a glance over her shoulder at the eerily still guards. Each garment she touched left a tingle of magic upon her water softened fingertips, but each tingle was slightly different than the last. They were all of them enchanted, but to what end she could not know. Surely whoever was responsible could not have enchanted every single one of the hundreds of gowns, suits, trousers, and coats? They had to have missed at least one?

After two circuits around the circular room it was clear that every garment had been touched by magic. She swore internally, and made one final lap; attempting to determine what seemed the most functional so she could at least try to dispell whatever sorcery had been placed upon it. Unfortunately, it seemed that functional was also not a priority amongst this wardrobe, and so she eventually settled on something that at the very least seemed practical. The trousers were a soft, and well tanned buckskin that had been dyed deepest indigo. The top she picked for its armor like boning, and short hem; it was somewhere between a coat and a riding dress in silk lined black velvet, buttons running up the front all the way to the chin and steel bones lining the sides which would have certainly served like corsetry if she deigned to tighten the laces in the back. This she decided she would wear over the simple linen shift she would tuck into the trousers. She also selected the only pair of boots to be found amongst the foot wraps which boasted thick, durable soles and a comfortably pliable leather body. A thick grey woolen cloak was the final touch. As she gathered all the components of the outfit together, she selected each one for warmth, durability, and comfort; if she had to make a break for it she would not be caught flat-footed or cold.

With her towel still clutched about her, though she had dried off as she'd paced, she gathered her selections into a small pile. They practically radiated a miasma of different magical energies. Of course, it was possible that these enchantments were beneficial; enhancements of traits that would only increase her odds of survival. But then again, after two covert attempts had already been made at magically influencing her, she didn't trust anything with an aura.

The guards still stood rigid and attentive, not having moved a muscle, and so she turned her back to them and placed her hands upon the pile of different fabrics; curling her fingers into them and sinking hooks of mana into the energies that resided there. With a delicate twitch of the tendrils she'd twined through the fibers of magic interwoven with the physical fibers of velvet, silk, and cotton; she tore at the enchantment and watched in dismay as the garments shredded themselves right before her eyes. Even the boots fell apart into little bits.

Well, that represented an unexpected complication.

The most practical of the garments along with the only pair of boots was gone now, and more importantly it was now abundantly apparent that she lacked the finesse to disenchant something so delicate. She glanced over her shoulder again, and wasn't sure if she felt more or less unease to see that the guards still stood stock still, as though devoid of life.

She rose and stared down, defeated, at the scraps of fabric on the floor. Well, she couldn't very well stroll out in a towel, and she certainly wasn't going to spend another hour pawing through all the options. Flustered, she stormed over to the racks of clothes and snatched the first thing her hand fell upon off the rack, then snapped up a pair of soft foot wraps from beneath the rack. It just so happened that garment was a deep burgundy crushed velvet gown with a plunging neckline that fell practically to the navel, and the foot wraps were soft black silk. At this point she was too frustrated and wound up to care. She slipped the gown on with more than a little bit of apprehension, waiting for the same crawling feeling that she'd experienced in the bathwater. It never came.

She sent her own mana out against her skin; set like a perfectly snug shell, then slowly allowed it to expand, to flow through the garments and their associated energies. Whatever enchantment the garment held seemed to be inclined to stay right where it was.

Her attention was drawn inexorably towards the vanity, which now seemed far less insidious. Perhaps she was overreacting? She strolled slowly over to it, then slid into the soft cushioned seat in front of it to carefully put on the silken foot wraps. All the while her gaze was affixed to the mirror in front of her and the reality she'd been struggling to come to terms with for some time. The woman looking back at her from that window was unrecognizable to her.

She sat up, her foot wraps in place and lifted a hand gingerly to her face, tracing the blackened veins around her blackened eyes. She looked like a monster. With a pang, she wondered how Solas would react when he saw her; she certainly wanted to run screaming and she'd even had the early advantage of preparation by living in this new skin for at least a few weeks already.

No.

She shook herself mentally, gritting her teeth and steeling her mind. She would not give in to self pity, and she would not dwell on things that did not matter. She was here, this was now, and that was her. She gulped, and looked down at the cosmetics. Nothing would fix what she'd become, she realized. No amount of powder, oil, or rouge would conceal these changes completely and any attempt to try would only look ridiculous. Only once choice remained; she would go as she was.

She rose from the vanity without any further internal debate.

As she turned to walk towards the guards, she saw a new figure standing between them. One she still recognized years after their meeting.

Abelas.

He stood there stoically, an inscrutable but penetrating gaze fixed upon her as she strode directly up to him.

"It's been a while, Abelas." Ellana said evenly, eyeing him suspiciously.

"An'daran Atish'an"¹

She stopped and stood before him; silence was her only answer to his obvious lie.

"Ma'melin Salladin. Tel ame Abelas."²

So he had found a new name. He looked her up and down with a disconnected and analytical air, then strode forth to pace about her and scrutinize her further. She froze where she was; when her eyes weren't on him her other senses were.

"Ma Ir'Ina'lan'ehn."³ He observed with all the objectivity of a scholar. There was no hint of flattery or approval in his tone; it was truly a mere observation. He spoke as one might speak of an adequately crafted tool, or a properly manufactured article of clothing as his eyes roamed over her. He didn't seem in the least bit perturbed by her disfigurement, though he surely must have seen it.

"Mar eolasal rya'the, daurnatha?"⁴ He came to a halt before her, taking her chin in his hand to turn her face this way and that, examining her eyes and scars as though he was examining livestock. His hand on her face sent an electric jolt through her that started where his fingertips met her flesh and ended where her toes met the marble floor. She smacked his hand away with a snarl. If she hadn't been so furious she would have laughed at the surprise she read on his face.

"Tel'ma dera em!"⁵ She hissed.

He snatched his hand back, and looked at her like a man might look at a dog that had pissed on his shoe.

"Mar ha'raj nere em emathem, thuast tel'ma dera em."⁶ She met his gaze with venom worthy of the viper he professed her to be, and he found himself on the receiving end of yet another challenge he knew he would not win.

He turned on his heel and stormed off, flustered, and she found herself left to her confusion and rage. What had Solas become that his subjects would lock her and Sera up, then order them about and manhandle them? And what exactly had he meant? What was it she must do? Had she been kept just to warm his bed when he was ready for her? Is that what all this had been for; to make her pliable and pleasing with magic and costumery? These were not the actions of the man she'd fallen in love with.

As Salladin's steps faded into the relative silence of the fortress, she turned to the guards once more who both seemed to look at her with a little more nervous energy than they had before.

"Well, come on then. Let's get this over with." She grumbled, her guts roiling with all the rage of a tempest.

Chapter Text

The thoughts racing through the hallways of Ellana's mind were thunderous in comparison to the quiet footfalls echoing through the hallways of Solas' bastion as she walked silently to her unknown fate. The hem of the long crimson gown slid impractically over the stone floor as she walked. She had accomplished the exact opposite of what she had set out to do with her wardrobe; there was no way she could flee quickly in what she was wearing, now. Furthermore she could feel the magic vibrating against her skin, yet there was little to be done for it. She grabbed the end of her sleeve, tightening her fist around it anxiously as they neared the towering double doors at the end of the hallway. This looked far more like the entrance to an evil masterminds quarters than the last door had.

All she could do was take a bracing breath as the silent guards stepped ahead of her to grasp the large iron handles on each door and with surprising ease swing them out and open.

She was rather surprised to find Solas sitting in the midst of a large circular room at a small and humble desk identical to that which he spent so many of his waking hours at in Skyhold. The walls were covered in a combination of colorful frescoes and shelves stacked high with books. Against one wall she saw a decadent bed not much different from the one which she'd slept on for the duration of her imprisonment, but bedecked with untidy heaps of blankets. Leave it to Solas to turn his bedroom in to a literal library. Garbed in a loose linen shirt which was rolled up to the elbows and soft cotton trousers with his bare feet crossed beneath the desk, it almost seemed as though he hadn't been expecting company. He blinked owlishly up at her and the guards from the papers on his desk as though suddenly remembering he had called for her, and then seemed to falter for a moment when he took in her full appearance.

The dark red velvet dress clung to her lean and well muscled figure like a glove until it flared grandly beneath the gentle curve of her hips. Her short black hair fell to the beginning of the scandalous neckline of the dress which left the creamy flesh that was stretched over her collarbones and all the way down to her navel exposed. She was different than she had looked in the fade. The dark black where once her eyes had been white was unnerving, as were the coal black veins which spidered out around her eyes. It made the bright green of her eyes seem like they were glowing from the depths of the abyss. The scar on her cheek seemed almost metallic; it had an unnatural magical sheen to it. However, despite the strange new grey color of her lips Solas still felt a strange twinge as his eyes lingered on them.

Anxiety was immediately supplanted with embarrassment as she felt his eyes flicker over her.

I'm supposed to be mad at him. Don't forget everything he's done. I'm supposed to be angry.

She steeled herself and drew herself erect; trying to embody an air of authoritative disapproval. She hoped it was working. Then she stepped through the towering doorway, only to ruin the effect as she flinched when they slammed shut behind her. She thought she saw a flicker of an amused smile play across his lips, but it might have been her imagination.

She stood across the room from him, and he sat, inspecting her curiously for several pregnant moments.

"You look…different…" He said haltingly.

"Yes." She replied curtly.

"…and you feel…different. What are you wearing?" The question might have sounded incredulous coming from someone else, but he seemed genuinely curious. That didn't make sense.

"Not even a greeting for me, 'vhenan'? Just an interrogation? Do you think I'm stupid? Did you think to enchant me, lower my guard, then just say and do whatever you wanted to me? Your tricks didn't work though, just so you know. You may be able to command the rest of these poor people, but you can't fool me." She snapped at him, her words laced with bitter venom.

He looked genuinely taken aback for a moment, but something dark and frightening swiftly clouded his countenance as he stood and closed the gap between them in several strides.

"What are you talking about?" He snapped, his passage through the room causing a subtle breeze which made her hair tickle her cheeks. She felt some weak and scared part of herself wanting to cower back, shrink away from his disapproval, but that new depth of power which had been growing over the last several weeks would not let it.

"You imprison us, have your lackeys drag me around in the middle of the night, make me bathe and primp like some kind of prize pet in an underhanded attempt to enchant me, and then offer me no apology nor even a greeting after abandoning me in a gilded prison cell for weeks! You're a tyrant!" The anger was there, but it was transforming into bitter tears as she laid into him.

His face was unreadable as she listed his injustices, her single fist balled at her side and her face twisted in fury.

"Enchant you?" He asked, far too calm considering the heat of her rage.

"Yes! That whole room reeked of magic! I dispelled that nonsense in the bath. I didn't touch the wine. I don't know what this dress is supposed to be doing but whatever it is it's not going to work!" She growled through gritted teeth, tears pricking at her wild eyes.

He looked more closely at the dress, reaching a hand out to pinch the fabric of the skirt between his fingers. A small line formed between his brows as he focused on the magic present in the fabric. She pulled away, snatching the fabric from between his fingers and taking several steps back until she was out of arms reach.

"Don't touch me!" She cried out as if wounded, and in a sense she was.

"I thought you loved me…" Her cry cracked on the hard boulder of hurt that had dwelled within her these last weeks and became a whimper.

A pang shot through him as he heard her voice break.

"Vhenan, I-" He began, only to be cut off.

"No, don't call me that! I will never belong to you, Fen'Harel! You are a stranger to me!" She growled, low and angry as the tears she'd felt fighting for freedom at last escaped to fall, hot, upon her cheeks.

"V-… Ellana, please. You must believe me. I only did what was necessary, but I haven't the slightest clue what enchantments you are talking about. As for this dress…Well…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"…It is enchanted to enhance the wearers-…um…sexual allure." The forced clinical objectiveness in his voice was not lost on her.

She cringed internally as she realized that the spell was likely working at that very moment.

"What room are you talking about?" He averted his gaze, turning to face the desk and walking back towards it, clearly trying to affect an air of calm.

"Th-there was a bath in the center. The walls were lined with fancy clothing. There was a vanity with makeup…" She felt her anger losing steam as she wiped the swiftly cooling tears from her face.

"I do not know of any such room in this place. I will have the matter looked in to immediately." He rested his hands on the edge of his desk, leaning and speaking with a sigh as though immensely tired. She did not detect any dishonesty in him.

"As for the other…complaints…I am sorry. These are critical times. I couldn't risk either of you…making any rash decisions. I wanted to-" She cut him off once again, still indignant.

"I don't care what you wanted! Sera tells me you saved my life and I thank you for that, but you had no right to imprison us!"

"I didn't… I clearly owe you several more apologies. An explanation as well. Please, if you'll take a seat? I merely want to talk." He turned back to her, sitting upon the edge of his desk; his hand grasping the lip of it in a way that made his knuckles white and the muscles in his forearms bunch.

She paused, glancing around for  place to sit. There was the bed, but she certainly wasn't going to sit there. He seemed to realize that at about the same time, and the tips of his ears grew pink as he hastily waved a hand before him and a plush stuffed chair just…appeared.

"How- How are you doing that? The bathroom in our room? This chair? This place? How do things just keep… showing up out of nowhere?" She took a step back from the chair at first, then stepped forth once more to gently assess it with a magical probe. It was just like the door of the room she'd probed earlier; yes, it was made of all the normal physical materials chairs were made of, but each fiber bore a magical afterglow and was clearly merely a copy of materials from Thedas.

Solas watched her closely, his facial expression guarded, as she magically inspected the chair.

"Fascinating." He murmured thoughtfully.

"Excuse me?"

"You are so changed. The thimble of power you once carried in you is now an ocean. Has it been this way since-…since you came here?" He mused.

"No. No changing the subject; you said you were going to give me an explanation. I'm the one asking questions here. You will have your answers when and only when I have mine." She replied firmly, turning to him and fixing him with a resolved look as she sank into the chair. It was wonderfully fluffy and soft.

"Yes. I apologize. Again." He sighed, rising from his perch to pace as he spoke.

"This place is a pocket that I created between Thedas and the Fade. It is as Arlathan once was -on a far smaller scale, of course- and allows me to reach in to both planes at any given time. It allows me to do my work without the interference of the veil, or outside influences."

"Outside influences, like the Inquisition. Like me." She added. It was not a question.

"Yes." He replied simply, his eyes fixed upon the floor as he continued to pace.

"So why bring me here?"

He stopped pacing, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes affixed upon his feet.

"The simple answer, I suppose-…"

"The honest answer." She interjeted.

"The simple and honest answer, then, is that I simply couldn't stand by and let you become one of them. My people had strict orders to waylay you, but to see that you not come to any harm. I couldn't bear to lose you." He said it matter-of-factly, but his words bore a gravity that weighed heavily on them both.

Silence filled the chamber, until at last she spoke.

"One of them? Who is 'Them'?"

"They are the Geldauron. The Forgotten Ones. The Old Gods. The Evanuris. They have been known by many names. They are the poison that corrupted Elvhenan, the pollution that spreads blight in Thedas, and the one barrier preventing me from fixing all of this." He reached up to gesture grandly, as though all of reality were implicitly his responsibility, then returned to clasping his hands behind him once more.

"What do you mean?"

"Surely you've heard the tales; the silly simplifications and distortions of truth passed down by your people. The Evanuris were-"

"Not gods, yes I know. They were powerful mages, warlords, rulers."

He affixed her with a stern glare, only to return his gaze to the floor and resume his pacing once more.

"Yes, that they were. An old and powerful family. Even my kind was plagued by nepotism. Their thirst for power led them to enslave their own kind, using their people's labor and blood to increase their power. That kind of hunger for power does not lend well to close family ties. They were constantly bickering. That bickering cost millions of lives and spilled oceans of blood. It was their dabbling in blood that brought this on them. They contracted an illness. A madness. It spread quickly from brothers to sisters to lovers. The taint, or the Blight as you call it now. It was different for those of our kind, though. Beings that powerful did not become as your darkspawn. They were even able to pass as somewhat normal once the original onset had subsided. The madness seemed only to increase their thirst for power, and make them foolish, dangerous. I sealed them away to stop the spread of this disease and the damage they were doing to the people. When they struck down Mythal-…Ah, but you probabbly know this too." He trailed off, looking up from his pacing once more only to see her leaning forward with her elbow and the stump where her other elbow once was on her knees; listening, enraptured. His heart ached and he had to look away again, resuming his pacing with increased vigor.

"There were many ways they transmitted this illness. One such way was by introducing it to the blood of another. That is what Anaris, or as you may know them, Andruil, had done to you. Your kind cannot survive the blight, so I did what I had to in order to heal you. It seems there may have been some other…repercussions."

"You mean this power?"

"Yes."

"Why did it make me so ugly?"

He smiled softly down at the floor.

"You are just as beautiful now as you ever were, but the illness seems to have scarred you."

He was probably just under the effect of the dress' magic, she told herself.

"And why do I hear these voices? These whispers? I can't understand any of the words." She cursed the heat she felt in her cheeks, only to remember that she could no longer blush anyways.

Solas quirked a brow, his eyes remaining on the floor as it passed beneath him though he seemed intrigued.

"I had often wondered how one who had never known Arlathan would conceptualize the shadows cast by spirits. For our kind we sense the passage of the spirits stranded in the fade much as though they were walking above us on a glass ceiling; we can still sense their presence, though they are not in our physical plane. For me it is just another sense, one I cannot compare to the phenomena of sight, sound, or touch for it is entirely separate. I suppose it would make sense that your mind would need to put that sensory input into a format it could understand."

"So does that mean I'm…?" She wasn't even sure what word to use.

"An Evanuris? Perhaps, but only in the sense that all they ever were was powerful, not holy. You are no deity but you most certainly seem to be as strong as any one of them now. Perhaps even more so as you do not suffer the same illness that they do. I would…With your permission, that is, like to look more closely?" He ceased his restless movement, his hands betraying him; white knuckled and clasped behind him still.

"You still haven't told me what you will do about them and the veil. I don't doubt you've been planning something." She would make him make good on his word. He squirmed, caught in yet another attempt to avoid the inevitable.

"I hope to heal them. I cannot sunder the veil in it's entirety until they are well again without the risk of unleashing all the same problems as well as a great bout of new contagion. I must find a way to make them well, first. Unfortunately it will require a great deal of power. Power that I do not yet have." He sighed, walking to his desk and collapsing in his chair as though fatigued, rubbing his eyes and leaning his elbows upon the papers scattered across it.

"And that's why you need me?" She asked quietly.

His head snapped up to affix her with piercing stare, a look of shock and hurt crossed his face, then quickly disappeared behind a mask of proud indignation.

"No! Of course not! I would never-… No. I merely… When the veil drops many will not survive the event. Those without a strong connection to the fade will not be able to withstand the planar shift-"

"So dwarves, humans, elves with no magic, the qunari…" She interrupted.

"Yes. A few humans may yet survive. A good amount of the Dalish and perhaps some city dwelling elves will likely live as well. Though it saddens me, many will not." Hastening on as though it was hardly the point he was trying to make.

"What about the dwarves and the qunari? Do their lives mean nothing to you? Varric?! Bull?! What about the countless scores of innocents-"

"Nothing will matter when it is done!" He shouted back, startling her into silence.

"The dwarves were an accident to begin with, and the world will be better for a lack of qunari." He snapped.

The look she was giving him from the midst of the wordless rift he'd carved between them made the declaration taste bitter on his tongue.

"I do not relish any of this, vh-… Ellana. But at least by having you here I can prepare you. Perhaps even Sera. The world will need people like you. People who know how not to misuse power. Please understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly." She cut in with a quiet fury that nearly choked her.

"I understand that you are just as much a monster as the monsters you oppose."

He remained silent. The rift widened. There was nothing more to say.

"Fine, then. I'm a woman of my word." She sighed in angry disappointment, rising from her chair and moving to stand before his desk.

"You may do your inspection, or…whatever." She was resigned, weary, avoiding his gaze, and he could hear the latent judgment of him in her voice.

He wanted to protest; to defend himself. He was only doing what must be done, fixing the damage, righting his wrongs…but instead he simply rose, keeping his eyes on her and circled his desk to stand beside her.

"Thank you." So many other words clamored to burst forth from him, but it was all he would allow to escape.

Silence fell upon them. In that vacuum created by their speechless tension, every one of her senses was like an exposed nerve. Raw, painful, and sensitive to the touch. She felt, more than heard him step behind her. Magic prickled her skin like the bristles of a horsehair brush as he sent out a probe that crawled over her scalp. Every movement he made sent ripples through the aether. The whispers grew quiet for the first time since they'd started, and she wondered if the spirits he'd spoken of had retreated to give him privacy.

The shudder that threatened to grip and shake her bodily died as she willed it away, and the gentle caress of his magical touch slid down to envelop her neck. There it twined around her like a warm woolen scarf, and like his hand which had come to rest on the mostly bare flesh of her shoulder she felt the pressure of it quite nearly like a physical touch. When his soft fingers came to rest just above her collarbone, the shudder she'd dispatched earlier came back with renewed tenacity. If she'd been able to blush, she would have; he'd most certainly felt the involuntary motion as it rippled through her.

She felt him freeze; bodily and magically. It didn't last long, though, and the probe resumed it's journey, but seemed to no longer travel over her skin. She felt it inside of her, twining around her spine like an ethereal vine, nosing it's way through her organs, gently tracing curling tendrils over her heart. It occurred to her that at any moment, he could tighten those projections and quickly end her life. But he didn't. He merely continued his silent exploration of her. She sensed as he dipped into the endless pool of mana within her, and felt her magic respond as though it were lunging at him; causing her to gasp as it nearly knocked the wind out of her.

Once again she was reminded of that truth which had been revealed to her not too long ago in the fade; part of him was still alive in her. That part had grown when he'd healed her, and now a very significant portion of magic flowed through her veins that bore his signature. Like a transplant recipient she was forever changed. The magic yearned for it's creator, much as she did. It pulled and pulled; struggling against the constraints of the vessel of her body in an attempt to reunite itself with its source.

She could hear his breaths rasping unevenly, smelled the sweat beading on his brow, felt a faint quiver in his fingertips, and tasted the electric tingle of their comingled magics which filled the room. It was too much. Her throat was closing up, her chest aching, and her eyes stinging.

"How do I stop loving you?" She whispered plaintively as a couple tears slipped free.

"If I'd learned that kind of magic, don't you think I'd have spared myself already?" His voice was thick with naked emotion she had not been expecting, causing her to turn. His hand remained where it rested on her shoulder.

When she looked up at him, she saw tears welling up in his stormy eyes to match her own. Her heart took off at a sprint; running towards or away from some unknown terror. He was so close to her that she could hear his own heartbeat thrumming like a rabbits.

"You know I can't let you do this." She murmured. It was a question.

"Yes, beloved. I know." His reply was a whisper. They were now so close that as he spoke she felt the soft wet brush of his lips against hers with each syllable he spoke.

She couldn’t be sure if it was the tug of the magical forces within her breast, or the tug of his hand upon her shoulder; but in short order the distance between them was closed and she blossomed like a spring flower beneath his touch.

Chapter Text

At last the drought was over, and he drank of her like a man who hadn't seen water in days. The space between their bodies had dwindled to such a minuscule distance, and yet when they finally came together it seemed as though they had bridged hundreds of miles to get there. It was like coming home; they fit together perfectly. Though either of them would have been loathe to admit it; it was the bittersweet and beautiful reunion they'd both been desperately hoping for.

The hand which had rested so gently on her shoulder a moment ago had slipped to her waist where his fingers curled tightly in the soft fabric of her dress to prevent her from flying away from him like she always did in the fade. Nervous fingers trembled on her cheek as his other hand reached up to cup the side of her face as though she were a chalice that he held to his lips; a gilded and precious thing he longed slake his unending thirst with.

The magic inside of her surged towards him as it found itself so close to its progenitor, separated only by the thinnest layer of skin. Tendrils of her snaked out to wrap loving tongues of energy around him, tasting itself in his aura, on his flesh, and in his blood causing him to stiffen. The combination of the melody humming through her veins and the sudden massive shift of the entirety of her astounding new volume of mana threatened to send her body into shock. It stole her breath away, and snatched the ground out from underneath her with the force of it, and then it was only his grasp holding her tightly against him to keep her from slumping to the floor.

As the wind was forced out of her in a gasp their lips parted, causing a snap of bright green static where their flesh was once again forced apart against its will.

When he felt her slacken against him he'd reflexively crushed her tightly against himself to keep her from falling. The way her energy had lunged at him like a massive tidal wave trying to flatten and consume him would have toppled a lesser man. It was hungry and desperate, much like he was. He could easily imagine what that surge had done to her relatively young and inexperienced body. Unphased, he swept her up into his arms like a sleeping child. His hands were the soft hands of a scribe, but his arms were the lean and powerful arms of a mage who's muscles had grown accustomed to the weighty twirl of the stave. She was light as a feather and safe as a secret in those arms. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned against him and reluctantly indulged in the act of trusting him again while she gasped to catch her breath. She could feel him walking, and she had a feeling she knew where he was headed.

"Are you alright?" He broke the silence at last, sounding a little winded though doubtless not because of the scant burden he carried. She could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly where her cheek rested against it, the rapid percussion of his nervous heartbeat playing in counter rhythm.

"I-I think so. I don't know what that was. I'm sorry." She panted out as he came to a stop, and she felt herself being lowered onto the soft, rumpled surface of his bed.

"Don't apologize." His voice was right in her ear.

She opened her eyes to see him leaning his chin upon the edge of the bed as he kneeled beside it, gazing at her with eyes full of regret and longing. He slowly reached up and laid his warm palm against her cheek.

"You need never apologize to me, vhenan." He murmured through barely moving lips, their eyes locked.

She could feel him magically assessing her again; running his senses over her to make sure no damage had been done. The magical fingers trailed over her clinically, at first, but their inspection began to linger longer and explore territories previously untouched. They examined the same previous vital parts of her, but they also slid like electric silk over her skin; traversing the valley between her breasts, tracing the curve of her hip, tickling around her navel, and savoring the softness of her thighs. He had to know she would be able to sense it. There was no room for words between them as he experienced her body, and she experienced his gentle yet needful curiosity.

Eyes still locked, a shuddering sigh escaped her lips and she felt his hand on her cheek twitch before his thumb drifted across her lips to feel the moisture his own had left there. His mind drifted to all the fleeting moments that had passed them by, all the chances he may have had; squandered by a cruel twist of fate. As her breath puffed over his finger the regret in his eyes faded only to be replaced with yet more longing.

"Isalal hima sa i’na."¹ The thickness in his voice and the bluntness of his declaration sent a shuddering jolt deep through her to pool warmly in her belly. He would not waste another precious moment; why should she?

She whimpered into his hand, turning her head to press her lips against his palm and closing her eyes tightly as she felt the roiling forces inside of her crashing against the walls of their vessel, clamoring for more, clamoring for what she knew she should not give in to. It was almost enough to make her forget to hate herself for her weakness; for needing him so badly.

"You don't know what you need." She mumbled softly against his skin. What he needed was a dose of reality. Some small scrap of sense deep inside of her protested still, scrabbling for any excuse to put a stop to this despite it's inevitability. Perhaps she needed a dose of reality as well.

Certainly he was just under the enchantment of the dress. Yes. That had to be it.

"Do you?" He replied quietly. In the blackness behind her eyelids she imagined the frustration knotting his brow. She thought she did, but how much could she really know?

"What do you think?" Her lips moved against his palm as she spoke, making his insides squirm.

"I think your mind lingers on matters inconsequential by nature of your inability to control them." He sounded frustrated. He took a breath, calming himself.

It took every ounce of willpower not to beg him not to as he pulled his hand away. She heard the bed shift, felt the pull of the energies in her blood stampeding one way and then the other; he'd climbed over to lay beside her. It was like he was magnetically drawing at all the iron in her blood. She was a compass needle and he was North.

"…I also think that what we need is very much the same." His words carried the heat of his breath to ghost over the side of her neck. He was inches away again, which would explain the chaos bubbling under her skin.

"…And I think you know that." The touch of breath blossomed into a hot kiss that caused her eyes to snap open and her spine to straighten at the magical shock it prompted. She braced herself for another equilibrium-scrambling tidal wave, but instead his hand pressed down hard on her chest and in the periphery of her vision she could see the bright surge of mana that he slammed into her. Rather than knocking the breath from her as she might have expected, she felt an abrupt wave of pleasure rock her to her core. The song inside of her sang in perfect harmony with the one he channeled through to the core of her where all her magic dwelled.

She found herself tipping her head back as an involuntary moan broke free from her lips. The flat of his palm hard and hot against the bare skin over her sternum kept her restrained flat against the bed even as she felt every muscle straining to arch up into his touch. He was feeding the ravenousness in her veins; glutting it on what it had desperately scrabbled against the walls of it's prison for.

And it felt good. Too good.

Her heart raced, her skin prickled with goose bumps, every inch of her trembled, and where her legs met softened like the first thaw after a long winter. It ached to be touched. Her single hand knotted in the chaotic sprawl of blankets as she tried to hold on to her senses. His lips traveled over the length of her neck until he finally reached the slender run of her clavicle where the light graze of his teeth sent a jolt straight to her cunt. It grew increasingly difficult to hold on to sense.

"Ahn isalenas?"² Why did it seem like his voice echoed in her mind? For that matter, why did it seem like all the other voices were still quiet?

Again, the question nagged at her;

Would he still want me if not for this enchantment?

In the end there was only one way to find out.

As though he could hear her thoughts, and perhaps he could, she felt more than saw the snaking lines of his mana interweaving with the charm woven into the luxurious fabric of the dress. He was going to dispell it.

"W-Wait-…" But it was too late.

A gentle tug of magical forces shredded the charm, and with it the dress, laying her body bare as scraps of crimson velvet fell from her.

A gasp of fevered breath burst forth from him against her skin, and the surge of power he'd channeled into her stopped as abruptly as it had started, leaving her heart pounding beneath his hand. Had he surprised himself? She breathlessly turned to look at him. He leaned over her, his face flushed and his eyes heavy with desire that somehow remained as he gazed down at her to memorize the story the last few years had written upon her. He raised his hand from her heart to lightly trace the silver scar on her cheek, the fine lines that had formed on her brow over the years, the scorched trails around her eyes, the curve of her lips; she was so beautiful.

"Ahn isalenas, vhenan?"³ He asked again, there was a plea in his voice.

And in that moment she forgot that the eyes he gazed into were black pits filled with green fade fire. She forgot about her scars, her pallor, and her guilt. She forgot about the pain, resentment, and fear of the last few weeks. She even forgot about the struggle waiting for them outside that book lined room. She forgot to be angry with him. She could only think of one thing; it just wasn't worth fighting this anymore.

"Isalan na."⁴ She surrendered, at last, with a tremulous whisper.

Her surrender was met, not with a violent coup, but with a peaceful exchange of power as he leaned over to cup her face reverently and bring his lips to hers. The voracious need in her veins had been sated, but now the voracious need in her heart far surpassed it's furor, and so it was her, and not her mana, that surged up to meet him; that opened up to him and pressed a wet tongue against his. In short order they became as tangled and messy as the blankets and scraps of crimson they laid on; her arm wrapped around him, his fingers twined in her hair, and their legs like the roots of trees which had spent an eternity growing beside each other.

He felt something like relief as he buried his face in her silky hair and inhaled deeply the scents of the oils and perfumes she'd bathed with; sweet and floral like peaches and roses. Underneath that sweet fragrance was a more natural one he was less used to; the elves of this time in their primitive need to sustain a mortal population had developed earthly means to accomplish it, such as pheromones. Hers did just as they were designed to. The natural musk had an intoxicating effect upon him. Her freckled skin was so impossibly soft beneath his fingers, and he no longer deprived himself the experience of touching every inch. Though he had tried in the past to imagine what the smooth sensation of the swells and curves of her body beneath him would feel like, for once reality far exceeded the sweet fantasies of the fade. She was a delicious feast for the senses that he had been looking forward to for what felt like a lifetime. He was not well versed in the passions of the physical world and his meager experience laid centuries behind him and miles away from the depth of what he was experiencing at that moment, leaving him to teeter apprehensively on the brink of a tremendously terrifying and exhilarating unknown. The bodies of modern elves were different than the bespoke vessels the Elvhen had made for themselves and while Ellana's body was intriguing there was more to it than that. This wasn't just a simple dalliance; this was fated from the day he first laid eyes on her.

The way she writhed against him as he caressed her drove him mad; he needed to feel her softness against the rest of him. Pulling away from her was like ripping open a half-healed wound, but nonetheless he did before practically tearing his shirt off and flinging it to some unknown and inconsequential fate. She watched him the same way a wolf watches the weakest halla in the herd as he undid the fastenings on his pants and then clumsily struggled free of them; he found a rather sizeable obstacle impeding his escape. She noticed it as well. She studied him hungrily; his lithe body was taller and more well endowed than those of the men of her clan and dappled with freckles and scars to complement her own. The polished figure of the Elvhen god that kneeled on the bed before her quaked with uncertainty. His touches trembled with nervous anticipation and his breaths were shallow and uneven. He was every bit as nervous as she was but he was far worse at concealing it. He seemed to scramble to toss away his clothes, and her heart stuttered as she focused in on the generous gift he'd unwrapped for her.

This was it. She was really going to do it. The prospect sent a little shock through her.

It wasn't as though she'd intentionally avoided sex her whole life. She'd just never found the right time, or the right person. Now that it loomed imminently before her she found herself torn between the heat of her desire and the chill of her fear. She'd given him her vallaslin and now she was going to give him her virginity? Part of it still registered as such a bad idea that it seemed unreal to have even found herself in that moment, but the vast majority of her mind and body was screaming 'full speed ahead', and so that nagging spirit of reluctance that dwelled in the most logical part of her mind was easy to ignore. The feeling of his naked skin sliding against her as their bodies reunited once more was enough to elicit a wet warmth from her which Solas felt against his thigh where her womanhood pressed against him.

He needed to know more.

She made a small sound of impatient longing as he pressed his leg harder against the point of soft moisture between her legs. She didn't even try to resist the urge to grind against him, further exacerbating her condition. Her eyes had slipped closed, her head tilted back against the chaotic mess of bedding, and her legs spread wider yet to give him whatever he wanted as she breathed raggedly through parted grey lips.

And so he traveled down her body with soft kisses, pausing only a moment to cup the gentle swell of her pale breast in his hand and brush his lips over the delicate bud that had blossomed there in the chill of the drafty room. It was the same color as her mouth, and tasted just as sweet when he took it between his teeth to sample it furtively before continuing down; driven ever onward by the music of the delightful little noises she was making. She was waiting, spread wide, and dripping wet for him by the time he arrived at his chosen destination.

The almost imperceptible hormonal musk that had hooked him earlier when he'd savored her scent was thick between her legs. His delicate scholars fingers gently stroked the outside of her, spreading her slightly more with the light pressure of each loving caress as though to study every detail from every angle. She felt scrutinized like one of the crystal shards or Elvhen devices he'd spent so many long hours studying. With each touch there was a slight pause as he listened and watched to observe how her body would respond; each brush a new experiment, every twitch a result to be documented. She bucked against his fingers, wanting more; how could he be sitting there experiencing this with her and not be mad with the desire to unite their bodies? Inebriated though he was with the scent of her, Solas could not simply abandon his inquisitive nature.

The feeling of him gently but insistently massaging so close to where she wanted him to be was both tantalizing and torturous. When at last she thought she couldn't take another moment of it the blazing heat of the tip of his tongue on the throbbing center of her pleasure drew a gasp from her. He'd spread her open again and again, massaging until the bundle of nerves he knew to be nestled in those honeyed folds came forth for tasting. The way she melted beneath his touch; soft and delicious like a buttercake, made every agonizing moment of waiting worth it. He did so love frilly cakes. He did nothing quickly, though; he needed to take in every detail. He needed to remember these sweet sounds, smells, and tastes. He'd waited so long for this, and though he wished for the sweet lie that there was room for more of it he knew the future may not hold more such moments for them.

The pinpoint of wet heat on her exposed clit grew and began to dance about it in lazy circles. As she thrust her hips up, attempting to urge him on, he rested his hand over where he knew her womb to be and forced her hips back down to the bed. He did not want to hasten on to the end now, or ever. Was she so used to the quickened pace of Dalish life,that she could not slow down and let time stretch on? She tried to writhe against him, but the flat of his hand pressed firmly against her belly kept her in place.

The gentle circles soon turned to gentle suckling, and as the suckling increased in speed and force a keening moan was coaxed from her. He slipped a finger inside, tender and careful so as not to disturb her maidenhead; he needed to feel the way her insides pulsed and squeezed in time with each greedy suck as he feasted on her. He could count the pulses of his heartbeat fluttering rapidly between his own legs at the thought of what that living wellspring between hers would feel like. From what little he'd learned of the elves of this age and the methods of their passions he knew that the first journey taken there could be painful for a woman, and so he would ensure that before they took that journey he would send her on one of her own.

"Garas, aman na'mis!"⁵ She interrupted, still struggling against him for more.

"Ane sahla melenemah."⁶ He paused his ministrations to chide at her gently as he crooked his finger inside, causing her to clamp down on him tightly with a whimper.

"Ar esayal, re elvarem!"⁷ She cried between gasps as he held her struggling body still with that one firm hand on her stomach.

"Nea'hana."⁸ He commanded in a way that told her he was more flustered than she'd thought.

Panting, she opened her eyes to glance down at him through the haze of lust that had filled the aether surrounding them and found that her suspicion was correct. He looked up at her from between her thighs with eyes that spoke of barely restrained carnal impulse. His parted lips were glistening with her slickness as his breaths rasped raggedly between them. The rosy flush that suffused his face also crept down his neck and over his freckled shoulders. The pace was difficult for him as well, she had not realized.

"Sathan, vhenan…"⁹ She pleaded, trying to catch her breath.

He looked conflicted. Why did he look conflicted?

How could she know he was trying to make each second a memorial in his mind to return to when it was all over?

His heart ached as he thought about how quickly these moments of pleasure would be gone. What would she call him then when they were done? Certainly not 'vhenan'. Oh, but he loved hearing that word from her lips.

"Din."¹⁰ He murmured, swallowing down the knot in his throat to make room for more of her as he returned to his task and felt her body arch again beneath his hand while she renewed her wordless exaltations. He flattened her hips to the bed once more and tried to memorize the music of her moans as her legs tensed against his ears. Between the sweet, wet product of her loins and the sensation of their comingled energies circulating through her just beneath his tongue he was not in any way lacking for pleasure of his own. He had all the time in the world.

As her frustration mounted, so too did something else. She'd had no dealings with lovemaking before this, but feeling powerless was certainly not what she'd expected. The frustration and helplessness seemed to add fire to the heat that was building in her belly beneath the hand he held her still with. The heat was creeping through every nerve, sending electric pleasure from her womanhood out to every finger and toe. Her hand flew to hold on to the back of his head and her toes curled as the overwhelming sensation built with every lap of his tongue. She hung on the precipice, desperately clinging to…something, she didn't know what.

"Sathan! Sathan! Sathan!"¹¹ She cried mindlessly again and again though she didn't know quite what she was begging for anymore.

"Ha’mi’in. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din."¹² His voice echoed in her mind, for there was no way he could speak those words with his as mouth full as it was.

Somehow the command made it easier to comply, but she certainly could not relax. Her legs slammed shut around his head as every muscle in her body trembled with tension and unspeakable sensations flooded her. He finally released his restraining grasp on her as her back arched and she bucked uncontrollably into him, her unintelligible cries filling the chamber. She'd experienced a climax at her own hands before, but it just couldn't compare to the languid build up and explosive terminus he'd inflicted upon her. It took long enough for her tightly coiled body to unwind that by the time Solas was able to breathe again he was gasping for it. She laid, soft and spent with eyes closed, and sweat soaked breast heaving before him; but he was not done with her.

She heard the hush of his skin over the sheets as he came to lay beside her once more and sprinkle wet but delicate kisses over her shoulders and arm.

"What now?" She whispered after several silent moments of recovery. He would only give her a few.

"Min lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en."¹³ He murmured, each word caressing her cheek with hot breath as he pulled her close. She was limp and compliant.

She opened her eyes to look up at him with equal measures of fear and eagerness. He gazed contemplatively into the inky depths towards the light drifting in the void and wondered what it could have been like for them in a different world. She wouldn't be torn between hating and loving the man she was giving herself to. This wouldn't have to feel so rare and fleeting.

"Ar nuemah?"¹⁴ The tremor in her voice almost made him want to stop then and there. She sounded too young, too innocent. She may have been in her adult years in the eyes of the Dalish, but to the Elvhen she would still be considered a child. A child living in a world run by infants.

"Teleolasan. Nere."¹⁵ He cupped the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb as though he could wipe away the doubt and distrust of him she carried even now.

"Nuvenas hana?"¹⁶ He asked, though he was held captive by her eyes the tightness in his loins was distracting. Blessedly her answer came sooner than he expected.

"Din."¹⁷ She replied almost immediately.

"Re'on"¹⁸ His rich voice came out in a gust that he'd been holding back, and he surged against her, rolling her on to her back once more where he knelt between her legs to spread her once more. His bare chest bore down against her own, pressing her into the nest of bedding. He was warm and gentle but insistent as he buried his face in that place where her neck met her shoulder and savored the taste of her skin and the essence of her scent and aura. So much of her rested softly against so much of him, rising and falling with each shallow breath; he craved more.

"Ame gela."¹⁹ She choked, bidding the hot tears welling in her eyes to go back from whence they came. It wasn't the prospect of the joining that scared her; it was everything else that she knew would come afterwards. When the dust settled, when they'd finished their dance, he would still be the misguided elvhen god seeking to destroy everything she held dear. Well, almost everything she held dear.

If only it was possible to fuck sense into someone.

"Harthan."²⁰ He whispered into her ear for he had no calming reassurances to offer.

Insistent, and unignorable; she could feel his hardness pressed against her belly. After redirecting himself he slid effortlessly through the wet valley he'd lavished affection upon earlier, not quite entering but instead covering his length in the slick dew they'd both left there. She twitched beneath him with a hissing gasp as he traveled over her still throbbing and sensitive center.

She reached up to wrap her arm around him, her hand resting gently on the back of his head and causing him to emerge from the sweet sanctuary of the crook of her neck to gaze lovingly back at her. He could see the thoughts roiling behind her eyes, longing to come out as words she knew were useless. Instead of allowing her lips to utter those words he clamped down on them with his own, parted them with his tongue, and filled her mouth with his own unspoken futilities.

The path his member took repeated itself again and again till she felt a warm tickle on her thigh from an escaped rivulet of arousal. She wrapped her legs around him and began to match his rhythm, opening up her mouth to moan down his throat as she did so. A thrill lanced through her as he uttered his own low moan in return. Where one body ended and another began became more and more difficult to discern; their blood hummed with the same charge, their movements executed in perfect synchronicity, their hearts even seemed to beat in time, and their breaths ebbed from one and flowed to the other. So too did the heat building from the friction of their rutting grow slowly; sending small electric twitches through them both with each wet pass they made. There was something animal about these new elves, he thought. Something so organic, primal, and savage; the needful way they loved. The way it rolled off of her was palpably as the way she clutched him against her, urging him on.

She was ready.

All it took was a small adjustment of his angle, but she immediately sensed the almost imperceptible change in the cadence and motion. Her sharp little teeth found his lip as she braced herself, her nails poking small crescents against the skin of his scalp as she held on to him. He felt her grow still beneath him, holding her breath and tensing.

"Ha’mi’in, vhenan."²¹ He murmured like an incantation against her lips.

Cool waves of calming magic rolled off of him to wash away the tightness in her muscles. He pressed into her and she felt the taut pull of her flesh, a tear, and a stinging ache as her maidenhead gave way. As he slowly filled her to the brim it drew a whimpered gasp from her. The pain was gone almost as soon as it had started; it could have been a product of his gentle spell, or simply that the feeling of fullness left no room for hurt.

For a moment, they just laid there together; him buried deeply in her embrace, her wrapped tightly around him, both holding on for dear life. Longing to pierce that last intangible barrier that still separated them and possibly always would. Then he began. When he pulled back she clutched him tighter yet, longing for his return. When he returned she saw stars and opened her lips to moan into his mouth.

Again. Again. Again.

The tempo increased, and soon she found herself matching him once more. A new sensation was building in her; like the one earlier, but different. It was deeper; more thunder than lightning. A jolt lanced through her when Solas uttered a groan that reverberated through his chest and throat and into hers, his lean body trembling with each thrust as she held him; trembling with restraint. He was holding back.

She relinquished his lip from where she'd bitten into it, tasting the sweet and salty tang of his blood on her tongue. She tilted her head back to gasp in harmony with him as another thrust brought them together.

"Pala em elvar’el, vera em su tarasyl."²² She moaned, bringing her hips up to meet his with a desperation that told him she was not so fragile a thing that she needed special handling any longer. Her words tightened what was already hard until it felt like he would spill into her then and there.

In a flash he released her to push up against the bed until he seemed to tower over her, and used his new leverage to drive himself into her with a force that nearly drew a scream from her. Instead, she bit her lip, grasped his hip, and as he reeled back to do it again she pulled herself against him. They connected explosively, repeatedly, ecstatically. He watched her face reverently with a look of awe and a furrowed brow, worshipping at the altar of her pleasure and grunting with the effort of each quickening thrust he slammed inside of her.

"Nuvenan rosa’da’din in ma sule enan’ma!"²³ He groaned, every inch of him from his scalp to the rippling topography of his back glistening with sweat.

Her hand slipped from his hip to rest between their heaving bodies upon the smooth hairless surface of chest. It rested over his heart which beat just like any mans did. A man who loved, fucked, and could fail. Her hips moved in time with his staggering thrusts, the desperation in his movements mirrored by her own. He was losing control; she could feel it in his wild pulse and the turbulence in their shared aura. The thunder inside of her was rumbling, growing louder and more unhinged as he became frantic and his cadence faltered. The dreadful, and wonderful end of their dance was growing near.

"Vhenan, ah vhenan! Isalan ma gara suin em!"²⁴ Her whispers were breathless and punctuated with each crazed thrust.

Vhenan. She could say it a million times more and he'd never grow tired of hearing it from her lips. He committed the sound of her plaintively breathing that word to a deep and sacred part of his memory.

"Tel'nuvenas himal'hana sa i’na!"²⁵ He cried through gritted teeth, his voice breaking on the ugly unspoken truth that lay beneath the surface, shaking and panting and continuing on erratically.

"Harthan-"²⁵ She gasped for she had no calming reassurances to offer.

Her fingers curled against his skin and her back arched as the brewing storm in her belly spread to fill every bit of her. His hand flew to cover hers where it lay against his breast, his eyes tightly closed and his mouth falling open to loudly declare his arrival. Heat exploded inside of her, and his thrusts slowed to an erratic beat that she could not match. He filled her with thunder until it burst forth from her in a wild cry of passion and completion. Her legs clamped tightly around his waist, forcing him in to the hilt. Trembling arms gave out and he collapsed on top of her, rolling to the side but holding on to her as he continued to spasm against and inside of her. Each twitch heralded a new gush of heat and another whimper or pleasure.

They clung to each other; two lonely souls adrift in the storm and desperately trying to hold on to their last few moments. Time seemed to slow while they laid there, twined together inside and out. Longing to steal a few more moments outside the crushing grasp of reality that would rip them apart again. Longing to hear one more sweetly whispered utterance of "vhenan".

But all good things must come to an end.

Chapter Text

Like shadows cast upon the bottom of a murky pond she could just barely see the outline of the strange twisted place just beyond the mottled reflective surface before her. Morrigan peered through the eluvian intensely till her amber eyes ached, trying to make out every inscrutable detail. As time passed, she longed to join the others; to sit and rest her aching feet and fill her empty belly. Just like many other times before, much to her consternation, she found her body simply would not obey her. She should have listened to that damned wolf when she'd had the chance, but it seemed that both of them carried the same fatal tendency towards pride. Perhaps for her it was a familial curse; one that had drawn Mythal as inexorably to her as it had to him. A buzzard to carrion.

Astrid could not help but stare, not that Morrigan took any notice. How strange she was; human, but not. Free, but not. They had a lot in common. She was so different from the circle mages, and yet could just as easily have suffered such a fate. There was a strange presence about her, too. She'd heard whispers; an ancient elvhen god. The thought chilled her. She didn't care what the other humans said, it could not be a good thing. She knew enough about such spirits to know that cohabitation was rarely a kindness, but was not strong enough to identify what spirit resided within her. Nonetheless, with or without the ancient and dangerous being it was clear that Morrigan was an incredibly talented  mage. They called her a witch. What, she wondered, differentiated a witch from a mage from an apostate? Strange titles, hidden meanings, the double lives they all seemed to live; this Inquisition was just as treacherous as any royal court.

She clung to Cassandra's side most of the night. With Cassandra lay safety, that much was clear. The handsome woman asked blessedly few questions, and staved off those who cast suspicious glances her way. The Seeker was clearly very protective of the recently restored Tranquil; the first of her kind, as far as they knew, but Maker willing there would be more if Cassandra had anything to do with it. There were so many wrongs to be righted. She saw the way the others looked at her ghostly ward, and she didn't like it. It was enough for the girl (how old was she, anyways?) to have been subjected to the rite of tranquility as she had. In little moments of solitude during their travels, Astrid had entrusted her in whispers that she'd been punished for the crime of refusing the advances of her superior. A templar, Cassandra was sure of it. Bastard. She'd heard of tranquility being used to make mages more compliant, but that was an unforgiveable perversion of it's application. Unsurprisingly the girl seemed to shy away from those bearing the mark of that order. On the other hand, the Seeker was taken aback by Astrid's fixation with the Witch of the Wilds. It made her nervous.

Peace was all that Cassandra sensed from the frail mage, and so she had assumed it was that spirit that had touched her and restored her. Astrid wouldn't speak on the topic of her restoration much like how she remained tight lipped about most of her past, and so she could merely speculate. She hoped that the girl would be able to differentiate between the healing touch of peace and the dangerous possession of the abomination Morrigan had become. It was a mystery to her why any of them tolerated the witch, even if she was the key to preventing Fen'Harel from destroying Thedas.

Cassandra found it equally perplexing how Astrid had gravitated almost immediately towards the sweet, sad commander. His templar past was still as plain to her as the heartbreak in his eyes. Perhaps Astrid was not as astute as she in such matters. Surely if she was, she would steer clear of the broken man. She could not help but notice, however, that when the girl wasn't fixated upon Morrigan's petrified silhouette against the Eluvian, she was stealing glances at Cullen. She couldn't think of a more star-crossed arrangement, though the romantic in her was chomping at the bit for their next chapter.

Morrigan, on the other hand, was entirely unaware of the scrutiny cast her way. The only thought preoccupying her was that once she was through, the rest would be easy. Mythal seemed to gloat somewhere in the back of her mind, content to command from a distance, for now. With victory so close at hand, what reason had she to choke the reigns of her reluctant little vassal? If she'd been capable, Morrigan would have shuddered. There were no secrets between the two of them, and of course the unspoken understanding was plain; Morrigan was only aware of what was being done with her body by the grace of her immortal parasite. It didn't matter what Mythal's ends were, the means were markedly unpleasant.

The details were intentionally vague, but she knew the Divine had plans in place to open the Eluvian once more. It was indeed humbling to find herself relying on Leliana once more, especially when such magical devices were typically her bread and butter. However, this Eluvian was unique. She lacked the means to open it, as did Mythal. Unnerving though it was that even a god could be thwarted in this regard by the man she'd known as nothing more than an arrogant apostate only a while ago; she had to admit grudgingly that the peons of the Inquisition had their uses. Morrigan gritted her teeth; it was getting harder to tell which thoughts were hers and which were not. It had gotten progressively worse after she'd left the Inquisition, only returning once the vestiges of control she'd had departed entirely.

Everything was in place, and it would be a small matter to place things into motion just as soon as the human did her part. The Dread Wolf would not last long, despite the power he'd stolen. She felt a twinge of annoyance from Mythal; her elder vessel wouldn't have fallen prey to his vampirism if she'd not overextended herself between the two witches. She'd learned, though, and soon she would have more than enough necessary momentum to put him and his fellow troublemakers down for good.

Mythals iron grasp upon Morrigans body was not enough to override her basic biological responses, though, and so when her knees began to buckle and threaten to give out at last the ancient being relented and allowed her to walk stiffly towards the glow of the fire. When had it grown dark? Her body was weary from travel and lack of sustenance. She hadn't even noticed the passage of time. She had, however, noticed the tantalizing odor of cooking meat over the last few hours, and it still hung in the air. She scanned the area with borderline desperation, hoping some scraps still remained for her.

Despite the empty seats surrounding the guttering flames, much to her relief she saw that a thick slab of venison sat cold and greasy atop a slice of stale travel bread upon a square of course fabric; waiting for her. The peons had not forgotten her.

She felt Mythal release the metaphysical reigns, and like a simple beast led out to pasture she fell upon the fodder left before her with a lack of dignity that made her blush, even when no eyes were upon her. No amount of knowledge was worth this. No amount of power. The food stuck in her dry throat painfully as she felt a sob attempting to choke it's way out of her. Mythal put an abrupt stop to such nonsense; apparently she couldn't even trust her chattel to feed itsself. Disgraceful. Morrigan felt the disapproval wash over her. It was like having her mother living in her head; pure torture. As Mythal took the reigns once more, Morrigan slowed, the sob evaporating from where it had lodged itsself, and began eating with restraint. For now this vessel was necessary, and so it must be maintained.

So occupied were they with their dinner and disdain that neither Mythal nor Morrigan noticed the sounds coming from a few tents away.

The campsite that the inquisition had formed, if it could be called that, was simply massive. It was like a city. Most tents were packed with at least two bodies each. The exceptions were those with any amount of rank; commanders, council members, and any other of privileged stature. Cullen was one such individual.

The evening had passed painfully slowly for him. So many questions, so many fleeting glances and loaded statements. By the time he finally crawled into his tent he was so incredibly tired of people, even his friends. Maker, but he missed her. He would have given a limb just for five minutes of conversation with Ellana just then. The knot in his chest still remained; as big, heavy, and ugly as it had been earlier that day when he'd lost his mind. The only difference now was that he had food and drink in his belly as well as that little bit of healing the pale mage had given him. What had she been healing, anyways? It wasn't as though he was injured, he mused. As he stretched out on his bedroll he fancied he might even sleep well that night.

He was ripped from the beginnings of slumber when he heard the flap of his tent rustle. In a flash he had his blade in hand, but nearly turned it on himself when he found that the pale throat he pressed it to was none other than Astrid's. She stared at him with wide grey eyes in the candlelit gloom; thank the maker he'd forgotten to put the waxy nub out in his haze of exhaustion or he most certainly would have taken her head off.

His blade fell with a dull sound when it landed on the bedroll. Astrid clutched her throat with a trembling hand as her mouth fell open silently.

"Oh, sweet Andraste, I'm so sorry! Maker, are you alright?" Cullen hissed, his hands outstretched in the air as though holding himself back from prying her hands away from her milky neck to inspect it for damage.

"Y-yes. I think so." She stammered in a whisper, pupils wide with fear though she remained frozen, kneeling upon his bedroll at his feet.

Slowly, hesitantly, Cullens fingers wrapped gently around her wrists. She stifled a flinch. He gently pulled them away from her throat, and breathed a sigh of relief when all that laid beneath was a thin pink line.

"Oh, thank the Maker…" he breathed quietly as his hands left her and flew to his face to press against his weary eyes.

"What are you doing here, child?" He whispered in exasperation.

"I'm 27." She replied quietly.

He looked up from his hands with one part annoyance and an equal part confusion. Was she addled?

"I'm not a child. I'm 27." She looked annoyed too.

"Congratulations?" He replied sardonically. She certainly didn't look it.

"You're hurt worse than you let on." She whispered.

"I'm fine." He muttered defensively. She shuffled closer on her knees, resting her hand on his. Her skin was warm and soft.

"You're not. Your injuries aren't visible. You can feel them. Here, and here." She gently pressed fingers against two separate spots in his abdomen, and beneath the firmness of his muscles they both felt the ache of the organs that he supposed had suffered from the stress and malnutrition he'd subjected himself to. His gaze turned skeptical.

"You sensed all that…earlier today, when you just touched me…?"

She nodded, her face blank.

"They will kill you slowly if they are not fixed."

For a moment he wondered if that would be so bad, and she saw that doubt linger in his eyes.

"Please let me help." He could tell, despite her deadpan and rote tone of voice, that she was trying to convey concern. She was clearly a driven and talented healer.

"How? I didn't think-…" …Tranquil could do magic. He dared not say it aloud.

She nodded again, matter-of-factly.

"I could not when I was. Tranquil. That is."

She didn't seem to want to volunteer more, and it would be impolite to press.

"Fine." He muttered, then after a moment, "Thank you."

She pressed delicate fingers against his chest, bidding him lie back. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. A shudder ripped through him as he felt her delicate fingers trail down his sternum to rest over the source of his visceral pain. How had he not noticed it before?

Though he could not keep his mind from drifting to the memories of other warm, healing touches, the sensation of Astrid's magic was completely different from Ellana's. The golden warmth of Astrid's touch washed over him like a tidal wave; nearly washing him away in the ecstasy of it. There was no pain, only bliss as she began to work silently. His mouth hung open in a silent gasp as her magic rocked him body and mind, and yet as he witnessed her staring impassively down at him it seemed she was hardly exerting herself. Such immense power; if she turned it into offensive magic she would be a truly dangerous force to be reckoned with. Was this why she'd been made Tranquil? Was it truly wise for her to have her powers once more?

The liquid pleasure that flowed through his veins and pooled in his guts elicited the same reaction it had in him as Ellana's much lighter touch had, and much to his embarrassment a small moan escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth; willing himself to be still and silent beneath magical forces that threatened to undo him. Despite it, Astrid seemed to never break focus. Beneath her dainty fingers, complex tissues reformed; knitting together microscopic lesions, reviving dead and damaged cells, directing fluids back into their rightful homes. By all means it should have been a painful process, but that was the healers true gift; to turn pain into pleasure and illness into health.

By the time she was done, Cullens chest and belly heaved from his labored breaths. She could feel the damp perspiration clinging to the sprinkling of coarse hair that covered his firm stomach and led in a golden trail to the peak tenting his pants. Her eyes lingered there on his defiant manhood, and composed though she was her mind was reeling. Aside from his panting, the large man lay frozen beneath her hands with his eyes squeezed shut as though trying desperately to collect himself.

When he felt soft little lips against his own, even his breathing halted.

His eyes shot open, only to see that as she leaned down to kiss him her unnervingly emotionless eyes remained open. Watching him, assessing, testing. When she saw the panic in his, she pulled away and murmured a quiet apology.

"I'm sorry. I-I….I'm not used to this yet."

"Wh-What…?" Cullen stammered. He wasn’t sure if he was asking what she meant, or asking what the fuck had just happened.

"Feeling. I'm not used to it. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Shame. Of all the emotions for her to become accustomed to, it was the first he'd heard from her clear as a bell. His heart sank as she stared down at her hands clenched together tightly in her lap like a desperate prayer for forgiveness.

"No. Astrid…" Then it was his turn to feel shame as he realized how good those lips had felt, and how badly he wanted them again even if they weren't the lips he preferred. He sat up. By the Maker, but he was lonely. How good that touch had felt.

"I just…wasn't expecting that…is all…" He hated himself even as he heard the words escape his lips. They felt dirty.

She looked back up at him, her pale face bright pink with embarrassment, but she seemed to think on his words and take in the sight of him again. His member still stood stiffly at attention. He saw where her eyes lingered, and gulped audibly. Her eyes darted back up to his, and her lips parted, a question clinging to the wet pink tongue within.

"Did you…like it?"

"Yes. Very much." He breathed, his heart hammering away anxiously

"May I-…?"

"Yes." He cut her off almost immediately.

He was expecting her to lean in and press another chaste kiss to his mouth, but instead as she leaned in she slid into his lap. He grunted as he felt soft warmth against his aching groin as he was pressed up against his own belly through his smalls. Her hands travelled hesitantly over his chest to knit her magic fingers behind his neck as she looked up at him, still carefully observing every subtlety of emotion which flickered across his countenance.

She was wearing a loose cotton nightgown so thin that he not only felt the press of her tiny nipples against his bare chest, but could see the outline of her blushing areolas through the faintly translucent fabric. There was nothing beneath her nightgown but skin, as evidenced by the warm wetness that was soaking through his smalls as she settled onto him. Her smell was different, wrong. Her eyes were the wrong color. Her lips were too thin. Her skin too plain without the familiar constellations of freckles. Although her frame was similar in many ways to the one he imagined in his minds eye as he cupped her ass, she was washed out like an anemic imitation.

He closed his eyes and pictured someone else as he lifted a hand to twine it in her too thin hair and pull her in for a hungry kiss. He opened his mouth and tried to remember her taste as he delved into the warm, waiting mouth pressed against his own. She was moving her hips wantonly, and he moaned down her throat. He pulled her closer til he crushed her against him. He didn't care anymore; this sweet distraction was not enough, but it was something and he would take it.

He released her hair, planted one palm on the ground while the other held her against him, and in one smooth motion swung her around and pivoted over her so that he lay atop her between her creamy thighs. Her nightgown had ridden up her legs and he felt the softness of her flesh as she wrapped them around him. His breath came out like a growl, and the hands clasped behind his neck seemed to tremble a little. He bore down, grinding his length against her and picturing how Ellana would close her eyes, tip her head back and part her lips for a silent gasp. He took her ear between his teeth, willing himself to feel the pointed tip as he ran his tongue over it and yet finding it round. He released it and pressed his lips against her temple instead.

"Have you ever done this before?" He breathed against her ear as he fell into a rhythm of steady rutting through the fabric of his smalls. He wondered if she'd realized what she was getting herself into when she'd kissed him earlier. He was so terribly pent up.

"Yes." Came her tremulous response. Her voice was wrong.

He released her ass to shove down the waist of his smalls and pull himself free. He found them plastered to his skin with her wetness. He was hard and heavy in his own hand, throbbing and aching from years of longing. It was wrong, but he didn't care anymore.

"Have you ever done this before?"

 He rammed himself in to the hilt.

"YES!" She cried out into the late night silence of the campground.

Clapping a hand over her mouth he reeled back to slam into her again. She was so soft and warm, yielding slick and sweet beneath him; he dove into her once more. Her cry vibrated through the flesh of his palm and he felt the warmth of her breath and her saliva against his skin. He wondered what sounds Ellana would have made, would she have been this soft and wet for him?

He thrusted again, and again, and again, picking up speed as the self-loathing in his belly warred with the pressure in his loins. Her sharp little fingernails dug into his shoulders, dragging him out of his sex-fuelled internal fantasy with a hiss of pain. His eyes flew open to witness the reality beneath him and herald and uncomfortable cocktail of disappointment and horror.

Her eyes remained open, staring into his soul like dull grey plaster as tears welled up in them while his hand crushed the whimpers and moans that came from her mouth. The shiny pink sun shaped scar on her forehead stared up at him like an accusation. He would have flown off of her if she hadn't clung to him so tightly as he attempted to reel back, yanking his hand from her mouth.

"I-I'm going to-…" Her lips trembled as the tears in her eyes broke free of her lids and rolled down her cheeks in great glistening beads as though she'd been saving every unwept tear of her life for that very moment. He felt her body tighten beneath him, clenching around him deliciously. He clapped his hand over her mouth again just in time to muffle the scream that her orgasm drew from her. Her legs squeezed him and he struggled to maintain his rhythm within her vice-like grip. He wasn't even close, yet.

Leaning on his elbow with his hand still securely over her mouth while driving his hip against her right thigh, he used his left hand to pry her legs open wider til he had the high ground once more. Every muscle in her body trembled beneath him as she tried to wrap herself around him while she continued to climax. He spread her, helpless, beneath him and drove himself into her relentlessly; forcing her to endlessly ride that wave of ecstasy. He closed his eyes again, and focused on memories.

Ellana's voice. Ellana laughing. Ellana smiling. Ellana's lips. Ellana's hands. Ellana's smell. Ellana's body against his.

The tightness in his loins grew. He pictured her beneath him, writhing and cumming and begging for more. His breaths became ragged and his brow furrowed as he struggled to maintain the rhythm that was slowly pulling a growing thread of pleasure from him until he thought he would go mad from it.

Finally, the cacophony of pleasure crescendoed to an explosive climax that tightened his thighs and hips into solid knots of muscle when he drove the entirety of his length in to her. A moment too late he remembered once more, and in a torturous act of self-control ripped his still pumping member from the velvety warmth of her depths to spill it's hot seed on her belly as he relinquished his forceful grip on her and allowed her to wrap around him. Even as she felt his cum pooling in her navel, so he felt it seeping from her folds. The high of his orgasm was soured as he fully realized what he'd done.

Cassandra was going to fucking kill him.

Chapter Text

He didn't have it in him to tell her to go.

She lay beside him, slow even breaths puffing against his bare chest and her tiny hand splayed out against his skin. The smell of their sex cloyed the air, and he felt it's sticky aftermath on his smalls, skin, and bedding. He'd been exhausted before and now he was a husk. Worse yet he couldn't sleep. This was why the old adage was "Don't think with your dick" rather than "Let him take the wheel".

He groaned miserably, and felt her stir against him.

She murmured incomprehensibly, then seemed to startle as she saw him looking down at her. Her eyes flared with a strange light that was gone almost as soon as he'd noticed it, leaving him to question if he'd seen it at all.

"We need a bath." He murmured. She nodded. Neither of them moved to rise.

"We passed a sizeable creek on our way here." She replied quietly.

They lay in silence for a few awkward moments.

"Did you…?" He trailed off, remembering her tears. He dearly hoped he hadn't hurt her.

"Did I what?"

"…e-enjoy yourself?" He asked awkwardly.

"Very much so. And yourself?" She replied blandly.

"Yes. I just-…you were…ahem…um…crying?"

She blinked several times, as though confused.

"Was I?" She brought a hand to her face where paths of crystalline salt lay as a reminder of the journey her tears had taken down her cheeks. Her fingers traced them, coming away with the light residue which she touched to the tip of her tongue as though to confirm it's composition.

"So I was…" She murmured as though mystified, but offered no further explanation. They lay in silence for a few moments more. Cullens heart lurched anxiously as he realized the walls of his tent were no longer completely obscured by darkness. The rest of the camp would be up soon if they didn't hurry.

"We'd better go now." He grunted, sitting up and trying to cobble together his cast off clothing to make a decent outfit of unsoiled garments. She rose, and in the wan light he could see her petite figure silhouetted perfectly through the curtain of her nightgown. She really was beautiful, in her own way. Like a glacier, or a snowdrift glittering in the morning light. He cleared his throat and refocused himself.

"Do you have something else to wear?" Her nightgown was threadbare and as thin as tissue, he could hardly let her stroll through camp like that in broad daylight.

"In Cassandra's tent-"

"Never mind." He huffed.

He pulled a fresh cotton tunic from his pack. He'd always thought of it as his nice, white shirt, but as she clutched it to her chest it looked brown in comparison to the ivory flesh of her slender arms. She was small in a way that made her look fragile, whereas Ellana's smallness had never taken away from the strength that radiated from her. By his measure they were roughly the same in stature, even if they carried themselves in completely different fashions.

He swiftly pushed past her to peer out of the tent. The sun wasn't quite up yet, and the camp remained still and silent. His hand grasped for hers, and he pulled her along behind him as he fled through the camp back towards the path the Inquisition had come down. Sure enough, just a few moments down the man-made path of flattened grass, broken shrubs, and hacked off tree branches he heard the tell-tale trickle of moving water.

When they arrived on the bank of the meandering stream Astrid immediately threw off her nightgown. Cullen impulsively averted his eyes, then felt silly for it and allowed himself to watch as she stepped into the water while he doffed his sleep rumpled and sex soiled smalls. Her body seemed underdeveloped for a woman that claimed to be the age she said she was. Her breasts were barely noticeable swells, and her narrow hips were only slightly wider than her waist. More alarming yet were the large ropey scars that crisscrossed her back and the backs of her thighs. The light dusting of pale hair on her nethers and beneath her arms confirmed she was not a child, but he felt strange nonetheless.

She walked in to the stream until the water rose to just beneath her breasts, nipples now hardened to points from the chill. She turned to look for him, and saw him staring. One hand extended towards him, blank faced and beckoning him forth. He finished kicking off his smalls and trudged in after her, wondering if the frigid water that prickled his skin with gooseflesh could also wash away the guilt that weighed heavily on his heart as he imagined how Ellana might compare to the reed thin woman before him.

While the stream tickled the undersides of her breasts, it came a few inches above his navel. He dunked himself beneath the surface with a vigor that thoroughly doused her with a splash. When he surfaced, she blinked neutrally at him with dripping hair hanging into her eyes. If he hadn't been so tired, he might have laughed. As it was he slicked his dark golden curls back briskly and mustered a smile as his head poked out of the water and he stretched his body out to float on his back. She mirrored his smile, and even though it didn't quite reach her eyes he felt a little thrill run through him.

Barely a ripple formed as she lowered herself into the slowly running water, and pushed off from the bottom to glide through it. Her skin was slippery and smooth as it slid over him and she came to a stop with her belly against his. The length of her rested on him weightlessly as she floated with him and twined her fingers behind his neck again.

"I can't figure you out." He blurted out before he could even stop himself. Her smile widened, and for a moment he thought he might even see it creeping up to crinkle at the corner of her eyes.

"Must you? Figure me out?" She asked.

"I suppose not." He replied.

"You seem happier." She stated.

He realized, with a little disappointment, that he was. It almost felt like a betrayal as he let his blunt fingers creep over her hips to trace the curvature of her lower back, feeling the angry scars on her flesh.

"I suppose I am." He sighed, tipping his head back so that the water rose over his ears and the world was reduced to a muffled murmur of mumbles and the slowly brightening cloudless sky above him. His eyes began to slip shut in his exhausted state, but the silky caress of her wet skin against him jolted him back into alertness. His head snapped up to look at her, and he found that she had pulled herself up further onto him til their faces were but inches apart. She was staring with that unnerving analytical look in her eyes again.

"You are tired." She stated. How full of statements she was.

He nodded weary and silent acquiescence.

She tipped her head, her forehead pressing against his, and her eyes slipped shut. His body jerked, causing a splash that washed over her shoulders, as she pressed cool fingers of mana into him. It was different from the feeling her healing had elicited. It was refreshing instead of decadent, light instead of rich, tingling instead of searingly erotic. His breath puffed out in a sigh as his body relaxed into it. He could feel the energy she wielded flowing through him as crisp and fresh as the stream they floated in, pushing exhaustion from him. It was incredible. Power like this could revolutionize warfare and industry.

By the time the flow of her magic ebbed, he realized they had drifted away from the lumpy cairn formed by their clothes. He wrapped an arm around her and began kicking his way back upstream while she lounged on his chest. It was…nice.

"You might be the most powerful mage I've ever met." He said. The sun peeked over the horizon and sparkled on the rippling surface of the stream.

"Have you met many mages?" She replied carefully.

"Yes. I served first at the Circle at Kinloch Hold, then Kirkwall, then of course when…the Inquisitor brought the free mages into her fold…" He noted her silence.

"You're a Templar…" Her voice was so small.

He rose, her grasp behind his neck giving way as she slipped into the water and took several steps back. Her face was as blank and pale as unused parchment. His brow crumpled in confusion. Then it hit him.

"O-oh…Astrid…No. Maker, no. I would never hurt you. Wait, please-…" But she was already backtracking towards the opposite shore.

"I gave it up! I haven't touched lyrium in ages! I swear!" He protested. She paused having crawled halfway out of the water, dripping and shivering. She was eyeing him, and for a moment he thought he saw that same flash of light in her eyes again.

"Please, I swear it. I would never hurt you. I won't let anyone else hurt you either." What was that look that flashed across her face? Was it relief? Satisfaction?

He took one careful step towards her, then another. When finally he stopped before her standing tall and nude and gleaming wet with water droplets, he extended a hand out to her. She reached up timidly and took it, and he hauled her up. The momentum carried her directly into his arms, where he wrapped her tightly in them.

"Someone hurt you." It wasn't a question; he already had the answer. It was written on her flesh in raised pink lines. It branded her brow sacrilegiously. She remained silent.

"Your power is incredible, you know. You can defend yourself now, too." He remembered well the physical and institutional bonds that might keep a mage from protecting themselves.

She shook her head, then after a moment she spoke.

"I can't."

It was ridiculous, of course. He reached down to tip her chin up to face him.

"Yes, you can. No one here would stop you. Mages here are-"

"No. I mean I can't. My magic isn't like theirs." She squirmed uncomfortably. So that was it. Well, that was different. His mouth hung open, but no words came out. He didn't quite know what to say.

"Well that's…new." Was all he managed. She freed herself from his grip and took another step back towards the shore that now lay behind him where their clothes were.

"You…were a templar?" She asked tentatively over her shoulder as she paused at the waters edge.

"Yes." He replied, finding himself fearing that she would take off the moment the word left his lips.

"Why did you…stop being one?" She seemed to struggle to find the right words.

"I didn't like what Corypheus did to the order. I didn't like what they did to others. I didn't like what lyrium did to me." He waited nervously.

When she turned back to him once more, walked right up to him and wrapped her hands behind his neck to pull herself up on her tip-toes and kiss him another thrill shot through him. He grasped her hips and pulled her up til her legs wrapped around him and her mouth opened to receive his tongue. His fingers curled into the soft flesh of her ass as he felt himself responding to her again.

"Thank you." She whispered against his lips before crushing hers against him again and darting her own thirsty tongue into him.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

Cassandra's shriek echoed through the trees.